The Ivory Spoon #2
We’ve already been traveling at night to avoid the king’s soldiers and staying off the main roads as much as possible. This is the first time we’ve been near civilization since fleeing Rosebridge. How much more careful can we be?
Maybe this is a sign that all this is nothing but a lesson in futility.
Gabriel must read the defeat on my face because he squeezes my hand. “It’ll be okay, Wren. I’ll shield you from danger.”
Strangely, I don’t doubt Gabriel is speaking the truth. How could I after he killed for me? But I don’t know if his protection will be enough. Not when it feels like the whole kingdom is working against us.
He must see something in my eyes because he pushes back my hood and clasps my face gently between his hands. “Look at me, little bird.”
My eyes meet his after a few moments, and is it just me, or has he moved closer? We share the same air for several seconds, each moment feeling longer than the last, before he dips his head, his gaze searing into mine. “I mean it. I’ve got you.”
And I’m not sure if it’s the look in his eyes or the sureness in his tone, but I believe him.
“Okay,” I whisper.
He strokes my cheeks with unusual tenderness before unclasping my cloak and hanging it on a hook along with his.
While he’s occupied, I turn, taking in the room behind me. It’s as small as it was when we walked in, and there’s still only one bed. In my panic about the Enforcer, I’d momentarily forgotten about that, but now it’s staring right at me. As if it knows its presence is going to be a problem.
When I look back to the Hunter, he’s leaning against the wall, one foot kicked up and resting behind him. His eyes slide to the bed, then back to me, and I know we can’t avoid the topic any longer.
“So,” I say, ever the robust conversationalist during awkward-as-fuck moments.
He quirks a brow, and his lips twitch as though he’s about to smile, although I’m not sure what he finds so funny about our current predicament. “So.”
“This is where we’re spending the day.” I gesture to the room.
He nods, clearly biting back an amused look.
“In this small room with one bed,” I clarify, pointing to the incriminating piece of furniture as if he hasn’t seen it. But how could he miss it?
Another dip of his head.
I swallow, wringing the hem of my tunic. “And I’m tired.”
I wish I wasn’t. Gods, it would make things so much easier if I was full of energy. But now that it’s clear the Enforcer didn’t see us and we’re out of harm’s way, at least for the moment, keeping my eyes open is becoming a monumental effort.
“That makes sense.” The Hunter’s eyes lock on to mine, and suns save me, they’re darker than before. A grassy valley at night, there’s a depth to them that is calling to me. I can barely resist the temptation to close the small space between us. “We rode hard tonight.”
“It’s been a long week, really,” I add as if he isn’t aware of that particular fact. My cheeks heat, and I’d love for this awkward interaction to end any time.
He makes a rumble of assent.
“There’s one bed. And there are two of us.”
“I’m aware.” His voice lowers, each syllable sending a flash of heat through me.
His eyes never leave mine, and that’s . . . a lot. Gabriel is so big, and this room is so damn small.
Silence stretches between us, and the air thickens. Each breath seems more difficult than the last, and the already small room feels like it’s caving in on me.
I keep searching for something to say, as if words can miraculously conjure another place to sleep out of thin air, but nothing comes to mind.
After what feels like hours, but is probably a few moments, Gabriel nods towards the bed. “Take it, little bird. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
That seems to be the logical solution. After all, the bed isn’t very large, and Gabriel is a big man. His feet would probably hang off the end, and I’m sure that would be uncomfortable.
But even though him taking the floor is the rational, obvious choice, something deep inside me writhes at the thought of him sleeping there. Away from me. Which is . . . ridiculous.
I must’ve lost my mind on the way upstairs, because for a fleeting moment, I consider inviting him to join me. But that’s . . . We’re not . . . That would be insane, right?
Before I can suggest something I would surely regret later, I nod and hurry into the attached bathing room. Its size is laughable, which is unsurprising, but there’s a chamber pot, a bowl, a pitcher of water, a bar of soap, and a grimy mirror. True luxuries after spending so much time outdoors.
I take care of my needs before washing my hands, and then I wet the cloth and clean myself thoroughly. The soap feels heavenly on my skin, and I scrub as much dirt away as I can. For the first time in days, I finally feel clean.
By the time I make it back into the room, Gabriel has drawn the curtain over the window.
He’s stretched out on the floor and has one of the two pillows from the bed under his head.
His sword is beside him, the other one by the door, and his arm is over his eyes.
Using the soft glow of my Mark as a guide, I avoid stepping on him.
The steady sound of his breathing fills the air, and suns save me, is the man already asleep?
As I watch him, confirming that he is indeed already sleeping, a wave of homesickness washes over me.
My brothers used to fall asleep in the same way after a long day at work. Awake one moment, out the next.
I give myself a single minute to think about my family before I force myself to move on.
I can’t devote much thought to the life I left behind or the sisters in the capital because I need to focus on surviving.
I refuse to entertain thoughts of my family being anything but alive and well because I don’t know what I’ll do if that isn’t the case.
Placing my dagger on the night table, I pull the thin blanket over myself. The mattress is lumpy and has seen better days, but still. It’s a suns-blessed mattress.
Sleep quickly drags me into its embrace.
Someone’s screaming. I slap my hand over my mouth, hoping to stifle the sound, but it doesn’t work. It continues, because . . .
The sound isn’t coming from me.
My chest heaves as I fling open my eyes. The room is dark, but thanks to the ever-present glow I bear, I can see enough.
The Hunter is a shadowy form, thrashing on the ground.
There is no peace on his face. No serenity brought on by sleep. His mouth is open in a pained cry, his eyes are screwed shut, and a sheen of sweat coats his forehead. Soul-deep anguish is painted onto Gabriel’s face, and my heart constricts. What has he been through to cause so much sorrow?
A question for another time.
Shoving back the covers, I roll out of bed and crouch on the floor beside Gabriel. I cup his cheeks, his usually warm skin clammy.
Another cry rises from the depths of his chest.
“Gabriel,” I whisper, stroking my thumb down his cheek. “It’s a bad dream.”
He moans, his hands curled into fists, but his eyes remain shut.
“Wake up, Gabriel,” I murmur.
Nothing.
He thrashes, sweat pouring down his face in rivulets. The nightmare, whatever it is, has him firmly in its grasp. I say his name again and again, but he doesn’t stir. Worry settles deep in my gut, and I look away from the Hunter long enough to glance at the curtain covering the small window.
A thin sliver of light shines through the gap between the fabric and the windowsill, confirming it’s still daytime. I listen to our surroundings, picking up the faint clattering of dishes and rising voices coming from downstairs.
I swallow. I need to wake Gabriel up before he draws attention to us. What if the Enforcer is still here? What if the innkeeper hears Gabriel shouting and comes up to investigate, thinking he’s hurt?