Page 49

“If I leave you at the tavern, are you good to make your way to your family on your own?” Rhess asked as they rode out from the forest and into the bright sunshine.

Kiva nodded, even if she had no idea yetwherein the village her family was. But the tavern would be the best place to ask after them.

Together Kiva and Rhess ventured deeper into the village, passing little wooden cottages with flowerpots in their windows, before finding a blacksmith, a small apothecary, a tailor’s workshop, a bake house, and an outdoor market. In the center of it all was a larger establishment with a painted sign hanging over the door, curved script readingThe Tippled Boarresting above a picture of a dancing pig that somehow managed to look highly inebriated.

“There’s a stable out the back,” Rhess said, when they halted near the entryway. Before she’d even finished, a young girl ran up to them, hay sticking to her messy clothes and the pungent scent of manure making it clear what her role was.

Rhessinda flicked her a silver coin and motioned for Kiva to dismount. She groaned when she landed on the ground, her legs stiff and backside aching despite the medicinal powder she’d taken that morning.

“Just wait until tonight,” Rhess said, laughing.

The stablegirl hurried off with Bluebell, leaving Kiva to say, “I’ll meet you back here in a few hours?”

“Let’s aim for mid-afternoon,” Rhess confirmed, gathering her reins. “We’ll want to have you back in the city well before dark.”

Kiva agreed, since the last thing she needed was for someone from the palace to start worrying enough to seek her out at Silverthorn.

“If you need help with any of your patients ...” Kiva trailed off, realizing that she didn’t know how to end her offer, since it wasn’t as if she could say,Come and find me.

Thankfully, Rhess didn’t notice her hesitation and just said, “Thanks, but you should enjoy your time with your family.”

Kiva hoped that was possible, but considering their last encounter, she wasn’t holding her breath.

Waving, Rhessinda nudged her horse away from the tavern. Kiva watched until she disappeared deeper into the village, then turned her attention back to the painted pig. She was careful to wipe the distaste from her expression before she stepped through the open doorway.

The interior of the Tippled Boar was much like any other inn she had encountered, both as a child with her parents and during the more recent weeks of travel from the winter palace to Vallenia. Low-lit luminium beacons chased away most of the shadows, and yet the grimy space still remained dark and gloomy, even with the sunshine trying to peek through the dirty windows — all of which were surrounded by numerous stuffed boar heads mounted to the walls.

An overpowering scent of ale tickled Kiva’s nostrils as she walked deeper into the room, where a handful of patrons already sat at wooden tables and swayed on stools despite it being barely midmorning. She kept her head down as she passed them, moving straight to the oaken bar at the back of the room, behind which stood the middle-aged innkeeper wiping a soiled cloth along the wood.

“Hello,” Kiva said.

The man flicked his dark eyes up to her but said nothing.

“I, um, I’m hoping you can help me find someone,” she said.

“You orderin’ a drink?” he asked in a gruff, gravelly voice.

“I — well —” Kiva stuttered, before pasting a friendly smile on her face. “It’s a bit early for me. Perhaps later, after I’ve found who I’m looking for.”

Again, the innkeeper said nothing.

Kiva took that as an invitation, and asked, “Do you know Zuleeka and Torell Meridan?” She didn’t dare use the name Corentine, hoping her siblings weren’t foolish enough to go about flaunting their bloodline. “They’re a little older than me. Similar features.”

“Who wants to know?” the innkeeper asked.

“Their sister,” Kiva answered. “Kiva Meridan.”

Athunksounded from beside her when a full mug of ale slammed onto the bar, liquid sloshing over the sides as an older man toppled onto the nearest stool and leaned precariously toward her. “Keeeeeva,” he slurred. “Tha’s a purrrty name. I’m Grum — Grumed — Grumedon.”

He looked pleased with himself when he finally shared his name, hiccupping between attempts and smiling a brown-toothed grin at her.

“How ’bout some bread, Grum?” the innkeeper asked, his gruff voice softening as he looked at the man. “Some stew? On the house.”

Grumedon took a swig of his ale. “’S too early fer food. But keep these comin’.” He waved the mug, more sloshing over the edges, some splashing down onto Kiva’s boots.

“Grum —” the innkeeper started, but the drunken man spoke over him.

“Wha’s a purty place like you doin’ in a girl like this?” Grumedon asked Kiva.