“And you just thought you’d go on a multi-day journey on horseback and not tell anyone that?”
“I don’t need you to judge me.” I was too tired—I was already saying things I shouldn’t have been.
“Okay… no more commentary. Let’s just get you to the inn so you can rest.” There may have been a flicker of concern in his eyes, but their faint glow made it impossible to know.
Arnlow shone with lamplight that lined the streets. We made our way to the first of several stone buildings that sat on the edge.
Moss overtook the side of the inn and the sign that hung outside it.
“Does this charming place have a name?” It was a kind way to describe stonework that crumbled.
“Stonewall.” He didn’t look back at me.
“I can see why,” I muttered.
“Do you want me to help you down?” Fyn asked after he dismounted his horse.
I nodded, too tired to even move.
My muscles clenched even further when Fyn gripped my waist. I stumbled as my boot slid on a rock, knocking into him.
The heat from my cheeks must have left them flushed.
“Let’s get you inside.” His voice lowered as he grabbed hold of Merda and Ivy’s reins. “You can get settled, and then we can grab a bite to eat. They make an excellent stew.”
“Lord Fyn, may I take your horses to the stables?” A slender young fae boy asked.
“Thank you, Soshin.” Fyn passed the reins to him. “Your mother truly is putting you to work now.”
“Yes, my lord. I am old enough.” The boy peered up at me. “Who’s this, my lord?”
“A friend. We’re traveling the trade route,” Fyn said.
I had never heard him call me that. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
Fyn released the packs on the backs of our mares and swung them both onto his back. I gripped the satchel even tighter as he unstrapped my sword and clipped it into his belt.
The boy didn’t look back as he led the mares into the stables.
I followed Fyn up the stone pathway, wondering what his travels were like. He spoke little about them each time he returned.
Fyn reached for the door. Flecks of red paint fell from it as he pressed it back.
Conversation from the tavern flooded my ears the moment we walked into the slender hall. Fyn led the way until he stopped at an old oak desk. A fae female sat behind it, tidying the messy brown strands of hair that hung over her face.
There was no way of knowing how old she was. If I had learned anything in Nythrel, it was that their years of life made it impossible for me to guess. Someone with silverstrands could easily be fifty, and another with a youthful gleam could be upwards of one hundred.
“You didn’t tell me you were bringing company with you.” She tilted her head at Fyn. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen?—”
“Vina.” He tapped his fingers in a steady rhythm on the oak table.
“My lord, I don’t have any luxurious accommodations available.” She straightened metal frames that slid down the bridge of her nose. “Just a single room.”
Single.
Room.
“Fyn.” There had to be somewhere else we could go. Somewhere with two rooms.
