CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Trollenston loomed in the distance like a bad dream.
Terraeus didn’t seem to care about Ethenn’s sour mood. The sun shone brightly. Birds sang merrily. His friends chatted casually.
Over the last couple of days, things had improved within the troop.
Thom and Brea were back on speaking terms, though their banter was decidedly less flirtatious.
All were somber after Hewitt’s final release, but crossing over into Estshire seemed to return cheer to Evylin and Deckard, which helped the rest of them relax too.
Ilain hadn’t gotten over her dislike for Brea, but she’d allowed Ethenn to train with her and was agreeable enough in the lieutenant’s presence.
And in the evening, alone in their room, Ethenn and Ilain distracted themselves from their troubles with each other’s kisses.
The diversion of Ilain’s embrace hadn’t been Ethenn’s original intent with their first agreement.
He’d thought they’d kiss that once and be done with it.
But each night, Ilain pulled him down onto the bed beside her and pressed her lips to his.
Inevitably, the activity devolved into them tangled under the blankets, though he was quite careful not to go too far.
A feat that proved nearly impossible with his head and body buzzing from her touch.
Somehow, Rafferty noticed their newfound comfort with each other. He’d begun pestering Ethenn about it, which made him incredibly uncomfortable, but he assumed that was likely the point.
Glancing up ahead, Ethenn caught sight of Ilain riding beside Evylin.
The physical development in their relationship made things more complicated.
While he’d tried to keep a level head and a tempered heart, he could feel himself growing dangerously attached to his wife.
What if Ilain realized his faults? What if she found another Warrior she liked better?
He wouldn’t blame her if she threw him over, but he wasn’t sure his heart would survive such a blow.
Maybe he should take her up on her offer and consummate the marriage. Then she couldn’t leave him, even if she eventually realized what a terrible mistake she’d made. . . .
Ethenn’s jaw tightened as his eyes drifted back to the buildings of Trollenston, drawing ever nearer in the distance.
He hoped to get through the town unrecognized.
Were they still looking for him? He’d have to be careful.
They couldn’t try him now that he was a soldier, but he didn’t want Deckard or the others to find out about his violent indiscretions.
Four months. Would they still be looking for him after half a year had passed?
It was murder, he reminded himself. Of course, they’re still looking.
“You vile heathen.”
Ethenn blew a breath, forcing his uncle’s voice out of his head. He would steer clear of Vernon Loxley’s smithy, that was sure.
“What was that for?” Rafferty asked at Ethenn’s side.
Ethenn furrowed his brow. “What?”
“You just sighed,” Rafferty said, then mimicked the troubled exhale. “Like that. What’s got your knickers knotted?”
He deflected with a shrug. “I joined the army to get out of this town. I didn’t think I’d ever come back.”
“I’m not entirely sure why you wanted to leave,” Rafferty said. “From what your old pal, Carmichael, said, you were living it large—on quite the winning streak and with the prize purse to match, Slayer.”
Ethenn leveled a flat glare at Rafferty. “You know, don’t you?”
A sly lift came to Rafferty’s lips. “The gruesome tale of your little stage name?” His silver-gray eyes twinkled. “I haven’t an idea.”
Hearing the lie, Ethenn nodded. “It was labeled an accident,” he said emotionlessly.
“Was it honestly an accident, though?”
Ethenn shrugged. “Technically.”
“Murder isn’t a technicality, little Lox. You either meant to kill him, or you didn’t.”
Though he held in his anger, Ethenn knew his face was turning red. “Perhaps I don’t know the answer.”
“Huh.” Rafferty grinned dryly. “Well, from the account I was given, it seemed involuntary manslaughter was the verdict. Though informally, of course. You can’t go to the magistrate for justice when the death occurs in an illegal fighting ring, can ya?”
“It’s a known risk you take,” Ethenn admitted.
“Especially when you’re fighting the Slayer.”
Ethenn didn’t bother replying.
“So,” Rafferty continued, “you wanted to avoid a return because you don’t like your reputation. That’s understandable.”
There was more to it, but Ethenn didn’t care to explain.
“There isn’t anything or anyone you’re happy to visit while in town?” Rafferty pressed.
“No,” Ethenn lied, then nudged his horse forward, avoiding any more conversation.
He came alongside Ilain, locked in conversation with Evylin about legendary magical artifacts that had gone missing shortly after the Relics were locked away. Since she’d already told Ethenn the story, he didn’t bother to listen.
Instead, he watched Trollenston as it inched closer.
The evening sky shone with a bronze cast, the sun disappearing behind the horizon.
The forests grew thinner this close to the town, the hilly countryside pushing the trees aside.
In the center of it all, homes and businesses twisted and wound together in a cluster, greenery growing along their fronts.
But off in the distance, Ethenn could see a small, vacant cottage separated from the town.
He intentionally kept his gaze away to ensure no one asked him about it.
Once they were within half a mile, Deckard dropped back to talk with their group. While the road wasn’t technically wide enough for four riders, the countryside was open enough to allow for it. “Evylin, do you think your aunt and uncle will expect us to stay with them?” he asked.
“Yes,” Evylin said without hesitation. “If Serene learns that we were in town, she’d be greatly offended if we stayed anywhere else.”
“But there isn’t enough room for the rest of our troop to stay with them?”
“Certainly not.”
Deckard nodded. “I suppose we could send the others to that inn near their house.”
“Which one?” Ethenn asked. “Felden’s Inn, The Shepherd’s Rest, or The Wanderer?”
Ilain, Evylin, and Deckard looked at him in surprise. “Right,” Evylin said with a grin. “I forget you lived here sometimes. They live near The Shepherd’s Rest.”
“Ah,” Ethenn said thoughtfully. The Shepherd’s Rest was a good tavern and inn, but it was located too near Vernon’s smithy for his liking. “Not as nice as Felden’s Inn but better than the alternative. The Wanderer tends to attract people like Raff.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rafferty asked in a bright tone, riding up just behind them with Thom.
“It means I’ve fought in their cellar,” Ethenn said.
While Rafferty snickered, Deckard began to give his orders. Due to the presence of Evylin’s relatives in town and the need to spend time with them, they’d skip training for the night.
“It’d be best to rest as much as possible before the final Keep anyway,” Isla added.
The troop split up, the Deckards—sans Thom—heading to visit Evylin’s family while the rest of them rode through the winding streets to the inn.
Ethenn offered to lead the way, intentionally taking them on the long route so they wouldn’t pass his uncle’s smithy.
Though it was evening and Vernon Loxley refused to work past sundown, there was a chance his son, Tylaar, was still there, cleaning up.
In fact, there was a chance Ethenn would run into his cousin at The Shepherd’s Rest as well.
So he kept his head down the entire ride through the town, carefully avoiding eye contact. There were no true police in Trollenston, but the town watch occasionally patrolled near the taverns to keep the peace. And he didn’t care to catch their attention.
Once they arrived at the inn and tavern, Ethenn let Thom take the lead in securing the rooms. He pulled Ilain to the side, still keeping his head down.
“I’m going straight to our room,” he said for her ears alone.
Knowing she’d ask questions, he preemptively explained, “There are some people I wish to avoid who frequent this tavern.”
Ilain raised her chin. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” she asked smartly.
“You caught my discomfort,” he noted.
“I’m rather aware of your moods, yes.”
Ethenn didn’t know whether his wry grin was due to amusement or annoyance. “No,” he lied. “I’m not in trouble. I just didn’t like my life here and don’t care to reminisce with old acquaintances.”
“You’re hiding on the off chance they’ll show up?”
“I’d rather not tempt fate.”
Ilain chuckled and patted his arm. “All right, darling. You go up, and I’ll bring a meal up in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” Her brow lifted as she asked, “That is what you Estshire lot say, right?”
Ethenn chuckled at the familiar colloquialism. “You catch on quick.”
“I’m known for my wit, dearie.” She kissed his cheek, then gave him a shove. “Get going. The men are starting to stare at me, and they’ll notice you before too long, even if it is from jealousy. Then we’d defeat the whole point of you abandoning the party.”
Taking his key from Thom, Ethenn hurried up the stairs and out of the tavern’s main room.
He ducked into their room and waited for Ilain to join him.
When she came up, they enjoyed their meal—a hearty ale-braised lamb stew with peas and purple potatoes and a side of honeyed biscuits—and Ethenn began to enact his plan.
“I don’t think I’m feeling so well,” he said, rubbing his forehead, ensuring it was appropriately furrowed.
Ilain glanced up at him. “No? Do you think it’s the stew?”
Nervously, he chuckled. “Not that kind of unwell,” he replied. “I think I’m just tired.”
The faintest blush crept along Ilain’s cheeks as her gaze dropped to the dregs of her soup in the bottom of the bowl. “Is that your subtle way of telling me I’ve been keeping you up too late?” she asked, her tone somewhere between bashful and coquettish.