Chapter 46
FORTY-SIX
CAIRN
I stop at the top of the stairs. Below me, the inn’s common room hums with warmth and noise. Laughter reaches me, and I scan around, eyes pausing on a table near the fire.
Therin is sprawled in his chair like he owns the place, Serath and Kaelith either side of him, Vessara and Sorel across. Tankards are scattered across the table’s surface, and the remains of their meals pushed to one side. Sitting among them, her back to the stairs, is Alleria.
She’s leaning forward, listening to something Therin is saying. He’s telling a story. I can tell from the way he’s gesturing, the theatrical sweep of his hands that means he’s embellishing it for his audience. Alleria’s elbows are on the table, her chin propped on her hands.
When he finishes talking, Serath laughs hard enough that she has to wipe her eyes. And Alleria—
She laughs.
She throws her head back, shoulders shaking, and a dimple flashes into view on her left cheek. She looks young, happy, and at ease among fae who, a month ago, were holding her prisoner.
I should go back upstairs before they see me. Instead, I continue down the stairs and cross the room. Therin sees me first. His eyebrows rise, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Well, well. Look who’s decided to join us. We were just telling Alleria about the time you got thrown out of the Summer Court for insulting the prince.”
The others turn. Vessara nods, Sorel grunts something that might be a greeting, and Serath smiles and pulls out the empty chair on her right.
Alleria looks up. The smile doesn’t fade, but something in her eyes shifts, a flicker of uncertainty at my presence, maybe. Her cheeks are flushed from the fire. She looks soft and sweet.
“I didn’t insult him. I corrected him.”
“You told him his understanding of battle tactics was charmingly provincial,” Sorel points out.
“It was.”
“Maybe, but you did it in front of the entire court.”
“If he didn’t want to be corrected publicly, he shouldn’t have been wrong publicly.”
Therin laughs. “See? Charming as ever. Sit. Drink. Pretend you’re not imagining all the ways you can kill everyone in the room.”
I sigh and take the chair Serath offered. It puts me across from Alleria.
Therin grins at Alleria. “He does that, you know. Threatens everyone without speaking. Very charming at diplomatic functions. Probably why we weren’t invited to many.”
Alleria’s smile widens slightly, that dimple appearing again. “How many ways are there?”
“More than you’d think.” I’ve answered before I can stop myself.
Her eyes meet mine, and there’s a spark of amusement in them that I’ve never seen before. She holds my gaze for a second longer, then looks away.
The serving girl appears at my elbow, and I order ale without really thinking about it. When she leaves, the conversation has moved on. I let it wash over me, only half-listening as I scan the room.
Alleria asks questions when she doesn’t understand something. Vessara and Serath answer most of them, with Therin taking the rest. When Alleria laughs at something he says, the sound is loose and easy.
She’s changed over the past couple of weeks. The realization is sudden and shocking. She carries herself differently now. Less like prey waiting to bolt, and more like someone who has earned a place among those surrounding her.
The conversation meanders over different things. Serath describes the markets at Silvermoon Bay in the Winter Court lands. Therin argues with Sorel about where the best tavern is. Vessara rolls her eyes.
Alleria absorbs it all, turning her tankard in slow circles on the table. She laughs again, and takes another drink, relaxed in a way I haven’t seen before—warm, full of food, probably a little tipsy from the ale. When she catches me looking, she doesn’t look away.
I’m the one who breaks first.
The evening winds down slowly. The pitcher empties and isn’t refilled. Sorel leaves first, then Vessara and Kaelith. Serath stays a while longer, talking quietly with Alleria, before she too rises and bids us goodnight.
That leaves me, Therin, and Alleria.
The common room empties around us. Alleria is staring into what’s left of her ale, her expression softer now, the flush still high on her cheeks.
“I should go up. My training instructor demands I’m awake and alert at dawn.” She tosses Therin a grin. “Thank you. For letting me join you tonight.”
“You don’t need to thank us,” he says. “You’re always welcome at our table, Alleria.”
Gratitude fills her eyes, and she nods. Her gaze finds mine for a moment, then she turns toward the stairs. I watch her go and once she’s out of view, Therin turns to me.
“So … are we going to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“The fact you’ve spent the last two hours pretending you weren’t watching her?” He leans back in his chair. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Oh please. You tracked every move she made. Every time she laughed, every time she shifted in her seat. You’ve barely taken your eyes off her all evening.
” He picks up his empty tankard, examines it and sets it back down again.
“You quit training her after one session, and stay out of her way. Do you want her or don’t you? ”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It’s exactly that simple.” He stands, pushing his chair back.
“I’m pretty sure you fucked her before deciding to send her back to the palace.
I don’t understand your reasoning for that, and I’m not asking.
What I want to know is why when she chose to stay here, you decided the best response was to pretend she doesn’t exist.”
“That isn’t what happened.”
“Don’t even try to pull that shit with me.
” He moves toward the stairs then stops.
“Whatever you’re afraid of, Cairn, hiding from it isn’t going to make it go away.
Talk to her … or don’t. But we have enough to deal with without also playing as the barrier so you can pretend you’re not interested in her. ”
He’s gone before I can respond.
I sit alone at the table for a long time.
The fire burns down, the candles gutter and die until there’s just me and the darkness.
I should go back to my room. There’s absolutely nothing I have to say that can’t wait.
There’s no reason in the world that requires me to climb the stairs and walk to her door …
I find myself in the hallway. Then at her door. There’s a pause after I knock, then her voice reaches me.
“Yes? Who is it?”
“Cairn.”
There’s another pause, longer this time, then the door opens.
She’s still dressed, though her hair is loose from its braid now, falling past her shoulders. She looks at me, surprise and wariness battling for dominance in her eyes.
“Can I come in?”
She steps back without a word, and I walk in. She watches me, arms crossed over her chest, as I close the door, then lean against it. When I don’t speak, she moves to sit on the edge of the bed, wincing as she lowers herself. Her hand goes to her back.
“Sore?”
“Therin’s training often includes physical torture. He was throwing pebbles at me.” She kneads the small of her back with her knuckles. Her eyes flick to the tub in the corner of the room, then away. “I’ll be fine once I figure out how to dodge his annoyingly accurate aim.”
I lift a hand, and snap my fingers. Water appears in the tub, steam curling off the surface. She startles, then blinks.
“You didn’t have to—”
“You were looking at the tub like it holds the meaning of life. You clearly want to bathe, now you can.”
She doesn’t move, staring at me. Her tongue sweeps over her lips.
“Are you …” Her throat moves as she swallows. “Are you planning to stay and watch again?”
I remember the last time—her in the water, my eyes on her skin, the way she flushed under my gaze.
“Possibly.”
Silence falls between us, and I wait for her to demand I leave. When she gets to her feet and reaches for the laces of her tunic, heat licks through my veins.
She undresses with her back to me, letting the tunic fall, followed by her undershirt.
When she steps out of her pants, my eyes track over the bruises on her legs, the new muscle in her shoulders and arms, and I wonder for a second if things would have gone the same way in the forest that day if she’d had the training she does now.
She climbs into the tub and sinks down until the water reaches her collarbone. A sigh escapes her, and some of the tension seems to bleed out. I stay where I am, leaning against the door, and for a while neither of us speak.
She tips her head back against the rim of the tub, eyes closed, letting the heat of the water work into her muscles. I watch the firelight play across the water, across her skin, and then I push off the door and move around behind her.
Her eyes fly open. “What are you—”
“Relax.” I kneel behind the tub and reach for the soap on the edge. “Tip your head back.”
She hesitates, tensing up.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Moirthalen.”
“I know that.” But she doesn’t relax.
“Then tip your head back.” I gather her hair in my hands, lifting it away from her neck and shoulders.
It takes another heartbeat or two before her head slowly tips back again, resting it against the rim of the tub. I let her hair spill down the outside, dark and wet. A glance to the side, and I have a small table with a pitcher of clean water. On the floor, I form an empty basin.
Dipping my hands into the water, I pick up the soap and work it between my palms until it lathers, then slide my fingers into her hair.
She goes rigid. I ignore her, working the lather through the wet strands, my fingertips pressing against her scalp in small circles. After a moment, some of the stiffness leaves her.
“Sit up.”
I move to the crown of her head, then down to the nape of her neck, where the muscles are knotted tight. When I press my thumbs into the tension there, she makes a soft sound, not quite a moan, but close.
“When did you last sleep properly?”
“I don’t remember.”