“I can’t say for certain; it’s my suspicion that it does.”
Something about his tone was slightly off. Kaylin frowned and stopped walking. After a moment, so did Severn, and the light across the floor lengthened between them.
“Is he here?”
“He?”
“The Arcanist you were sent after.”
He didn’t answer.
* * *
The small dragon flew off her shoulder, which startled them both, and landed on the glowing portion of the ground between them. Kaylin took care not to step on him as she closed the gap. For good measure, she slid a hand under his belly, scooped him up, and drew level with Severn while he waited.
“Sorry. I know you’re not supposed to talk about it. When I start asking questions, I forget to check them at the mouth.”
He chuckled.
“I’ll try harder to remember.”
His smile was slight and resigned as he began to walk again. “Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because it’ll just make you self-conscious. I don’t care if you ask, as long as you don’t mind if I don’t—or can’t—
answer. You’re capable of being careful, but frankly, I don’t want to be treated as if I were Lord Diarmat. I don’t need you to be afraid of me.”
“Good. It’s not likely to happen anytime soon.”
The lights beneath their feet continued to guide them, but unlike small dragons, they weren’t impatient. The hall seemed to move at a gentle curve toward the right, and as the lights finally ceased their slow progress just ahead of their feet, they stopped at a door. It was, unlike the door that had fronted the great hall, narrow and made of a pale, pale wood. The hinge was invisible on the exterior of the door—if it even had a hinge.
“Is this my room or yours?” Kaylin asked, looking at the floor.
Severn’s smile froze, but it didn’t entirely desert his face. His scars did whiten, though, especially the one along his jaw. “This might be a problem. Try opening the door.”
“Not if I have to bleed on it.” She examined the door with care; she couldn’t see a ward on its surface. Or a lock. Or, if it came to that, a bloody handle or doorknob.
“You don’t. That’s only the price of entry.”
“For every single stop?”
He nodded. “Unless you’ve been there before, yes.”
She stalled for time. “So you hadn’t been here.”
“No. Not in this particular way station. Farther on, yes.”
“Why farther on?”
“I don’t have a dislike of inns, and I’m perfectly willing to sign a ledger under an assumed identity. The Barrani Lords have issues with that. But the Barrani roads to the West March don’t follow mortal trade routes.”
“Can I ask how you even found those way stations?”
“You can ask. At the moment, I can’t answer.” He lifted an arm and placed a palm against the door’s surface, as if it were warded. The door swung open, its movement completely silent. Kaylin still couldn’t see any evidence of hinges. If it had just faded from view it wouldn’t have been any less natural.
“I guess this is your room,” Kaylin said as Severn stepped across the threshold. She lingered by the door as he entered the room. The light that had pooled between their feet didn’t follow him.
She turned to look down the hall; it was dark. But it was a dark that reminded her of a moonlit night. She could make out the shapes of the walls and could even see another doorless arch in the distance. What she couldn’t see was any movement of the golden light beneath her own feet.
She took a step away from the door; the light remained where it was. She took two steps; it didn’t move. “Severn?”
He was watching.
“Do you think this is my room?”
“The door opened for me.”
“Yes, but…” She pointed at the light. “Maybe the built-in guide won’t work for me because I didn’t bleed on the tree.”
“It was working earlier.”
“Yes, but—” She glanced into the chamber beyond the now-open door. What she’d assumed would be a single innlike room was not. Or if it was, people were expected to sleep on the floor or the low, long chairs. There was no desk, but there was a flat table; in all, it reminded her of the room in which Nightshade entertained visitors. The walls were a pale blue; the floors, a dark-grained wood. In the center of the room, a small tree stood; it looked like a sapling, but Kaylin didn’t know enough about trees to name a species. “If I’m not supposed to be here, will something bad happen if I step across the threshold?”
“Not immediately.”
“What happens eventually?”
“You’ll find the room either too hot or too cold; you’ll find everything slightly off. If you remain in the room, you’ll begin to notice unpleasant, small details.”
“Such as?”
“An excess of insects. Spiders, small beetles.”
“Cockroaches?”
“In your case, probably.”
“None of those are likely to kill me.”
He laughed. “No. Me, either. But the air gets stuffy, and if you can’t or won’t take a hint, it becomes absent. It’s not unlike being buried alive, but without the dirt.” He walked farther into the room, and as he did, Kaylin noticed a recessed arch along the right wall—a wall that, in theory, led back into the hall they’d emerged from.
She hesitated. The small dragon flew up to her shoulder and gently bit her chin. She took this as a hint and stepped into the room, waiting for the room to react. While she waited, she genially cursed the Barrani. She couldn’t imagine any other race coming up with something so subtly unfriendly.
But it wasn’t too hot or too cold, and the air in the room was light and pleasant. “Do all the rooms have trees growing out of the floor?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen all the rooms.” Severn reappeared. “There’s a bath here. The bedroom’s on the other side of the bath.”
“You realize that the bath should be in the middle of the hall, right?”
“In a normal inn, yes.”
“And the bedroom would be across the hall?”
He nodded. “It’s not that different from Castle Nightshade.”
She grimaced. “Thanks.” After another awkward pause, she said, “Do you think they normally put two people in the same room?”
“I don’t know. It’s the first time it’s happened to me, but there’s no complaint department here. I believe you can leave and spend the night in the carriage if you want.”
“What do you mean, ‘believe’?”
“I’ve never tried.”
“This whole setup didn’t bother you the first time you had to stay in a way station?”
“I slept with a knife under my pillow, if that helps. And I didn’t sleep much.”
Fair enough. She entered the room that Severn had said contained a bath. It was very much like the baths in the High Halls—not as large but just as ostentatious. On the other hand, there were towels, rather than attendants.
“Kaylin—”
She shook her head. “It’s not as if you don’t randomly show up in my apartment from time to time. I don’t need to have a room of my own. Not,” she added quickly, thinking of Bellusdeo, “while I’m on the road.” She knelt by the side of the large, shallow pool and plunged a hand into the water. It was warm. It was, in fact, on the edge of almost too hot. Barrani baths weren’t actually about being clean, though. And the hot water reminded her that her legs hurt, in large part because she’d been left in what she hoped was a perfect kneel for far too damn long.
“Bath first,” Severn told her quietly.
* * *
The small dragon sat on her shoulder while she lounged in the water, letting her hair float around her like dark kelp. He appeared to be cleaning his tail, and reminded Kaylin very much of a hairless, translucent cat.
“Why are you here, anyway?” she asked when he b
rought his nose to her cheek and started rubbing. She lifted a hand and began to scratch his nose, wondering idly if magical creatures were capable of feeling itchy. This one certainly didn’t appear to need food, which meant the rest of the caretaking duties usually associated with pets weren’t an issue, either. He did seem to enjoy being scratched and rubbed, though. And he didn’t answer the question, although he lifted his head and craned his neck toward what she assumed was the bedroom.
“Does it have two beds?” she asked.
The small dragon tilted its head in her direction.
“I’ll take it that’s a no.”
Chapter 13
There were bathrobes in the bathing room. Kaylin wasn’t surprised when one of them fit her perfectly, although she did find it creepy.
Then again, she found Barrani homes creepy. It never looked as though anyone actually lived in them. Caitlin’s home was much neater and tidier than Kaylin’s, but there were things in it. Small paintings, several scarves—all gifts—an assortment of small boxes. Just…things. She reminded herself that this was the equivalent of a roadside inn, which wasn’t meant to be a home. But the room would have fit right in at Castle Nightshade. The Barrani didn’t form sentimental attachments to things. They barely, as far as Kaylin could tell, formed sentimental attachments to other people.
Severn, seeing that she hadn’t fallen asleep and drowned, left the room to take a bath.
Kaylin did what she often did when she was in a strange room on her own: she paced. She observed. The room was large. The walls, rather than being flat, curved on a gentle slope to form the ceiling. The floors were of bare, pale wood. There was an armoire that seemed to conform to the curve of the walls, but when she opened it, it was both empty and far too deep; there was a table, not a desk, that held one low bowl of water in which three flowers floated. Severn had stowed his pack to one side of the bed and his clothing on top of it; his bedroll and blankets were set to one side, again on the floor. Clearly he didn’t trust the armoire.
Or maybe he liked a little bit of mess, as well. Her clothing was heaped in a pile in the room that contained the bath.
She checked the marks on her arms—they were a nascent coal-gray—and checked her bracer. The gems were flat and lifeless. The small dragon chewed strands of her hair, content to perch and make small animal noises while she walked.
She turned her attention to the bed. As beds went, it was round. Round was not the normal shape for a bed in any room Kaylin had ever seen. Kneeling by its side, she lifted the sheets and looked beneath it; there were more than the usual number of legs, some of them in the center of what she assumed was a frame that supported slats.
When she rose, she sat heavily on the left side of the bed. “Ten years ago, this wouldn’t have been a problem,” she told the dragon.
“It isn’t a problem now,” Severn said.
She froze and then swiveled slowly to look at him; he was wearing a bathrobe. His hair was wet in the messy, toweled-dry way; in the room’s light, his eyes looked darker. “I am not Barren.”
She flinched.
“I’m not Nightshade,” he continued. “I’m not a bored, self-indulgent noble. And I’m not a young Hawk whose jaw you could easily break.” He walked over to the right side of the bed and sat. He looked a lot more comfortable than she felt. “Nothing will happen tonight—nothing that you don’t start.”
She swallowed and turned to face him. “There’s too much light in here.”
Severn glanced toward the ceiling and whispered a single Barrani word. The lights began to dim. But they dimmed slowly, as if there was an invisible window that now opened onto sinking sun. He lay back on top of the covers, while she crawled under them and pulled them up to her chin. They were large and heavy, and they hid her toes. She hated having her toes stick out.
“There are no monsters under the bed,” he said, grinning.
“I know. I’m not a child.”
“You checked.” It wasn’t a question.
Since it was true, she rearranged her pillows. “Do you think the Consort is ever going to speak to me again?”
Severn accepted the change of subject. “Yes.”
“Without blue eyes?”
“Yes.”
“Soon?”
“No. I think she was reluctantly impressed tonight, if that helps.”
It shouldn’t have, but it did. She fell silent for a long moment. “I’m not good at starting things.”
“I know. And I’m not good at waiting.”
“You waited for seven years.”
“Yes. I don’t really want to wait out another seven, but I can. It’s not the waiting that’s hard.”
“No?”
“It’s the not doing. It’s knowing that you’re here and I can’t safely touch you if I ever want to touch you again. It’s knowing that Barren’s dead, and I can’t kill him.”
“Morse needed to kill him.”
“And you didn’t?”
She closed her eyes. “Not as badly as Morse did. I saw him die. That was almost enough.”
“But he’s there, between us.”
“Yes.” She swallowed. “It’s not just Barren.”
“No. If I can ask one thing of you tonight, please don’t mention their names.”
She nodded and then said, “Yes. I mean, you can ask, and I won’t.”
Night continued to fall in the room, the shadows shifting from gray to indigo. Kaylin listened to Severn’s breathing and forced hers to match his, until they sounded like one person. One person and small dragon, who curled up against the top of her head.
“Don’t you ever get tired of it? The waiting?”
“Not yet.”
“Will you?”
“What do you think?” He shifted position in the bed; she felt the tug of covers as he slid beneath them. “Is that what you want?”
“…No.”
“Then don’t ask again. I didn’t waver when you tried to kill me the first time, in the Hawklord’s Tower. I didn’t give up when you tried to kill me in the Foundling Hall. But enough time has passed, Kaylin.” He shifted again and whispered a different name. “Elianne.”
“You almost never call me by my name.”
“I call you by the name you chose. What you’re called doesn’t change what you mean to me. I don’t know if we’ll ever get past what I did. I want to try. If you know it’s impossible, tell me. I’ll deal with it.”
She wanted to say something, but all the words were messed-up, wrong words.
“But don’t give me your version of pity, either. I don’t want it, and I don’t need it. I made a life that has space for you in it, but it’s still my life.”
She slid onto her side, facing Severn’s profile; it was now night-dark in the room. She wanted a breeze, an open window—her own window, warped shutters and all. She could see his profile clearly; the line of his nose, his lips, his chin; she could hear his deep and even breathing.
“Are you sleeping?” she asked softly.
“…No.”
“Can I?”
He turned to face her. “Yes. If you want, I’ll keep watch.”
“I don’t think anything’s going to attack us here.”
“Is that a no?”
It wasn’t. In the Winter, they had often slept in shifts in the fiefs, because in the Winter, finding some warmth could be a matter of life and death, and people who thought they could afford to be merciful were often corpses by morning. She didn’t know if Severn had slept well in Nightshade, but she had. Severn kept watch; he was there; he would wake her. There was something strangely comforting about her discomfort. She could feel his breath in the space between them—and there was space between them. And she thought she wouldn’t mind if there was less of it, because it was dark and she couldn’t see his expression. She could hear his voice, and she thought there was nothing in his voice, ever, that could remind her of Barren and her own self-loathing.
But she couldn’
t quite bring herself to bridge the gap, and she knew if she didn’t, it wouldn’t be bridged. She even thought she understood why. If something happened, it had to be because she was certain; something as feeble as “not minding”—tonight—wouldn’t cut it. “I’m afraid of change,” she whispered.
He didn’t answer. He lifted a hand and then, in silence, lowered it. She thought it trembled.
* * *
Kaylin was woken by her most familiar adversary: sunlight. She pulled covers over her head and reached for the shutters, because she could do that in her sleep, she’d done it so often. Unfortunately, there were no warped shutters, because, among other things, there was no window.
“Given the Consort’s reaction to your late arrival last night, are you certain you want a repeat?”
A cold bucket of water would have been less effective. Kaylin leapt out of bed in a panic that would have done Marcus proud. The small dragon made a sound between a squawk and a shriek, and she apologized—loudly—because she’d probably half flattened him in her rush.
She headed immediately toward the bath chamber, but didn’t manage to reach it because someone had moved the armoire. It was no longer nestled harmlessly against the far wall; it was practically jutting out of the arch through which the bath could still be seen.
“I officially don’t like Barrani way stations,” she said, coming to a halt. “Is it too much to hope that you moved the closet?”
“Stranger things have happened, but no, I didn’t. Nor did I ask that the armoire be moved.”
The closet’s door swung open. It creaked, which must have been deliberate, because it certainly hadn’t creaked that way when she’d opened it last night. Kaylin strongly disliked the idea of a sentient, moving closet. “Is this dangerous?” she asked as she approached the widening door.
“I think it unlikely, depending on your definition of danger.”
“Has this ever happened to you?”
“No.”
She noticed that he had his hands on his dagger hilts, but that he hadn’t gone as far as unwinding his weapon’s chain. She entered the closet, small dragon firmly attached to her shoulders. The door did not swing shut at her back. As she’d half expected by this point, the closet wasn’t empty. It contained one dress. The dress was an emerald-green, similar in color to the ones Teela often wore when at Court, with sleeves that appeared, on casual inspection, to be mostly holes.
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