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“Cheap enough for your highness?” I asked.

He snorted and yanked the door open. I followed him through.

Inside there were more patrons than seats. It reeked of smoke and ale. There was raucous laughter, and off-key singing. I tried not to stare at a woman groping a shirtless man who leaned half-back over a table. I kept my eyes focused on Kalcedon’s back as he pushed his way through the crowd. It was slow going until the drunks noticed his fae appearance. Then they moved out of the way in a hurry.

One of the men gave Kalcedon a nasty look, then leaned forward and spat on him. Kalcedon calmly twisted away the damp spot on his shoulder with a touch of heat. He didn’t even look in the man’s direction. I did, though, and tried my best to flatten him with a glare. I made a rude gesture with my fingers, though I don’t think he saw it; he was still looking at Kalcedon.

Reaching the counter, Kalcedon paid a bearded, potbellied man three argit. My eyes widened as the innkeeper handed Kalcedon a single key.

“We can’t afford a second room?” I asked. “Even here?”

“This way’s safer. I’ll sleep on the floor, priss.” His voice was like venom, but I didn’t snarl back. I was fairly certain he meant it for the man who’d spat on him, and not for me.

We climbed the narrow stone staircase to the room. Kalcedon had to stoop to fit under the low frame. The chamber we entered was small and poorly cleaned, the mattress prickly but still better than the floor. An offering-bowl balanced precariously on the hearth’s mantle, beside a jar of long-dead flowers that had dropped most of their petals.

The only open space was a gap between the hearth and the bed’s foot. It looked too small for either of us, but despite his lean build Kalcedon was taller than I was.

“Maybe I should take the floor,” I offered tentatively. “Or…”

“It’s already decided,” he snapped back. He side-stepped around the tight edge of the bed and sat down in the space, leaving no room for argument. Since I didn’t particularly want to be the one sleeping on the floor, I threw him a pillow and the bed’s only blanket.

Then I stripped off my overskirt, slipped my underthings off, and wrapped the bedsheet tight around myself.

In the middle of the night I jolted upright, panting, plagued by a nightmare of an inferno. The sheets were damp with sweat, and the room felt too warm. I rubbed my face and took a shaky breath.

Kalcedon was awake. He sat cross legged on the floor, staring at the small hearth fire. He’d lit it sometime after I’d fallen asleep.

“Why are you awake?” I mumbled. He twisted over his shoulder to look at me, his face one with the shadows.

“Am I really that mean to you?” His voice was soft, tired.

“That’s keeping you up?”

“Just tell me.” He turned back towards the flames.

“Only when you open your mouth,” I mumbled. “I know you don’t mean it.”

“Tch. Go back to sleep.”

“Put out the fire. It’s too hot.”

He grunted in response, but didn’t move. I lay back down. The bed felt suddenly vast and empty, the walls too close, Kalcedon’s power too far. In the night it was easy for my thoughts to wander, to circle around and around that lonely stone tower on Nis-Illous, with a burnt tree in the middle of a rampant garden.

“There’s space, you know. If the floor gets uncomfortable,” I whispered. Kalcedon didn’t answer. Neither of us spoke again. The next morning, I woke with only a foggy memory of the conversation.

And Kalcedon, facing away from me, curled up beside me on the bed.

Chapter 19

The strange tug started nearly a mile from the stone.

“Do you feel that?” I asked. One look at Kalcedon’s tight, drawn face was confirmation enough.

“It’s the Ward,” he croaked.

The ground in northern Sable-Pall was lightly forested with oleander and conifers, obscuring the view along the rocky shore. Ten minutes later I saw movement ahead: distant armored figures in Temple robes.

Kalcedon grabbed me by the upper arm and dragged me back ten paces, to where a low-boughed tree sheltered our forms. He peered intently through the foliage, eyes narrowed.