Chapter 5
I think I may have had my best night’s sleep ever.
Baxley was true to his word and never returned. I’d taken off my tunic, my boots, and the old leather belt a merchant had given me that was too damaged to sell. Then I’d crawled under the covers, and after two ales, I was asleep in no time.
I woke up before dawn. My body was too used to being alert before the first bird sang.
The pitcher of water was replaced last night. A young serving maid met me on the stairs as I went up for the night and took the empty one for a full one.
I checked that the door was still locked, then, with careful precision, I drew the Glyph symbol for heat. Just a little, but enough to warm the tepid water to something nearly warm.
I took my time washing my face, and with practiced efficiency, I removed my layers and scrubbed my body as well as I could with a single linen cloth and a limited amount of water.
Still, it felt good to be clean. Well, cleaner.
I wasn’t sure when I last truly felt clean.
I was used to washing my body like this, over a bowl of water, but the last time I was fully immersed in hot water…
I couldn’t remember. Maybe it was at the Gilded Swan, before I went down to supper that first night.
I didn’t want to think of how many moons ago that had been.
With my tunic back on and my hair braided tightly enough to hurt, I surveyed the room. After a moment of thought, I picked up Baxley's pack, nearly staggering from its weight. Carrying both packs, I headed downstairs for breakfast.
I looked more alert than the serving girl, but she moved quickly when she saw me, a promise of coffee on her lips.
I saw him sitting in the same corner as last night. He looked amused to see me carrying his pack, but he said nothing when I carefully lowered it at his feet.
I took the same seat as before. “Weapons? Or are you stupidly rich and it’s all that coin you’ve earned?”
His lips twitched. “What’s stupidly rich?” he asked gruffly.
“Rich enough to be comfortably wealthy, but stupid enough to be robbed easily.” I nudged his pack once more. “If that’s coin, you’re stupidly rich.”
Baxley laughed, the sound echoing in the empty room. “It’s just my weapons.”
I thought about it as I saw the server coming back with a tray. “Still worth something.” I grabbed a mug of coffee before she set the tray down. “Stupidly rich.”
Baxley chuckled as she unloaded the tray, which held two steaming bowls of porridge, two thick slices of bread with a generous spread of butter — better than the thin scraping some places served — and one more mug of coffee.
A hearty breakfast, and we ate eagerly and in silence.
Captain Marson came downstairs shortly after we began. He chose a table near us but was content to eat alone. Soon, his soldiers appeared one by one, and while he said nothing about their punctuality, his look clearly conveyed judgment.
Gralen was the last to come down, and I saw him nod to his captain.
“We leave before the next bell,” Marson said, his eyes fixed on the large clock above the fireplace. Several of his men nodded. He glanced our way, and seeing we were finished with our food, the captain raised his mug again, taking our silence for acknowledgment.
I’d just finished my coffee when the front door creaked open, slow enough to be deliberate. Cold air slipped into the room first, cutting through the warmth of bodies and the rich smell of coffee.
A few heads turned. Most didn’t bother. I watched with interest, feeling Baxley straighten slightly beside me.
He stepped inside like he belonged there with no announcement and no hesitation at seeing the inn so full of people so early.
His hood was pulled low, and he wore the usual face coverings, but even from here, I could tell that he scanned the room. I was sure his gaze landed briefly on mine before moving on.
Snow clung to the shoulders of his dark cloak, melting slowly as he crossed the threshold. He didn’t rush to brush it off. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice it at all.
That was the first thing that felt wrong about him.
The second was that no one stopped him as he walked into the room toward the fire.
He pushed his hood back slightly, and thick brown hair, not quite straight, not quite curly, fell across his forehead.
I was paying far too much attention to his hair, while he wasn’t paying attention to anyone. Not the soldiers, nor the innkeeper who had shown up halfway through my porridge. Not even Baxley.
Baxley was the one I’d be watching if I were the one who had just walked into an inn.
My attention snapped sideways. Baxley hadn’t moved, but he was watching now. Not openly, not like the others, but enough. I saw his upper lip curl, and I wasn’t sure if it was at the stranger or me.
Shades. Was this a problem?
The man took his time crossing the room, his gaze drifting — neither searching, or curious — just… cataloging. People shifted under it without knowing why.
When his eyes returned to me, they didn’t flick away. They stayed, and his gaze was long and steady. I held his stare out of habit, not instinct.
That was my mistake. I saw the corners of his eyes crinkle, and I knew under the face wraps he was probably smiling.
His eyes gleamed with triumph, almost as if he’d just found something he wasn't even looking for.
“Trailfinder,” he said, testing the word. His voice was low and even, rough at the edges, as if he didn’t need to raise it to be heard. “He found you.” I felt Baxley relax beside me.
Him? We were waiting for him? Really?
My spine went rigid. “Mercenary,” I returned coolly.
His gaze flicked to Baxley then, brief but loaded. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
Baxley didn’t answer, only reached out, drained his coffee dry, and then leaned back in his seat.
The man stepped closer, stopping just inside my space without touching me. Close enough that I could smell the cold still clinging to him.
“You took the job,” he said.
It wasn’t a question. I tilted my chin. “I did.” My gaze flicked to Baxley. “Although I’m sure this isn’t news to you.”
“Pity.”
“Pity?” My eyes widened at the comment, and I frowned. “For who?”
His eyes flicked over my face again, slower this time. Deliberate. Knowing, somehow, without me saying a word, that it made me uncomfortable.
I heard him sniff as he pulled the wrappings down to free his mouth. “For you.”
Something cold slid down my spine, but I forced myself not to react. I didn’t want to give him that.
“The job’s yours if you want it for yourself,” I told him, trying my best to appear as casual and indifferent as he was.
He smiled. It held as much warmth as the temperature outside.
“I don’t take jobs,” he replied quietly.
My grip tightened around my mug even though it was empty. “Then what do you do?”
This time, his smile had humor, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I decide when and how they end.”
I didn’t have a comeback for that, and from the looks of him, he didn’t expect one.
He turned to the captain, and his gaze scanned the soldiers one more time. “What are you waiting for?”
I saw the captain's gaze narrow, and he made a show of taking a drink of his coffee. When he was finished, he leaned back in his seat, almost lazily, mirroring Baxley’s posture. I wondered if he knew it. Captain Marson looked the mercenary over from head to foot.
“You’ll address me as Captain Marson,” he told him, and if I thought it was cold outside, it was nothing compared to the drop in temperature inside.
“You keep telling me that,” the mercenary said with a grin.
He leaned over and grabbed a slice of bread from the table.
I wasn’t sure if it belonged to the captain or his companion, but the mercenary didn’t care as he took a big bite.
“Still doesn’t tell me why you aren’t outside and ready to go,” he said with his mouth full, a fact I saw the captain clearly disliked.
The captain suddenly stood, startling many of his men into action, but neither Baxley nor I moved, and neither did the new mercenary.
“I did not assign you,” the captain said, moving closer to the other man, who was now grinning as he ate. “And I will quite happily make all of you leave.”
“Me too?” I piped up, wincing at the sound of hope in my voice.
The captain’s gaze flicked to mine, and he looked almost disappointed that I asked. “Not you, Amarya.”
I slumped back in my chair, and Baxley chuckled as he stood.
“Nicco, stop pissing him off, we’ve been through this before.” He stopped and picked up his pack as if it weighed nothing. “Daylight doesn’t last long, let’s move.”
Baxley nudged my shoulder softly. “That means you too, little Trailfinder.”
He ignored my grumbling about being called little, but I stood and fastened my travel cloak around me.
I picked up my pack, slinging it over my shoulder, adjusting the strap across my cloak to act as a fastener, and I ignored Nicco's stare as I wrapped my neck warmer around the lower half of my face.
When I was bundled up as much as possible, I pulled the woolen mittens from my pockets and put them on.
“Are you going to watch me the whole time?” I asked sharply, pulling the ends of my mittens up and over my sleeves, making sure there were no gaps. I didn’t want to let the chill into my bones, not if I could help it.
“I expected you to be sturdier,” Nicco told me as he chewed his final piece of bread.
I looked up from my mittens and met his unwavering gaze.
There was an intensity there that didn’t soften, even as he smiled.
His eyes were warmer than they had any right to be.
Warm brown and entirely steady, like a man who had never once looked away from something that made him uncomfortable. I found that deeply irritating.
“I didn’t expect you at all.” I sniffed dismissively. “Let’s hope your legs can run as fast as your mouth does.” I ignored his laugh and turned to the captain. “I’ll be outside.”