Page 29 of Paladin's Faith

“This is gonna be a lot of stairs,” muttered Wren.

“No, no. There’s a lift. They don’t make nobility climb like pilgrims.”

“Oh,” said Wren glumly, “joy.”

Shane winced internally. Wren was fearless about virtually everything, but she did not have a terribly good head for heights. It was probably too much to hope for that the lift was enclosed. He bumped her shoulder in wordless support.

“I’ll be fine,” she muttered. “It’s fine as long as I’m not actually looking down.”

Despite the brave words, she turned a bit green at the sight of the lift, which was a fragile-looking confection of wicker, though large enough to hold a dozen people. From the ropes and pulleys overhead, Shane guessed that it functioned the same way as any other lift. Somewhere inside, there was probably a donkey on a treadmill supplying the power.

The attendant waved them inside and closed the little half-door, latching it. “Don’t lean out of the windows,” he recited in a bored monotone. “Don’t try to climb anything. Don’t light any fires, not to cook, not to warm up, not at all.”

“Do people actually try to cook in this thing?” asked Shane, aghast.

“Sir,” said the attendant, “I have seen people do things that you cannot possibly imagine.” He grabbed a pull-rope and tugged, and a moment later, the lift swung aloft.

“Hooooooo boy,” said Wren, retreating to the side closest to the wall and closing her eyes.

Shane took her hand. She gave him a wan smile, not opening her eyes. Marguerite stood at the window opposite, looking across the view with interest, but didn’t say anything.

The trip up only took about five minutes, but Shane suspected that for Wren, it seemed like a lot longer. The ascent would run smoothly for a few moments, then there would be a series of short, jerky motions, then it would settle down again. At one point a gust of wind set the basket swaying and Wren turned fishbelly white.

“It’s fine,” said Shane, using the paladin’s voice. “All will be well. We’re nearly there and we don’t need to come back down again unless you decide to go horseback riding.”

“Not unless they bring the horse up to me.”

“I suspect that attendant has seen it happen before.”

Marguerite caught Shane’s eye and glanced at Wren, lifting one eyebrow. He shook his head at her. Wren would be fine once she was back on solid ground, he knew, and having Marguerite appear to notice would only deepen her future embarrassment.

At last the basket jerked to a halt. Another attendant opened the door and motioned them out. “We’re here,” Shane said, tugging on Wren’s hand.

“Right,” she said, taking a deep breath. She stepped out of the lift, eyes straight ahead. Marguerite followed, with Shane bringing up the rear.

They stepped through an archway into an unexpectedly broad courtyard, the fortress rising on all four sides around it. The courtyard was a hive of activity, porters moving trunks and servants in a dozen different shades of livery running on errands of their own. None of them seemed bothered by the fact that they were so far up, not even when the wind came whistling through the archway behind them, cutting through Shane’s surcoat like a knife and tugging Marguerite’s cloak loose from her shoulders.

“Ack!” Marguerite fumbled and nearly dropped her bag. Shane caught the cloak as it slid and tugged it back up her shoulders, re-fastening the pin. Marguerite looked up at him with a rueful smile. “I need an extra set of hands.”

“Don’t we all,” he said automatically, but what he truly noticed was that when his fingertips accidentally brushed the side of her throat, she shivered. Just a little. Hardly noticeable, unless it was your job to watch someone for the smallest sign.

If he had been the paladin that he was supposed to be, he would have thought nothing of it. It’s the cold, nothing more. But he was twice a failure, and so he smoothed the edge of the cloak down and let the back of his knuckles trace the barest line against her skin.

Almost imperceptibly, he felt her shiver again.

Marguerite’s eyes met his with a faint, puzzled smile. Something dark and hot flared inside him. Something hungry. He wanted to stroke his finger along the line of her jaw and see if his touch truly had the power to make her tremble.

And who are you to even think such things? Are you that eager to add her name to your long list of failures?

He was not the paladin that he was supposed to be, but neither was he completely lost. He stepped back, gave her a little bow, and turned away.

Probably it was just the cold anyway.

THIRTEEN

Their rooms were very small. Shane did not know if that was a reflection of their group’s lack of standing or if the Court of Smoke only had so many rooms. The suite had a short entryway, barely large enough for the door to swing inward, with two narrow doorways on either side. The main door led onto a room with a large fireplace, a desk, and a dining table, which led to two further bedrooms, no larger than Shane’s at the Temple of the Rat.

The two doors in the entry hall opened onto what looked like closets. “Servant quarters,” said Marguerite.