“You’re shivering. Get inside.”
Baldbeak poked his head out, fixing me with his yellow gaze. I scowled, but stepped up into the warm interior.
“He’s going to spoil your upholstery,” I said as Baldbeak started happily scratching at the seats.
“I’m used to it,” said Patrick. “It won’t surprise you to know that I often travel with ravens.”
He swung himself in beside us, suddenly very close and warm in the small space. Perhaps because he had rarely truly been present with me, his presence now seemed to take up more space than was its due. He knocked on the roof, and the carriage started to rumble forward. It occurred to me that the last time I had been inside a carriage was with Milady, unwittingly driving towards a prison, and I felt sick to my stomach.
I dug my fingers into the fur blanket that lay across my lap and determinedly refused to shift my gaze from the window. Outside was all darkness, with not even a slice of moon for illumination. Baldbeak had made himself comfortable at last and hunkered down, chest puffed and eyes half-closed. He was asleep in seconds. Dying and being brought back to life would be rather tiring.
“I suppose my fate is in your hands now,” I said to Patrick drily.
Patrick didn’t speak for a long time, and when he did, he seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “I am sorry that your trust has been so often betrayed.”
I shrugged, feeling childish, but not wanting to give him the satisfaction of speaking.
“I will endeavor to show you that, in this case, it is not misplaced.”
“Mieka seems to think you are telling the truth.”
“She is no fool,” he said.
I stayed silent for a moment, drumming my fingers on my knee.
“All I want to do is find the book,” I said at last. “And my mother. If you can help me do that …”
“I can. I will.” The smooth certainty in his voice grated against my ears.
“Then I suppose I have no choice. For now.”
He shifted in his seat. “We will spend tonight in an inn and leave for Spire in the morning.”
“Why can’t we go now?”
“There are certain … precautions I need to take. Did you ever tell Sybil where you intended to go?”
“No, I never mentioned Spire.” That was something to be thankful for, at least.
“Good. That will buy us some time.”
The silence grew crowded with all we were leaving unsaid. I shifted positions to lay my head more comfortably against the upholstered side of the carriage and closed my eyes, determined to feign sleep, but my body remained tense. Beside me, I heard Patrick let out a breath and then the susurration of the furs as he apparently settled down to sleep as well.
I waited until his breath became slow and even, and then opened my eyes to look at him. Slumber smoothed the faint lines in his face. Without the gleam of those sharp hazel eyes, he seemed just another man—someone I wouldn’t look twice at in a crowd. I remembered the bird skull mask he had worn when he danced with me on Plaguenight and wondered if he wore a mask still.
I must have fallen asleep eventually, because when the carriage stopped, I jerked awake. I had drooled a little in my sleep, to my embarrassment, and I swiped at my chin surreptitiously, hoping Patrick hadn’t noticed. He seemed wide awake and alert, poised with his hand on the doorknob as we rattled into a courtyard.
It was late, but the inn appeared to be bustling. An ostlerarrived to help with the horses, and the footman opened the door for us. I felt groggy and disoriented—partly from sleep, and partly from the expenditure of … whatever it was I had flung at Ban Morin’s men and used to bring Baldbeak back. I felt strangely undefined around my edges, as if I wasn’t quite occupying the same space as everyone else.
“My lord.” The landlord, clearly recognizing Patrick, led him inside, practically folded in half with oily obsequiousness as he rubbed his hands together. Patrick barely threw him a glance, tossing the little man his travel cloak.
“Two rooms and dinner. See that the horses are fed and watered.”
“We have no rooms, my lord,” the landlord said. “We have been fully booked since—”
“Kick someone out,” said Patrick, extracting a weighty purse from his pocket and letting it fall into the landlord’s outstretched hand. “Tell them it has bedbugs. I don’t care. Just make sure my sister and I have somewhere to stay.”
“My lord—”
