10. Lilias
Lilias
A ROOM FOR THE NIGHT
It’s been raining all day.
It started sometime in the night, when I woke up gasping from another nightmare about the Dragon Mine and Prince Syvan, one where he didn’t fall to his knees but instead ran toward me, blood pouring from his mouth and turning his teeth scarlet even as he snarled.
I bit my finger to keep from screaming, but somehow Zarek woke up anyway.
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he just wrapped his arms around me and went back to sleep as the first of the raindrops began to tap against the canopy of leaves sheltering us.
I pulled the blanket over my head and, somehow, managed to join him in sleep.
When I woke up, we were both soaked. Zarek said the rain might clear as the day went on, but there was a little twist to his lips that made me think that wasn’t very likely.
It did not clear. Instead, the rain got stronger and heavier, until it felt like one of the gods was very specifically trying to drown us.
We passed a few towns as we wound our way through side roads, bypassing the capitol entirely on our way to the mountains that used to mark the border between Vsenrog and Marion.
At some point I realized we’re tracing the same path we took on our unity tour.
And now it’s getting dark. Our horses slowly clomp toward the center of yet another small town.
There’s a white gazebo in the town square; a shiver traces down my spine as I recognize it.
Zarek kissed me there as the crowd cheered.
This was one of our early morning stops, so his lips tasted like tea instead of wine.
He grabbed me around my waist and bent over the railing as he kissed me; the crowd screamed and clapped like we’d just won a battle.
My cheeks burn against the icy rainwater. I shake my head, then turn to the big building that must be the town’s inn. All the windows glow with light. I can hear the roar of the crowd inside, even from the road.
Zarek pulls his gelding to a stop, and they both sigh. He turns to me and tugs his hood back. Rain traces a path down his cheeks.
“Fuck it,” he says. “Let’s get a room for the night.”
My hands twist around the reins. I glance toward the gazebo, then back to Zarek. Maybe he doesn’t realize where we are. Maybe he doesn’t remember.
“You don’t think they’ll recognize us?” I ask in a low voice.
Zarek laughs, low and soft.
“Princess, the last time we were in this town, you were wearing a dress that cost more than any of these farmers make in a year,” he says.
I frown as I look down at the wet, muddy tunic and heavy wool pants I’m wearing now.
“No,” Zarek finishes. “They won’t recognize us. People mostly see what they want to see. Also,” he says, with a tired smile, “I really, really don’t want to sleep in the mud tonight.”
I smile before I can stop myself, and we approach the inn together. Mud splashes up my cloak when I dismount. I wrinkle my nose as I tie our horses to the hitching post. Zarek is right. I probably look less like a princess right now than I’ve ever looked in my entire life.
Still, I keep my head down when we enter the inn.
It’s surprisingly crowded inside, like everyone in the entire town decided to pack into the common room.
I follow Zarek as he threads his way through the crowded room, passing groups cheering and toasting and a few harried-looking women with trays and aprons.
For a moment, I worry that he’s going to have to elbow someone out of the way to even approach the bar, but then a man leaves carrying a half dozen foam-topped mugs of ale, and Zarek shoves his way to the bar and flags down the short, rotund man serving drinks.
The barkeep actually laughs when Zarek asks if there are any rooms available.
“Not with the wedding tomorrow,” the man replies, half shouting to be heard over the crowd. “Every inn from here to the Tanic Pass is full tonight.”
My heart sinks. Rainwater trickles down my spine and pools in my boots. Zarek says something I can’t quite make out, then drops three coins on the bar. The man shakes his head.
“Keep your coin,” he says. “Gods, you and the missus look like a pair of drowned rats. I’d hate to have the mayor hear I turned his son’s wedding guests out in weather like this.”
He leans back, then purses his lips like he’s thinking hard.
“Tell you what,” he says. “You can stay in the barn, in the hayloft. I’ll send a girl to fix up a bed for you.”
“That’s much appreciated,” Zarek replies.
I open my mouth to ask about a bath but think better of it.
The bath will just have to wait until we’re back at the old hunting camp with Elrick.
The innkeeper brings us two steaming bowls of thick, rich stew, and we huddle together at the end of the bar as what feels like half the population of Vsenrog celebrates around us.
The feeling is just coming back into my frozen fingers when a woman taps Zarek on the shoulder, then leads us through a narrow hallway and into a cramped barn.
I check on our horses as the woman shows Zarek the ladder to the loft. The stalls are a little small, but both horses have been brushed, thankfully. They’re chewing on oats in a way that makes me think they’re almost as happy as I am to be out of the rain.
The woman brushes past me, back to the throng of people waiting in the inn, and then we’re alone in the barn, surrounded by the scent of horses and the sound of rain pounding on the roof.
A light flickers from the hayloft. I follow Zarek up the ladder.
The roof is so low in the loft that he can barely stand.
“Well,” Zarek says as he pulls off his cloak, “at least we didn’t pay for it.”
I frown. It’s not the worst hayloft I’ve ever seen, but it’s a far cry from a room in an inn.
Or, hells, even from a tent. The bed is a few blankets piled on top of hay bales.
There’s a single small table with a lantern and a washbasin, and a pile of dry towels on a rough stool.
Zarek hangs his cloak over the railing and grins at me.
“At least the roof doesn’t leak,” he says.
“It is better than sleeping in the mud,” I admit.
“And they didn’t recognize us,” he adds.
True. With the crowd in there, the king of Vsenrog himself probably could have walked in and hardly raised an eyebrow. I undo the clasps on my cloak and hang it over the railing, then start to peel my soaking shirt off my body.
And then I realize what I’m doing. I freeze, heat pulsing through my body.
I’m undressing in front of Zarek.
Gods, this shouldn’t bother me. He saw me practically naked on our wedding night. I don’t have anything under these soaking wet clothes that’s going to surprise him. Or interest him.
I glance up. Zarek turns away, like he’s reading my mind. He stares at the cobwebbed ceiling of the hayloft.
“Go ahead,” he says. “Let me know when you’re under the covers, and I’ll blow out the light.”
My hands tremble as I pull the shirt over my head and spread it out on the railing.
Something twists in my core as I tug off the muddy pants, a deep ache I have no idea how to resolve.
I unbuckle Zarek’s dagger from my thigh and hang it next to my pants, then glance down at my body.
I’m still wearing a thin silk shirt and shorts, but those will dry quickly, especially the way my body is suddenly radiating heat.
I grab a towel, run it over my face and hair, and then wrap it around my body. As I tuck it around my rib cage, I remember the little tin I took from Agnes. I dig through the pockets of my cloak until I pull it out.
“Zarek,” I say.
He turns around, then looks away like I just slapped him. He clears his throat.
“You’re not under the covers,” he says.
“Oh, stop it,” I snap. “I’m going to wrap your ribs.”
“They’re fine,” he replies, without looking at me.
“They’re not fine.”
I close the space between us, until I can feel the heat rising off his body. Rain hammers on the roof just above us.
“I don’t think they’re actually broken,” he says. “I think they were just—”
I put my hand on his chest, and his words end in a gasp.
“Please,” I say.
Zarek takes a step back. His head almost brushes the rafters. And then, slowly, he pulls his shirt over his head.