“I don’t mean to pry,” Arthur says carefully, “but are you all right with that?” He has an odd expression on his face. Beside him, Shae focuses intently on his stew.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Leth winces at the sharpness of his voice. He takes a slow breath and adjusts his tone. “Evain always does that. It’s how his magic works.”
Arthur glances over Leth’s shoulder, and Leth refuses to imagine what Evain is doing that makes Arthur frown like that. Then he can’t imagine anything anyway, because Arthur’s next words make Leth completely blank out: “I just thought you two were together.”
The tavern noise muffles beneath Leth’s shocked disbelief.
“We’re not,” Leth says when his brain revives. “Assuredly not. That would be ridiculous.” The serving boy appears at his elbow before Arthur can answer. Leth leans back to make room for the tray and fishes a couple coppers from his belt. “Thank you—could you get me a pint of your strongest, please?”
He doesn’t drink much. Another thing his ancestors disapprove of. But he could really use a beer right now—to chase the cold from his bones, and the idea of beingtogetherwith Evain from his head.
The three of them eat quietly until Leth’s beer appears. After he’s taken the first sip of the heavy stout, Shae looks up from across the table. “How long have you known Evain, anyway? Do you know him well?”
Leth takes a larger sip. “Almost two years. We only worked together. He joined Ronan before I did.” Too late, Leth remembers Arthur’s history with Ronan. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have…”
Arthur waves his hand. “It’s fine. Ronan and I have talked.”
“You call that talking?” Shae pushes his empty bowl aside. “You just stood next to him in the garden for half an hour and then clapped his shoulder.”
Leth chokes on his next gulp of beer.
Arthur laughs. “That was enough for now.” He sets his fork down too, making eye contact with Shae. After whatever silent communication they engage in, Shae stands up, and Arthur tells Leth, “Your room is number thirty-seven, by the way, on the third floor. Your key is—” He lays a few out on the table, checking the engravings, and slides the correct one over. “—this one.”
“Thanks,” Leth says.
Arthur pauses after standing. Another odd expression crosses his face. “About the rooms. When I rented them, I was under the impression—”
Shae yanks his sleeve. “Don’t be a hero.”
“Right,” Arthur says. He looks—guilty? “See you in the morning.”
Leth bids them farewell, baffled but too tired and uncomfortable to pay much mind to whatever Arthur wanted to say. Whatever’s wrong with the room, Leth is sure he can deal with it. He might have grown up in luxury, but he worked for the Riverswords too. He can sleep just about anywhere, if he has to.
His damp clothes itch against his skin. Maybe he’ll order a bath, if the inn offers it.
Familiar laughter rings behind him, and Leth can’t help turning around. Evain is perched on the arm of his chair now, one leg crossed over the other. The handsome farmer is gone, and Evain accepts a fresh tankard from a big, broad-shouldered mercenary instead. Evain brushes his hair back behind his ear. A clearly calculated move, Leth thinks darkly, showing off the long lines of his fingers, his strong wrist—
Evain’s eyes widen. He starts looking around the room, and Leth turns before they can make eye contact. Irritation prickling under his skin, Leth flags down the serving boy to order another beer.
***
Two hours and too many beers later, Leth fumbles with the lock of room thirty-seven. Muffled rain drums the roof above. The key doesn’t fit on his first few attempts; Leth’s still floating on the bubbles of his last tankard. Probably a bad idea—but he doesn’t feel cold anymore.
The door swings open, and humid air washes over Leth’s face.
Wait, why is the light on?
A shadow moves behind a translucent screen at the far end of the room. Dropping his bag and coat, Leth touches his sword hilt just as a familiar, sultry voice calls out.
“I thought I only ordered a bath tonight, not company.” Evain steps out from behind the bathing screen, clad only in a towel around his hips. “But I don’t mind if—Leth?”
Rain patters on the windowpane outside. Inside, Evain’s wet hair is a dark river to his waist. Water clings to every curve of muscle, steam gilding his chest and full droplets sliding down his neck and arms. What ranged mage needs an abdomen like that? Chiseled lines disappear beneath the precarious edge of the towel.
A gold and ruby barbell piercing gleams in his left nipple.
“Like my catalyst?” Evain touches the piercing.
No wonder Leth never sees Evain touching a focus object when he casts magic. Averting his gaze, Leth clutches his sword hilt like a security blanket and addresses the floorboards. “What are you doing in my room?”
