Harpen, Marcel’s courtier, a no-nonsense, middle-aged man whom I’ve never seen smile, comes over to where we wait with Marcel. “They are fully booked, Your Highness. With the exception of one room.” He looks back at the innkeeper and then leans in closer. “He is willing to force a few out of their rooms to free up space. That’s if Your Royal Highness would like to do that?”
Marcel thinks it over, taking too long to respond.
“Absolutely not,” I interject.
“And where do you suggest our men sleep?” Marcel whispers through his teeth.
“You want to remove commoners, some probably children, so that we have a place to sleep?” I’m astonished that he even considers it.
“That’s what it sounds like to me,” Deean adds unhelpfully. “I’m not surprised.”
“I saw a barn next door,” Esha interrupts before Marcel can kill Deean. “The princes can take the room and the rest of us can stay out there. There will be complaints, but it’s either in there or in the snow.”
Thank you, I mouth to Esha.
We are assured that our crew will be given food and spare bedding material to keep comfortable through the night. A few of them grumble, but Marcel offers them the carriages or outside to sleep if they want to complain. It shuts them up. At least the inn has a tavern on the lower level. I’m sure some will even sleep in there after a few rounds.
The innkeeper gives us our key and Esha and Harpen help us carry a few bags to the room. We climb up creaking stairs with loose planks—each could use another nail or two. Up two flights and down a long, dust-plagued hall, we come to room fourteen.
Harpen opens the door for us. A single window allows in dim light that is enough for me to make out the ten-feet by ten-feet room. The ceilings are short, and another two feet and my own six-feet, two-inch self would be scraping the top. There isn’t much inside but a bookshelf with torn and worn-down books that I don’t recognize. There is a small mantle with some nille stones for lighting a fire and next to that is a wardrobe that can only fit a few outfits. On the far wall, sitting in the center, the main focal point of it all is a large bed, the only one in the room.
Esha and Harpen take their leave and head back downstairs to the others.
“Dibs on the bed,” Deean says, tossing his stuff in a corner.
“You should be in the barn with the others.” Marcel moves over to a chair in the opposite corner. “There isn’t a hell’s chance that you are getting anywhere near that bed unless it’s on the floor next to it. If you want a warm bed to sleep in, go find a wench you can share with.”
Deean’s eyes turn to slits. “That’s not the worst idea you’ve had, albeit demeaning to those hard-working folks. Bet they wouldn’t have an issue sharing.”
“A prince and a sack of moinlings.” I pick up the books on the shelf. “I think it would be hard for them to turn down.” With not much to do in the room, I rummage through my bag and retrieve a few books along with notes I’ve been making. I know Benny is doing his part, but there is one person I have yet to have a conversation with. “I’ll be downstairs if anyone needs me.”
“Drinking already?” Deean perks up. “I’ll come with you.”
“Not drinking. Some of us actually came on this trip to work.”
“Perfect, we can do both.”
“Wait!” Marcel stops us before we can reach the door. “You two are working together?”
I look at Deean, and his eyes scream at me with desperation. He knows once the weather clears, Marcel will send him right back to Saden. He also knows that I might be the only one to save him.
Loosening the muscles in my jaw, I face Marcel who is still waiting for an answer. “Before Father ordered us to go to Haymel, I may have promised Deean he could go on my next voyage.”
“Why the hell would you do that?”
“He’s clever when he needs to be.” My defense isn’t so much in favor of Deean as it is in Marcel’s opinion of my decisions. “It’s one trip Marcel. It’s not going to hurt anyone. In Haymel he stays out of sight so the Queen isn’t suspicious, and once we are finished, he comes with me and is out of your way.”
“You both know I’m not some underage brother you have to pass around and take care of,” Deean interjects.
Marcel nods. “Yeah…we’ll see.”
“Pain in the ass,” Deean whispers and leads the way out of the room. Down the hall, he grabs one of my books. “So, who do we have to speak to?”
“I need to speak to Rolley.”
“Ah, yes. The man who claims his conveniently kidnapped great-grandfather is immortal. And why do we need to speak to him?”
“Again, I need to, not you.” I snatch back the book. “I have questions for him. Plus, he’s the only member of our crew who I don’t know very well, and thanks to your escapades he’s now aware all three Saden princes are about to cross into the land of our greatest rival. I need to be able to trust him.”
