“As if they had a choice,” Valen snickers.
Why is she laughing? Why is Valen snickering as if they’re sharing an insider joke?
Then they both sober up. “Your mother was lovely,” she says. “You must miss her.”
“I do,” Valen says. “All the time.”
“And your father? How is he holding up?”
“Oh, you know him. Keeping himself busy with the estates and his newest bedwarmer.”
“Good for him. Languishing in sorrow isn’t healthy. And that goes for you, too, boy. Good thing you left that miserable temple, at last.” She elbows him cheerfully and winks at me. “Is she the cure for your sorrow?”
“She’s the cure to every ailment,” he says.
“Bottle her up,” she giggles, “and sell her at the fair.”
“Excuse me,” I mutter, a little annoyed and also quite puzzled. “I’m right here.”
Valen hauls me closer to him. “I’m only accompanying her home.”
The woman laughs and elbows him again. “Is that what we’re calling it nowadays?”
“Please, Mariella. We’re trying to pass undetected. We need a room for the night, and in the morning we’ll disappear.”
“Ah.” She nods. “Got it. Silent as the grave, that’s me.”
Valen looks a little worried, but people are arriving, and Mariella’s attention shifts. “A room, please.”
“Sure.” She reaches for her belt, where a huge ring hangs, laden with keys. She removes one and hands it to me. “The Star room. It’s fitting. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have guests to attend.”
“Send up food!” Valen calls after her. “And don’t forget the bath.”
“Yeah, yeah…” She wanders off, and Valen and I glance at each other.
He grins again.
Good Gods, that grin is devastating. It’s impossible not to grin right back, not to feel heat coiling low in my body when his gaze travels down to my neck, to my breasts?—
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s check the royal suite.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
ROSAMUND
Valen leads the way. He seems to know where we’re headed, which makes sense since he’s been here before. Hand secure around mine, he pulls me up the steps to the second floor, and strides to the room at the end of the long veranda.
“Here.” He gestures at the door with a star painted on it in faded blue. “You have to unlock it.”
“Right.” I fumble with the key, still thinking of his conversation with this Mariella. “The star room. I didn’t know inns gave their rooms names.”
“Normally, they don’t. Normally, they give them numbers.”
“Oh.” I manage to insert the key and unlock the door. It opens with a whine, and we step into the dimly-lit room. An oil lamp is burning, hanging from a peg on the wall. There is a bed. One, wide bed. Singular. And a small table with an empty basin on it, a narrow window with wooden slats, and a few blankets.
“But Mariella likes werewolves,” Valen says, brushing past me and entering. “She always gives me the best room.”
“You don’t say.” I follow him, study the peeling paint on the walls and the thin blankets folded on the bed.
