Page 110 of Ravenrose

Suspicious.

I open my mouth, my hand drifting subconsciously down to the hilt of my blade.

“We were robbed.”

My head turns to Rowan. Slowly.

“By raiders. And not long afterward, I fell into the river and, well…” she explains smoothly, all while looking the innkeeper right in the eyes. No hesitation. No stutter. “We would be so grateful for your hospitality. I’m just desperate for a place to dry off and sleep.”

My brow lifts. Fell? She’s so convincing. I might have even believed it myself had I not lived it.

The little liar even blushes.

The man’s expression softens instantly.

“Oh, you poor dears. I have one room left!” he says, already moving. “It’s all made up. Top of the stairs. I’ll have hot water brought up for a bath, and there’s still some stew left from dinner if you’re hungry.” He plucks the single remaining key from a line of hooks and hands it to me.

“Thank you.” I nod gratefully, taking the key and ushering Rowan up the tiny stairwell with a light hand on her lower back. At the top, I unlock the door, revealing a tiny but charming room. A fire’s already been lit, and the heat from it is a welcome greeting. The warm glow illuminates a tidy bed, a small wardrobe, and another wooden door that I presume leads to the bathing chamber.

I linger on the threshold. Rowan too. Both of us staring at the one bed. For a moment, neither of us moves.

The innkeeper’s voice drifts up from below; he’s barking orders to someone—likely the maid. They’ll be headed up soon with that hot water he mentioned. Not wanting to raise further suspicion, I quickly nudge Rowan forward, pushing her into the room before closing the door behind us.

She crosses her arms, leveling me with a glare. Don’t touch me, I read in her eyes.

I don’t bother reacting. The situation is less than ideal, but it beats camping outside, soaking wet in the middle of a rainstorm. We can both survive this little… inconvenience for one night.

A minute later, there’s a knock at the door. It’s the maid arriving with hot water for the bath, followed closely by the innkeeper—Hari, as he introduced himself—who sets down a tray of food. There’s steaming stew, fresh bread, and two cups of tea.

I’m holding the door open for them to leave, but Hari hesitates, hands on his hips as he studies Rowan again. I watch them closely. “My dear, that dress has seen better days.”

He’s got a point… Her dress is in a state, soaked and stained from days on the road, and torn beyond repair.

Rowan flushes scarlet, but before she can protest, Hari is already waving the maid back toward the door. “Jenna! Find something warm for the poor girl to wear.”

She scurries off without question, returning a few minutes later carrying a folded bundle.

“My daughter’s,” she murmurs quietly to Rowan, slipping them into her hands. “She’s outgrown them, so they won’t be missed.”

Rowan takes the bundle from the woman. “Thank you.”

Before she can say more, Hari and Jenna take their leave, but not before wishing us a good evening. “Breakfast will be served in the dining room after sunrise. If you need anything else, just shout.”

Once the door closes behind them, silence settles over the room again.

I start toward the food, my hunger already ravenous. Without a word, I hand the first bowl and loaf of bread to Rowan before practically inhaling my own. It’s hearty, chock-full of meat, potatoes, and carrots. I haven’t eaten this well in days.

She too eats quickly. Once she’s done, I nod toward the washroom. “Ladies first.”

She doesn’t argue, almost eager to get away from me. She slips into the washroom; a second later I hear the click of the bolt sliding into place. My mouth twitches.

I sigh, stripping off my armour and leathers. My shirt peels away from my skin, still soaked. I lay it all out to dry by the fire.

The faint sounds of water sloshing—and Rowan in it—permeate through the washroom door. Inhaling deeply, I focus my attention on cleaning any remaining river muck off my blades before arranging them atop the table, taking only my knife with me over to the bed.

I don’t have to worry about the weapons with Rowan. As much as I’m sure she’s tried, she’s not getting past that rune on her wrist. There are only two ways to remove it: if I myself remove it, in the same way I put it on, or by my death—which, because of the nature of the rune, can’t be by Rowan’s hand.

She’s been in the washroom a long while now. I stare at the door, listening to see if I can make out any sound, but all I hear is silence. Lightly, I pace the room, glancing every now and again at the washroom door when I still don’t hear a sound. The silence stretches so long that I’m nearly convinced she’s fallen asleep in the tub.