“Ah, Highlerd Hoult, I’s wanderin’ when yeh’d get back.”
Jarrad flipped the boy a coin and said, “Let’s keep my arrival to ourselves, eh, Coalum?”
“Aye, milerd!” Coalum quickly snuck the coin into his pocket while they dismounted.
Emmaas stepped forward, helping the boy gather the horses together with a kind greeting. Auden helped his sister down from her horse, then patted the Warrior on the shoulder to acknowledge that their steeds were clear to be taken away.
Deckard carefully assisted Evylin, their comrades blocking their action from the view of the street. His continued silence was surely due to the extended taxing of his magical reserves.Evylin remained close to him, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm to continue the sharing of her magical strength.
“This way,” Jarrad summoned, leading them around the corner to the entry of the establishment. Clay planters sat on either side of the door, bright white and yellow flowers welcoming them. A metal sign hung above them, announcing that they had arrived at the Crimson Clover Hotel.
“What’s ahotel?” Ethenn whispered to Rafferty, and Evylin leaned closer, curious as well.
“It’s a really big inn,” Rafferty explained, tone confident. “They’ve got ’em in Loclight too.” Though he’d grown up in a village just as small as Evylin and Ethenn’s, his work as an “entrepreneur” (in his case, a smuggler) provided him ample experience with individuals who had explored far more than the small settlements of Estshire.
Holding the door open, Jarrad ushered Isla in first; then, with a murmur of coaching from Deckard, Auden, Ilain, and Evylin entered while the rest of the group followed. The Crimson Clover was good to its name, the walls covered in deep red damask wallpaper and dark wood paneling wrapping around the lower half. In the foyer, a large fireplace crackled, two chairs and a sofa facing its warmth. A lantern-like chandelier dangled above their heads. To the far right of the room, a staircase twisted out of sight. And to the left, a reception counter awaited their arrival.
A man stood behind the tall wooden desk, head dipped over a book. Seeing his customers, he marked the page, shut it, and straightened his posture. His eyes shimmered brightly as he smiled. “Good day, Highlady Freye and Highlord Hoult,” he said. “A pleasure to have you in our walls once again. Who are your companions?”
At the front, Isla returned the clerk’s smile. “Good day, Maurus. These are our Ephrian friends.”
The clerk, Maurus, nodded. He was a pleasant-looking man, somewhere in his early fifties, should his soft wrinkles and silvering temples be any indication. Pale as most Wauldeners were, he bore a smattering of freckles all over his skin. “Wonderful. We’ve been expecting you,” he said cheerily.
Jarrad leaned against the polished high desk with lazy ease, gave his greeting to the man, and turned to Deckard. “You can drop the shroud now.”
With a relieved sigh, Deckard’s shoulders relaxed. The haze around Evylin and the Calders disappeared, yet the clerk showed no signs of surprise at their sudden appearance.
“Ah!” he exclaimed instead, eyes twinkling. “If it isn’t the Calders. Been a long time since I’ve entertained your family. Now, my rooms are filled with them.”
Ilain chortled merrily. “Auden, Isla, and I hardly constitute filling a hotel, Maurus.”
The man scratched his graying beard, lips lifted in amusement. “I suppose that’s true.”
“But then again,” a man’s voice called from the staircase. Tall and trim, he leaned against the railing with a regal air. Bright, clear blue eyes stared at them underneath golden brows. A well-kept blond beard graced the jaw of his narrow face.
Evylin’s heart lurched, and Deckard’s hand clamped onto her arm, drawing her behind him as Thom, Ethenn, and Rafferty gaped in shock.
They’d been betrayed.
Blount started down the carpeted stairs, a familiar wry grin on his lips. “You’ve forgotten to include me,” he said, his Waulden accent somehow less posh than Evylin remembered.
Deckard, Thom, and Ethenn went for their weapons, and Auden and Ilain rushed forward—but then Evylin realized it wasn’t to attack. No, the pair were laughing. They were excited.
Meeting at the stairs, Ilain crashed into the prince first, their arms going around one another. And that’s when Evylin understood.
Grabbing Deckard’s wrist, she halted him from drawing his sword. “Wait,” she instructed.
Pausing at her word, Deckard glanced from her and back to the Calders and Blount—who was not Blount. His posture remained tense even as he hesitated.
“Oh, firebrand, you smell fearsome,” the man was saying, laughing along with the woman. He pulled back and took her face in his hands. “How are you ever going to snag a man looking like a drowned rat?”
Ilain slapped his cheek playfully. “I’m doing just fine, thank you,” she retorted. “Believe it or not, I had two men fighting over me recently. Granted, it wasn’t as romantic as you might think.”
The man looked genuinely impressed. Then he turned and swept Auden into a rough, masculine embrace. “Auds,” he said, scanning him. “How many times have I told you? You look horrid with a beard.”
“What about you?” Auden said, gesturing to the man’s blond scruff. “Since when have you gone wilding?”
“It’s just temporary,” he defended. “I didn’t feel that your arrival warranted a shave. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” He pushed Auden and Ilain out of his way, those sharp blue eyes landing solely on Isla. He took a deep breath and stepped forward.
