Freya’s grin widens. “Both.”
Evain laughs. He’s always admired ambition. “They’re all yours, if you can catch them.”
Movement catches his attention ahead, and Evain looks up to see Leth twisting around in the saddle, looking back. Their eyes meet.
Then Daziroth takes advantage of Evain’s distraction and lunges towards the side of the road. Evain swears loudly, while Freya laughs even louder. By the time Evain wrestles Daziroth into obedience again, all he sees up ahead is Leth’s back, straight and unyielding as a sword.
***
The storm crashes into them an hour from town. At the first few raindrops, the entire party breaks into a trot without discussion beyond Marta’s colorful swearing. Evain tips his head back, enjoying the icy rain. Not quite cold enough for snow, but bone-chilling. Refreshing.
They don’t have rain like this where he comes from.
Then the clouds shatter and unleash the rest of the storm. Evain’s coat keeps the worst of it away, but the cold pounds against his shoulders. He exerts the faintest hint of demonic power to protect himself from the worst of it. By the flashes of pearl and gold light ahead, the rest of the party is casting weather charms too. Radiant Vara’s heat and Cold Sephine’s reflection. Everyone except—Evain doesn’t sense any magic from Leth. He rides up as Leth tugs his hood up over his head.
“Did you forget to braid a weather charm into your pretty hair?”
Leth’s mare pays no heed to Daziroth’s wagging ears, and Leth doesn’t look up at Evain’s question. The black hood hides his eyes.
“I could help,” Evain says. “Just sit still, and let me—”
“Don’t.” Leth nudges his mare another foot away. “I don’t need your demon magic to deal with a bit of rain.”
Evain grits his teeth. “Suit yourself.” He kicks Daziroth forward, taking the lead. The demon horse’s great hooves splash across the road, and Evain pulls his hood over his head to keep his eyes clear.
Leth’s distaste shouldn’t bother him as much as it does. Evain is used to getting side-eyed, even when people believe he’s human. Many cultures he’s dabbled in hold suspicion towards demon-bound mages. The Charaini save most of their distrust for necromancers, for historically understandable reasons, but certain pockets of society still prefer not to associate with anyone with a demon contract.
Strangely, Leth doesn’t seem to hate Shae nearly as much as he hates Evain, and Evain hasn’t the faintest clue why. Logic and custom should surely dictate that he give the necromancer a far wider berth.
Humans can be so peculiar. Evain should be used to that by now.
***
They’re all soaked by the time they reach town. None of them are weather-witches, and their charms can only do so much against rain whipping from every direction. Evain’s shoulders are heavy with the constant downpour, and cold droplets slide past his hood, along his jaw, down the back of his neck. He would kill for a hot bath—literally, if he had to.
“If the inn is full, I’m taking drastic measures,” he mutters darkly.
Daziroth is the only one close enough to hear him through the rain. The horse ignores him, his own ears tucked back against the wet. His luxurious mane plastered against his neck, he gives off an air of feeling betrayed by the mortal world.
The Dancing Hog Inn is rather nicer than the hovels the Locksmiths used to board in. Judging by a glimpse through the windows, the tavern downstairs is bustling with travelers and locals avoiding the rain. The stables out back are spacious, and the stablehands very polite, though they have to shout over the rattle of water on the roof. They usher the party into the wide-open barn aisle instead of making them dismount in the drenched yard.
“Please tell me there are rooms available.” Evain dismounts. “Lie if you have to—I can afford to kick someone out.” He can always summon more gold, after all.
“No need for that,” says the stablehand who hurries towards him. The young woman has a crooked nose and easy smile. Evain feels a flush of desire from her as soon as they make eye contact. “Normally we’d make you rent the room before taking a stall, but with this weather, well. Let’s get this beautiful boy—whoa there!”
The young woman jumps a step back as Daziroth swings his head around. No flash of teeth, but the menacing aura is unmistakable.
“Daisy doesn’t bite.” Evain pats Daziroth’s neck in warning. “But if you can point me to a stall, I’ll put him away myself.”
Relieved, the stablehand points out everything Evain needs, then rushes off to help take care of Freya’s horse, who’s fussing at the clattering raindrops but looks much more manageable than Daziroth. The Sephinians’ matched bays and Arthur and Shae’s horses are perfectly calm. Evain can’t see Leth or his horse past the rest of the group.
Arthur walks over. “I can head inside to rent rooms for us. Looks like you’re a bit busy with this one.”
Evain wrangles Daziroth’s head away from the horse in the stall next door, where he’s trying to make friends again. “You’re a fair and just man, truly worthy of your contract.” The compliments flow easily from Evain’s lips. “That would be lovely.”
Shae catches up, carrying his saddle. “You’re leaving Duchess alone?” he asks Arthur. “Who are you, and what have you done with my paladin?”
Very few things make Evain feel like a voyeur. The way Arthur smiles atmy paladinis one for the list. Like a sunrise, like sugar, so sweet Evain’s teeth hurt. “I trust you to take care of her. Unless you want to go in and talk to the innkeeper instead?”
