Chapter 19
QUINN
My cloak hung heavy from my shoulders. Water pooled at my feet as it dribbled from clothing and hair alike. With every step inside, my boots squeaked. My mouth fell open as I marveled at the space.
The Wandering Root had been carved into the heart of a living tree. Gnarled beams bent into archways overhead. Twisted roots served as table legs. Chairs were patched together with bark, leather, and woven moss cushions, no two alike. Amber lanterns hung from low branches in the ceiling.
“You’re dripping all over my floor,” a voice screeched.
A squat, female troll waddled forward from behind a counter, brandishing a mop. Her eyes, small and sharp, narrowed at the mud and rainwater we had tracked in.
After my first century asleep, I had seen a troll, but only from a distance. I had never been this close to one, let alone one armed with a mop and the makings of a vendetta. Before I could stammer an apology, Mav stepped forward as if approaching royalty.
He bowed low, somehow managing to look dashing despite the water trickling off his nose. “We’re terribly sorry for the mess,” he said, voice warm and smooth. “We were hoping you might have availability. Room and board, if you’re taking guests.”
The troll woman stared at him, wiping a hand on her apron. She mumbled something under her breath, which I was certain was not complimentary. “Well, how many rooms would you need?”
“Four,” Branrir said.
“Three,” Mav said at the same time.
Thistle’s eyes slid to Mav. A slow, knowing smirk upon her lips.
“It’s...uh. The tether,” he added, brushing hair from his eyes and avoiding my gaze.
The female troll shook her head hard enough to toss her silver hair. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Magical nonsense,” Vesper grumbled from the floor, trailing puddles of his own. “Don’t ask.”
The troll huffed, “Fine. I’ve got three rooms. But—” she jabbed the mop handle into Mav’s chest “—you pay in advance. And in full. No drifters. No charmers.”
Mav opened his mouth—likely to keep charming anyway—but I interceded.
“Here,” I said, unfastening a coin purse from beneath my cloak and dropping it into her open palm. The weight of it landed with a metallic clink.
“Wait, you don’t have to—” Mav started.
“Quiet, boy,” the troll snapped, not sparing him a glance.
She opened the pouch. Her expression morphed into something grotesquely sweet.
A smile, or something aspiring to be one, stretched across her face.
“Well,” she said, voice high and syrupy, “right this way then, dearies. I’m Shubre.
At your service.” She spun around and called over her shoulder, “Kelraz! Carry their luggage!”
A younger, taller male troll poked his head out from a back doorway, grunted, and disappeared again before trudging into view. I looked sideways at Mav as we followed Shubre toward the stairs. He gave me the smallest of shrugs, but his smile was unmistakable.
Despite the chill clinging to my bones, I could still feel the warmth of his hands from earlier. Heat sparked beneath my skin, threatening to ignite a far more consuming fire. The memory of it was maddeningly vivid—the sure press of his palms at my waist, the strength in his grip as he steadied me.
In the instant he caught me, I had been certain he was going to kiss me. I was inclined to let him. Worse still, if I were to be honest with myself, I wanted to kiss him.
The thought was preposterous. Reckless. It made no sense when weighed against reason. Yet, it held an allure capable of scattering every logical thought. A single, searing kiss would have been so simple compared to the complexity of everything else between us.
My pulse quickened at the possibility, my lips tingling as though they already knew the shape of his.
I was a fool for wanting him.
A greater fool for wishing, even now, for him to try again.
The staircase groaned beneath our feet, narrow and winding as it spiraled up through the core of the great tree.
My hand trailed the coarse, knotted rope looped between branches serving as a banister.
By the time we reached the first landing, my thighs burned.
A series of triangular windows revealed the rain-drenched canopy.
We were already high above the forest floor and still climbing.
“This place has far too many stairs,” Vesper muttered behind me, his little paws dripping with every step. “And I’ve yet to see a drying cloth.”
Ignoring Vesper’s complaints, Shubre glanced back. “Where are you all headed then?”
“Aurillion,” Branrir replied.
Her smile faltered. “Aurillion?” she echoed. “Oh—going for the Spring Jubilee, are you?”
We exchanged puzzled glances.
“The what?” Mav asked.
“You weren’t invited?” Shubre’s heavy brow rose.
Thistle’s frown deepened. “We weren’t planning on going to a party. We have other business to attend to.”
Shubre turned fully toward us. “Party or not, no one gets into Aurillion without an invitation. Even the citizens there need papers to get in and out these days.”
Her colleague, Kelraz, shifted our luggage in his arms and added, “The city is surrounded by an enormous wall, and there’s only one gate.” He shrugged. “The walls have been there for more than seventy-five years…I’m surprised you didn’t know about them.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “It did not used to be as such.”
“A lot of things aren’t how they used to be.” Shubre let out a humorless chortle. “If you’re set on going to the capital, you’re going to need to get yourself invited to the Spring Jubilee, or find someone to forge paperwork. I’m not sure which is the tougher task.”
She started down the hall ahead of us, and we resumed our pace.
Mav elbowed Branrir. “How did you not know about the wall?”
“Of course, I know about the wall.” Branrir shot him a glare. “The requirement of an invitation is news to me.” He puffed up, shoulders hunching like an indignant owl. “Didn’t you get knighted at the castle? You would’ve seen the walls.”
“No, the ceremony was held at Verdelune,” Mav clarified, shaking his head. “I’ve never been to Aurillion.”
Thistle patted me on the arm, potentially sensing my rising apprehension. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”
Eventually, the stairs leveled into a long corridor. The walls were polished but not perfect—gnarled in places, bulging in others. Small windows were tucked between the bends.
But what caught my attention were the lanterns.
Glass globes hung from the ceiling, each holding a pixie.
Tiny creatures with shocks of golden hair, pointed ears, and glowing skin.
Some slept curled in the bottoms of their bulbs.
Others pressed their faces against the glass, peering out at us.
Several flitted about their spaces with their iridescent wings.
“They’re employees,” Shubre grunted from up ahead, catching my staring. “Lazy ones. Paid in sugar and gossip. Mostly the latter.”
“Finally, a recompense worthy of my talents,” Vesper declared.
As if on cue, one of the pixies stuck out her tongue at the feline and made a gesture with her hands I assumed must be vulgar.
Vesper hissed in outrage. “I am not in the mood, pest!” He shook out his fur again—only to remain no drier than before.
We stopped in front of a rounded door with a mushroom-shaped carving above it.
“You can take this one,” Shubre stated, handing a key to Thistle.
“Lovely,” Thistle replied, collecting her items from Kelraz and slipping into the room, a muttering Vesper slinking in behind her.
Branrir, Mav, and I followed Shubre to the very end of the hall
She paused again. “You,” she said, handing the next key to Branrir.
He accepted the key with a quiet “thank you,” and pointed at his satchels. Kelraz huffed and dropped them by the door.
Pointing to the door of the room immediately next to Branrir’s Shubre stopped, turned with a grin too wide for her face. “Here you go, lovebirds.”
Neither Mav nor I corrected her. Kelraz dropped our bags with a grunt and trudged back the way he came. Shubre gave one last knowing glance—mop still in hand—then clomped after him. Mav turned the key in the lock and opened the door, holding it for me to pass through.
The door shut with a soft click, sealing us inside.
The room felt more like a secret garden than anything meant for sleeping.
Removing my boots, my tired feet were met with the soft patchwork of moss-woven rugs.
Round glass doors took up nearly the entire far wall, where the balcony offered a view of the forest beyond.
A single, large bed sat in the center of the room with plush, emerald bedding.
Tucked in the corner opposite the balcony, a privacy screen partially obscured the open door to a washroom with a bath carved from the hollow of a large log. Steam curled up from its surface, courtesy of the warming runes etched around the rim. The heat called to my aching limbs.
Mav glanced at me. “You’re cold.”
“I am fine,” I said automatically, though my teeth betrayed me with a chatter.
“You’re shivering.”
“I am not—”
“Quinn.” His voice was gentle, steady. “Why don’t you have a hot bath and get into something dry?”
I hesitated, trying to will some pride into my posture. “Well…I do not mind if you go first.”
“I’m not the one turning blue.” He raised a brow. “I’ll borrow Branrir’s and be back soon. The tether should reach the next room. If it doesn’t, I’ll come right back and take a turn after you.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but failed. Mav pulled fresh clothing from his pack and slipped out of the room. After a few moments, the tether strained between us, but it was not painful. Selecting a dry outfit of my own, I made for the washroom, setting my fresh clothing behind the privacy screen.
The moment I stepped near the bath, a blanket of heat enveloped me. I peeled out of my soaked clothes, my fingers stiff. I drew a breath and slid into the water. The warmth sank deeper, chasing the cold from every inch of me.