Ilain raised her chin. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” she asked smartly.
“You caught my discomfort,” he noted.
“I’m rather aware of your moods, yes.”
Ethenn didn’t know whether his wry grin was due to amusement or annoyance. “No,” he lied. “I’m not in trouble. I just didn’t like my life here and don’t care to reminisce with old acquaintances.”
“You’re hiding on the off chance they’ll show up?”
“I’d rather not tempt fate.”
Ilain chuckled and patted his arm. “All right, darling. You go up, and I’ll bring a meal up in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” Her brow lifted as she asked, “That is what you Estshire lot say, right?”
Ethenn chuckled at the familiar colloquialism. “You catch on quick.”
“I’m known for my wit, dearie.” She kissed his cheek, then gave him a shove. “Get going. The men are starting to stare at me, and they’ll notice you before too long, even if it is from jealousy. Then we’d defeat the whole point of you abandoning the party.”
Taking his key from Thom, Ethenn hurried up the stairs and out of the tavern’s main room. He ducked into their room and waited for Ilain to join him. When she came up, they enjoyed their meal—a hearty ale-braised lamb stew with peas and purple potatoes and a side of honeyed biscuits—and Ethenn began to enact his plan.
“I don’t think I’m feeling so well,” he said, rubbing his forehead, ensuring it was appropriately furrowed.
Ilain glanced up at him. “No? Do you think it’s the stew?”
Nervously, he chuckled. “Not that kind of unwell,” he replied. “I think I’m just tired.”
The faintest blush crept along Ilain’s cheeks as her gaze dropped to the dregs of her soup in the bottom of the bowl. “Is that your subtle way of telling me I’ve been keeping you up too late?” she asked, her tone somewhere between bashful and coquettish.
Ethenn massaged his temple, a faint smile coming to his lips. “You are a pleasant distraction from sleep,” he admitted. “But no, I think...” He paused, grimacing. “I think all this travel is just catching up to me. I feel...weak.”
Ilain eyed him, and he couldn’t tell whether her close inspection was from worry or suspicion. “Do you think you ought to lie down?” she asked, and now he could hear her concern.
After a labored sigh, Ethenn finally dropped his hand. “Probably...” he said reluctantly. “I don’t want you to feel as if you have to coddle me, though. You should spend the evening with everyone. I’m just going to turn in early, I think.”
Ilain reached across to take his hand. “Would you like me to ask for some tea? I always find an illus flower infusion the best cure for a headache.”
“No, I’d rather sleep,” he said, then pulled a face. “My mother used to make me drink that stuff whenever I showed the slightest sign of a cold, and now I’m permanently averse to it.”
While it wasn’t a lie, Ethenn felt guilty as Ilain’s expression showed genuine worry. “All right,” she said, rising. “I won’t stay up late, but I would like to spend more time with Vayden and Isla.”
Nodding, Ethenn encouraged her out the door carefully. She left, taking the empty stew bowls with her after a quick peck on his lips.
His mouth still tingling from the mild kiss, Ethenn shut the door. Then he turned and walked straight for the window. He unlatched the lock and pushed lightly on the panes to open it.The sun had set, leaving only the faintest glow on the horizon. With a single glance around the empty street, he proceeded to climb out.
The house sat on the hilltop, newly built in the last decade. Its stone edifice was far more luxurious than any of the other houses in Trollenston. Even the magistrate didn’t own such a home.
Ethenn climbed a nearby tree and hid, watching the building carefully. The house was still and quiet. Golden lamplight lit the windows. It appeared to be a quiet night in the household.
Finally catching sight of movement near the bedroom, Ethenn studied the shape that materialized. It was feminine in form.
He dropped from the tree, snuck across the lawn, and found the same ivy-covered trellis he’d already used once to break in. Then he hopped over the balcony rail, thinking what a useless construction the opulent overlook was in a place like Trollenston. The estate didn’t even look out over a proper garden.
With ease, Ethenn picked the lock on the door. He opened it a fraction, peering into the room.
Luxurious furnishings—a bed, a vanity, a wardrobe, and a settee—filled the bedroom. A plush rug covered the wooden floor. Velvet draperies and thick wallpaper gave the room a rich air. Trollenston didn’t have nobility, but the shrewd merchant empire of Bastien Muirren had made him wealthier than anyother man in Estshire. He was as close to nobility as the province would ever get.
A young woman sat at the vanity on the far left side of the room. Dark brown curls tumbled around her shoulders. A light green robe with embroidered pink flowers draped around her figure, hanging down haphazardly over the back of the stool. He could see her face reflected in the mirror. Soft brown skin like his, a rounded jawline, a pert nose, and deep brown eyes. She was even more beautiful than he remembered.
Silently, Ethenn stepped over the threshold. The movement caught the woman’s attention in the mirror, and her eyes darted to him. She did a double take, then gasped.
