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I was too afraid to think about how my feelings for Arlon have developed, but I know it now.

I’m falling for him, and I can’t stop myself.

It’s not about how he made me feel in bed, though that would be enough to turn anyone’s head, especially combined with his good looks and powerful body.

But it’s more than that—he’s a good man, honest and sincere in his affection toward me.

He may be helping me to get me to trust him faster, but helping Etta… That goes above and beyond.

“You should go talk to Mistress Maeve,” he murmurs without looking up. “Ask her quietly about the caravan.”

I swallow down my emotions and nod, even though he’s not watching me.

Not trusting myself to speak just yet, I turn away and walk over to the bar, where two young maids are chatting quietly as they dry the cups from breakfast. When they notice me, they break into a fit of giggles, and my cheeks heat in response.

They might have heard what Arlon and I were up to this morning.

“Is Mistress Maeve here?” I ask, fighting off the memories of just how amazing it was to wake up with him. “I’d like to speak to her.”

One of the maids ducks her head and disappears into the kitchen, returning moments later with the innkeeper. I motion the older woman to the side, and she follows, her eyebrows raised.

“Did a trading caravan pass through here a few days ago?” I ask, not wanting to waste her time. “It would have been a large one, with several wagons and people.”

She nods immediately. “Three nights ago, they stayed here. Seven wagons, with as many drivers, and…” She taps her fingers against the bar, thinking.

“…eleven others? No—twelve, though they didn’t require as many beds because some of the men took shifts guarding the wagons.

We weren’t as full then, since the fair only started yesterday. ”

I gape at her. Nineteen people? What were they doing this far from Ultrup?

“Was there a woman with them?” I demand. “Shorter than me, beautiful, with long brown hair?”

The innkeeper smirks. “You mean their leader?”

My stomach drops. “Their leader ?”

“There were four other women among the guests,” Mistress Maeve says patiently, “but there was one who organized everything. Paid for their stay, arranged the guard rotations. It’s her you’re asking about, isn’t it? Blue eyes, competent attitude?”

“Yes,” I breathe, because it’s true.

That must have been Lindie, and it makes sense she made a favorable impression on the innkeeper, who appears to run this place mostly on her own. But that would mean my friend isn’t in trouble at all. She’s leading this caravan toward the Stonefrost kingdom, all without telling me a thing.

It hurts more than I imagined it would, because this operation must have been days or even weeks in the making. The Ravens didn’t just suddenly decide to nab a dozen people and cross the entire duchy to…what? Run a job in the orc lands?

On impulse, I pull out the folded sheets of paper I tore from Damen’s business ledger. I unfold them, smoothing out the creases with my palms against the cool wood of the bar. “Can you make anything from this?”

Mistress Maeve takes a pair of wire-framed spectacles from a pocket of her dress, puts them on, and peers down at the columns of numbers. “Where did you get this?”

“That doesn’t matter,” I reply hastily. “I just need to know if there’s anything here that might help me figure out what these are for.”

I tap my finger against the newest entries, which I suspect relate to this expedition. Across the room, Arlon catches my gaze, his eyebrows rising as he realizes what I’m doing.

I incline my head, inviting him to join us. He folds the letter in front of him, then saunters over and places a hand on the small of my back. He slips the three letters into the basket with the other patrons’ mail, waiting to be sent out when the post carriage next passes through the village.

“I thought Mistress Maeve might have a look at our…problem,” I tell him. “Seeing as she’s a businesswoman and keeps her own set of books.”

She lifts one eyebrow at me, as if she sees right through my attempt to flatter her into helping us. But she studies the ledger pages anyway, her gaze attentive.

“Well, it seems to be written in code,” she says slowly, running her fingers down the lines. “I’d say these were monthly payments—see the start of them, here?”

Arlon and I lean down to examine the columns she’s indicating.

“What do you mean?” Arlon asks.

“This could be the date,” she says, pointing to a series of lines and dots, “and there’s a column for every month of the year, if you count them. Then this here would signify the nature of the trade—payment for a service or goods.”

When we stare at her blankly, she clicks her tongue and hauls a large, leather-bound ledger from beneath the counter.

“See, this is one of mine.” She turns the book so we can both see the numbers and lowers her voice.

“I pay Jillie down the road an exorbitant amount for eggs every month, as you can see, but she only uses the best feed for her chickens, so those are the damn best eggs in the village. She delivers them weekly. Then there’s the goat cheese from Mr. Hough’s cows—that’s also a monthly payment.

And all my grooms’ salaries, paid out every week. ”

The neat columns are marked in clean shorthand, with an E for eggs and a C for cheese, unlike Damen’s cryptic notes, but the structure of the ledger is similar, just as she said.

“So you think these are all new employees?” I ask, returning to the stolen pages.

Mistress Maeve nods. “With the first month’s payments already gone out, if I’m reading this correctly.”

I exchange a glance with Arlon, then fold and pocket the ledger pages again.

“Thank you so much,” I tell the innkeeper. “This was very helpful.”

She shrugs. “My pleasure.”

A muscle twitches in Arlon’s jaw, as if he’s mulling something over. I raise my eyebrows at him, and he grimaces before placing a handful of silver coins on the bar.

“Should people come looking for us, or for my wife, specifically, in the next couple of days, we would be much obliged if you told them we took the southern road out of town.” He nudges the coins closer to the innkeeper. “Unless it’s orcs bearing the same colors as me, that is.”

Mistress Maeve eyes the yellow and green embroidery at the hem of Arlon’s tunic.

I hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he’s pointed it out, I realize it’s on his jacket as well, and the same yellow and green ribbons were tied to his horse’s tack.

These must be the Bellhaven Clan colors, different from the ones representing the clan we’re heading toward.

“I don’t want any bad business in my house,” the innkeeper says firmly. “Whatever issues you have are no concern of mine.”

Arlon nods gravely. “And I understand that. We don’t mean any harm, but the people who might be following us do. It’s in your best interest to be mindful of anything strange happening around here, especially since yours is the only inn in the area.”

She purses her lips, then finally palms the coins and drops them into the pouch at her waist. “Fine. Since we’re talking about this, I did have some people disappear in the night.

They paid upfront, so I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but they left without waking anyone.

Even the grooms were surprised to find their horses missing. ”

Dread pools in the pit of my stomach. But Arlon snaps into warrior mode, shifting to place himself between me and the bar, as if expecting a band of armed criminals to burst through the door at any moment.

“Who was it?” he demands, glowering at the innkeeper.

I think of the man who’d been sitting alone at the bar last night, bent over his plate. He could have been a spy for the Ravens.

“A young couple,” the innkeeper says. “I don’t usually pay much attention to what my guests are up to, but those two danced all evening and seemed so happy together.

Now, though, I wonder…” She half turns toward the kitchen, then adds, “One of my girls said something that stuck with me. I’m thinking it might be connected to your issue. ”

I lean in, dreading the news. “What was it?”

“Well,” Mistress Maeve draws out the word, clearly enjoying holding us in suspense, “she went to deliver a pitcher of hot water to their room and surprised the woman. She wasn’t indecent, as you might think, but she had a whole array of knives spread out on the bed, cleaning them, or so it seemed.”

Silence falls as we both digest the story.

“Fuck,” Arlon murmurs. “It could be nothing—they might not have been waiting for us. But we have to be more vigilant from now on.”

I clench my hands, trying to stay calm. “Did anyone see which way they went? Any of the other villagers?”

“Not that I know of,” the innkeeper replies. “But you might ask around if it’s important to you. Drop my name, and people will be more likely to talk to you.”

We thank her and return to our table, but Arlon doesn’t sit down. Instead, he shoulders his bags and picks up mine as well, his movements effortless.

“We have to leave,” he tells me. “Ask the maids for some food for the road, and I’ll get the horses ready.”

He reaches into his pouch for money, but I wave him off. I have the money I stole from him, after all. He gives me a reluctant smile and disappears through the door.

I ask the first maid I see for some lunch we can take with us—packed into two separate bags.

My throat is tight by the time I reach the stables, but I’ve come to an inevitable conclusion, one I’ll have to tell Arlon. I don’t want to, but like he said, we’ve run out of time if people with knife collections are lying in wait for us somewhere on the road ahead.

Arlon looks up when I enter the stall where Clover spent the night. He steps forward and pulls me in for a quick kiss that makes what I have to do a thousand times worse.

“She’s been fed and watered,” he tells me. “The grooms took good care of her. They’re saying the weather should clear in an hour or so, which means we might get to ride farther than we thought today.”

“Hey, I need to talk to you.” I can’t meet his gaze.

Instead, I stare at the buttons of his jacket, small slivers of horn, expertly carved with a floral pattern.

I never noticed them until now, but their exquisite artistry is yet another reminder that we don’t belong together.

He’s from a different world entirely, and I cannot drag him down with me.

Arlon doesn’t allow me to hide. He takes my chin and tips it up until I look at him.

“What’s wrong, Tessa?” he asks, his voice a low murmur.

I swallow the lump in my throat and choke out, “I think you should leave. We have to go our separate ways now.”