Chapter 43
“Are you two still alive?”
The marekem jolted me from a dreamless sleep. I squeezed my eyes shut and nestled deeper into the warmth before responding.
“Alive and well.”
That’s when the scent of citrus and bergamot hit me.
My eyes flew open. I jerked back instinctively—only to realize that, at some point during the night, I’d flipped over and curled myself against Shayde’s back like some clingy little heat leech.
He was still fast asleep, chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths as I scrambled out of the bedroll, tripping over my cloak and landing in a graceless heap on the cavern floor.
Shayde stirred at the noise. His head lifted, eyes scanning the cavern. Then he spotted me, now trying far too hard to look casual while tugging on my boots. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, rubbed them lazily, and pushed himself upright.
I cleared my throat. “Rise and shine, Snake. We’ve got to get moving.”
Within ten minutes we’d packed up camp and climbed out of the cavern. Shayde and I resumed our trek through the snowy forest—this time with the sun breaking through the clouds overhead. I wrapped my balaclava around my face, just in case we stumbled across any Tyrians.
We know their stronghold is somewhere in central Tyria, but we still aren’t sure how close it is to the Barrens. So, we’ll keep moving until we find a small enough village that won’t raise suspicion, and start looking for clues from there.
After almost a full day of walking west, I finally spotted a thin line of smoke curling through the forest canopy. As we drew closer, we stumbled upon a small town with a bustling center square—children laughing as they ran about, their canine companions nipping at their heels.
The buildings reminded me of those in the Barrens, though these showed more signs of care.
Dark brick walls stood weathered but intact, overgrown with dead vines and weeds.
Wooden shutters hung crooked on their hinges, some barely clinging to the frames.
Signs dangled over several doorways, marking shops or taverns, while narrow paths veered away from the square toward cabins tucked deeper into the woods.
Shayde and I stayed hidden in the trees for a while, watching for any sign of Tyrian troops or leadership. After a careful survey and a silent agreement, we decided it looked safe enough to approach.
I checked my balaclava to make sure it was secure, hoping it passed as a normal accessory in the cold. We stepped into the tavern and were greeted by kind smiles from the barkeep and servers.
We slid into a booth in the far corner, backs to the wall, eyes scanning the room. When the waitress approached, asking if we were ready to order, we both nodded in unison and opted for the only item on the menu.
She returned with two bowls of mysterious stew just as a family of four entered the tavern and settled a few tables down.
The parents placed their order while the two children chose chaos—running circles around the tavern with squeals of laughter.
Their mother looked mildly exasperated, but the smile tugging at her lips never faltered as she watched them roam.
I lifted a spoonful of stew to my lips, blowing gently on the steam, trying not to think too hard about what might actually be in it.
Across the room, the little girl twirled in place, swishing her dress dramatically as she giggled. “Dance with me!” she squealed.
Her brother wrinkled his nose and bolted in the opposite direction. “Ew, gross!”
I bit back a laugh just as the girl shouted, “Come on! The party is tomorrow, and I need to practice!”
My spoon hovered midair.
Their father clapped his hands once, beckoning the children back to the table. “Aubrey, we’ve already told you—we won’t be attending the masquerade this year. Maybe next time.”
Beside me, Shayde tensed. He set his spoon down in his empty bowl with a faint clink.
The little girl puffed out her cheeks and stomped back toward the table, arms crossed. “Not fair,” she muttered. “We always go. I want to dress up.”
Her mother reached out, combing her fingers gently through the girl’s hair as she slumped onto her folded arms. “This year… it’ll be okay if we miss just one, my dear. There’s always the next.”
Her voice was calm and tender—soothing in a way I wasn’t familiar with. Not from my life.
Shayde and I locked eyes in silent conversation. We ordered a round of ale to give us a reason to linger, watching the family out of the corners of our eyes as they finished their meal. When they finally stood to leave, the waitress came by to collect their dishes.
“Thanks again, Mr. Lofty,” she said cheerfully.
Once the family stepped outside, I downed the rest of my ale and waved the waitress back over for our tab. I pulled my balaclava down to reveal my face and offered her my most charming smile as I laid out more than enough coins to cover the bill.
“Mind if I ask how far we are from the stronghold?” I asked, flashing a grin and tossing a wink in Shayde’s direction. “We’re heading south for our first masquerade, and someone happened to lose our written directions.”
Shayde played along with a nod as he drained the last of his drink.
“Oh dear,” she said, leaning closer as she scooped up our mugs. “You’re only about a day out from the soiree if you’re on foot. Just follow the western path—it’ll take you straight there.”
She disappeared behind the bar, and Shayde and I stood from our booth.
“Looks like we need to find a place for the night,” I said over my shoulder.
By the time we left the tavern, the once-bustling square had grown quieter, most of the villagers having cleared out.
We strolled along the winding paths, searching for anything that resembled an inn.
As we rounded a corner, a door swung open—the jingle of a bell rang overhead as it nearly smacked us.
Two women burst out hand in hand, laughing as they skipped toward the wooded cabins I’d noticed earlier. They shared quick kisses and breathless giggles before vanishing into the trees.
The door creaked shut behind them, and I looked up to see a weathered sign swaying gently.
Rentals.
I pushed the door open again—nearly hitting Shayde in the face—and stepped inside.
An older man stood behind the counter, bald with thick glasses perched low on his nose. He didn’t exactly radiate hospitality.
“Good evening, sir,” I greeted, turning my charm back on. I relished the rare chance to show my face in public without consequence. “Do you have a room for the night? One with two beds, please.”
The bell chimed faintly as Shayde entered behind me, letting the door click shut. The man grunted something unintelligible, turned around, and grabbed a rusted iron key from a wall hook. He tossed it onto the counter without a second glance.
“Last one for the night,” he muttered. “You attending the stronghold’s shenanigans tomorrow too?”
Assuming he meant the masquerade, I nodded.
“Ten silvers.”
My jaw nearly dropped. Ten silvers? For a small-town rental that probably had more bugs than furniture? This guy was clearly gouging outsiders. I opened my mouth to protest, but Shayde placed a steady hand on my shoulder and laid the coins down with the other, pocketing the key.
He ushered me out of the building and toward the woods in silence.
I growled under my breath, “You should’ve let me give him a piece of my mind.”
“And let you cause a scene? Draw more eyes to us?” he said flatly. “No, thanks.”
He had a point—but I still stomped along the muddy path, fuming, until we found the cabin that matched the number on our key.
Shayde unlocked the wooden door and stepped inside. The scent of forest pine and spice hit me the moment I crossed the threshold. He found an oil lamp near the entrance and lit it, casting a soft glow over the room, adding to the fading daylight streaming through the windows.
And revealing there was only one bed.
We stood across the room from each other, both staring at it in silence.
I spoke first. “There’s an armchair for you,” I said, nodding toward the corner.
Shayde arched a brow, incredulous, and slid his satchel off his shoulder. “I think not. That bed’s wide enough for both of us. Without touching.”
My cheeks burned—from frustration. Mostly.
“Last night was a special circumstance. We’re in a cabin now. With a fireplace. And blankets. We are not sharing that bed.”
He didn’t reply—just started unstrapping his weapons with casual defiance, then crossed the room toward the only other door, likely the washroom.
“If we aren’t sharing that bed,” he said, pausing as he reached the door, “then it’s mine. Technically, I beat you yesterday. You can sleep in the fireplace for all I care.”
My fingers curled into fists at my sides. My mind immediately went to our duel back in the Hollow. “You beat me at what?”
He glanced over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching. “The race to the sewer grate.”
Then he shut the door behind him.
While Shayde washed up, I built the fire with something bordering on vengeance.
Once the hearth blazed with heat, I slumped into the armchair—refusing to soil the clean bed with my leathers.
My legs draped over one armrest as I ran my fingers through my tangled hair, barely noticing the way one foot bounced restlessly.
The soft creak of the washroom door broke the quiet, followed by a wave of steam rolling into the room. Shayde stepped out…
Shirtless.
Droplets of water clung to his golden-tan skin, catching the firelight. His damp hair hung over his brow in a tousled mess. And then there was the V of his lower abdomen, carved and annoyingly perfect, leading to the dangerously low waistband of his thin lounge pants.
My gaze dipped before I could stop it. I snapped out of it with a jolt.
Scowling, I sprang from the chair and stormed past him toward the washroom. “’Bout damn time. You better have left some hot water.”