Page 25

Aella

The village of Vaith emerges from the trees, a smattering of buildings and cottages tucked into the embrace of the forest as if trying to hide from the world.

The sun stoops below the treetops, its last light bleeding through the sky in shades of amber and ash as we reach an inn near the village outskirts. Its weathered sign sways in the breeze, and the soft glow of lantern light spills out onto the street. A murmur comes from within, the low drone of voices broken by the occasional bark of laughter.

I hesitate. The inn is lively enough to set me on edge.

“What’s that look for?” Lyxander asks.

I shake my head, attempting to dispel my own doubt. “We should be fine to stay the night, then find a stable in the morning.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.” No.

I brush my gloved fingers against the small wooden charm I carved along the way, now hidden beneath my tunic. The goiteía etched into its grain stains my hair an inky black and my eyes an earthy brown.

His gaze lingers on my face, then he nods.

The inn exhales warmth as he shoulders the door open. There’s a lull in the clink of clay cups and conversation as patrons turn curious looks our way. I conjure a relieved smile as we weave through the rough-hewn tables toward the bar on the right.

The innkeeper—a man with sooty hair, pale skin, and a dark gaze that hints at an age older than he appears—eyes us both. “Travelers at this hour?”

“Long road from Reveza,” Lyxander says, his lips shaping the words precisely to conceal his canines.

“Reveza, eh? That’s a fair stretch. Where’re you bound?” he asks incredulously.

“Tarth. My cousin’s there. Thought we’d pay a visit before the snows make the roads impassable.”

I smile as he relays the story we pieced together on the road.

Resting my hands on the edge of the bar and doing my best to ignore the ache in my side, I let my gaze wander—mapping the main door we entered through, a smaller side door near the hearth, and a narrow staircase tucked into the far corner. Most of the local patrons have lost interest in us, their attention returned to their food and drink. But some eyes occasionally turn our way.

“You’ll be wanting some rooms, then,” the innkeeper says. “It’s a copper each per night.”

“Just the one. And an evening meal.”

The clink of coins follows, then a pause.

I glance back at the innkeeper as he hesitates, lips flattening with disapproval.

Cursed Anemoi.

The Northern Kingdom is more bound by propriety than the Sorrows—I learned as much during my training. And apparently that holds true for even this small town. I should have anticipated this before we stepped through the door. More important, Lyxander should have.

I brace myself and curl my fingers around his forearm. The muscles tense beneath my touch, but I don’t let go.

“Husband,” I say, fluttering my lashes up at him, “can we take our meal in our room? I’m so tired from the journey.”

He stares down at me, and I flex my fingers, silently urging him to play along.

“Of course, wife,” he says, covering my hand with his own.

The innkeeper’s demeanor shifts, and he scoops up the drachma on the counter. “Ah, newlyweds, are you? Say no more.” He reaches beneath the bar and produces a key. “Top of the stairs, second door on the left. I’ll have someone bring up your meal.”

“Thank you,” Lyxander says, taking the key with a nod.

We head for the stairs, and I let go of his arm the moment we’re out of the innkeeper’s sight.