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“What in Notos’s name were you doing?” I glance down at my hand. The bargain mark blazes like fire against my skin, its glow fading steadily. “And what is this damned thing doing?”
“I was trying to wake you.” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, a tension that wasn’t there before. “And it’s a warning. You almost killed us both.”
The room seems to tilt around me. I look to my palm again, but the mark has faded once more. Slowly, I sheathe my dagger, the tension in my shoulders easing.
Lyxander gets to his feet, and it’s only then that I notice his hair is damp, the mahogany tendrils sticking to his face. Beneath the dark cloak draped over his shoulders, he’s dressed in a fresh set of traveling clothes, a charcoal woolen tunic that fits snugly against his frame over black trousers. A wide leather belt cinches his waist, the sheath of his short sword resting against his hip. The scent of soap lingers in the air, mingling with the pine and petrichor that typically clings to him.
My gaze catches on the sharp lines of his jaw, now clean-shaven, the scrappy beard he’s had since I cut off the muzzle he’d been wearing gone without a trace. The strong, angular cut of his features is more striking than I’d expected.
I blink and look toward the window, where the sky has lightened to indigo. “It’s almost morning. Why didn’t you wake me for my watch?”
“You needed the rest.”
“That wasn’t your call to make.”
His hazel eyes meet mine. “You don’t sleep well. Neither do I. But you looked like you needed it more than I did.”
The words hang in the air, heavy with a quiet sincerity that leaves me momentarily unmoored.
“Breakfast is paid for, and there’s a bathing chamber out the back if you want to clean up. I’ll take care of the supplies.”
He tosses the key onto the bed, and then he’s gone, striding from the room without a backward glance.
I frown at the door as his departure settles over me. Then, shaking off the unease, I grab what I need from my pack and head for the baths.
A low growl rises from my stomach as I braid my dark, damp hair. The steaming water of the bath did little to quiet my mind, especially with the insistent tugging of the bargain mark since Lyxander left, but it washed away the grime of restless nights and endless travel.
I swiftly dress, pulling a woolen tunic over my undershirt. The tunic’s hem falls above my knees, hiding my dagger and thigh holster strapped over the fitted black trousers.
I tug on my boots, then lock our room and head downstairs.
The inn’s common room is filled with a faint haze of smoke, while the scent of spent ale and ashes clings to the worn wooden beams.
The innkeeper looks up as I approach the bar, his face breaking into a polite, if tired, smile.
“Morning,” he says. “You’ll be wanting breakfast, I reckon?”
I nod, sliding onto one of the stools. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Not at all. Got a fresh batch of porridge and bread cooked up this morning.”
“Perfect.”
He slips through a door behind the bar, and I take in the few patrons scattered at the tables—none of them paying me any mind. The innkeeper returns and sets a steaming bowl of porridge in front of me.
“On the road today, then?”
I nod. “My husband’s getting some supplies, and then we’ll continue east.”
“Best fill yourself for the journey,” he says, sliding a cup of calda across the counter, and a smile creeps across my face at the scent of spices and wine.
“Thank you.”
He grunts in acknowledgment, then returns to his tasks, allowing me to eat in silence.
The porridge is simple but hearty, and I savor the warmth of it spreading through me with each bite after days of dried rations. I’m draining the last drop of calda when the door groans open behind me.
The air shifts, the quiet hum of the room interrupted by the heavy tread of boots. I glance over my shoulder as a group of men stride in. There are four of them, all rough around the edges, their cloaks dusted with travel, boots mud-streaked, and the weapons at their sides well-worn but well-kept.
