Page 14

I reach for that dark power, seeking nothing more than the reassurance that it’sthere, but its presence is so faint, my heart trips in my chest.

I shift in the saddle again, whispering an apology to the mare.

“Almost there,” Calysian says, proving he’s been paying closer attention to me than I would have liked.

The town is little more than a cluster of dark shadows as we approach. But the welcoming scent of woodsmoke drifts toward us. The buildings are small, thatched roofs sagging in places. A few lanterns hang from hooks by doors on the main street, casting a yellow glow.

The dirt road beneath us is uneven, dotted with occasional puddles of mud. A sharp, rhythmic metal clang reaches my ears—likely a blacksmith working late into the night.

Calysian scans the town, his gaze lingering on the few people spilling out of taverns and stumbling down the street.

“There,” he says, nodding toward the end of the street.

The inn is larger than the surrounding buildings. Light spills from cracks in the shutters in the upper floors, and the sound of voices carries through the night. A woman sings with a surprisingly pleasing voice, and a few people join in, while a group of men laugh raucously.

My stomach tightens as the scent of something savory wafts toward us. We pull our horses to a stop outside the inn, and a couple of stablehands appear. One of them murmurs to Calysian, and he hands him a couple of coins, dismounting and rounding his horse. He grabs the reins, holding his horse’s head still as he levels him with a look.

“Be good.”

The horse stomps one foot, and Calysian sighs, handing the reins to one of the stablehands. “Be careful. He bites, kicks, and generally becomes a nuisance. Keep at least a stall between him and the other horses on each side.”

The stablehand nods, but the color drains from his face as he tentatively leads the stallion away.

I dismount, ensuring I have my sword, along with the chains still wrapped in the soldier’s jacket. My own sweet mare nuzzles my hand as I stroke her head. When she’s led away, I feel suddenly…lonely.

Calysian jerks his head at the entrance to the inn. “You’ll feel better after you get some rest.”

A couple of drunks stumble out, almost slamming into us, and Calysian drops his arm over my shoulders, steering me away from them. His scent envelops me—amber and leather andmale. As soon as we’re through the entrance I wiggle away, and he shoots me an amused look.

“Two rooms,” he instructs the innkeeper, who nods, stepping away to murmur to one of the barmaids.

Someone lets out a cackle and I flinch. Glass shatters, and I spin, but it’s merely a barmaid blushing over a dropped tray.

Each sudden laugh, each shout and cheer, the singer crooning about lost love…it makes my head ring. The noise is a relentless wave, crashing over me again and again, until I want to clamp my hands over my ears. I bury my hands into my own shirt in an attempt to anchor myself, but the air is too thick, the scent of food, smoke, sweat…

I can’t breathe.

My heart slams into my ribs.

I stumble toward the door.

A huge hand wraps around the back of my neck, holding me in place.

Dark eyes meet mine, glimmering with what might be concern. Calysian curses. “I should have known.”

His face melds into another, and then another. The walls are closing in, the warmth from the fire making me break out in a sweat.

Before I can protest, his heavy arm is wrapped around my shoulders once more and he’s hauling me away. Distantly, I’m aware of a brief conversation between Calysian and the innkeeper, and then he’s practically carrying me upstairs.

I blink, and I’m suddenly standing in a room, alone with him. A room that is almost entirely silent. How many floors did we climb?

“I’ve ordered food to be brought to us,” he says gruffly. “My room is next door. The innkeeper said she’ll also arrange a bath. If you need anything, let me know.”

He disappears, leaving me staring at the closed door.

I don’t know why he’s helping me. I still refuse to trust him. But…I suppose I owe him now. The thought sets my teeth on edge, and the fury pushes away the remnants of useless fear as the innkeeper brings up stew and ale, before pointing at the knobs above the tub, murmuring instructions.

The stew is warm and filling, the bath hot and soothing. I relish both, savoring the simple pleasures I once took for granted.