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“Where did you say we were heading?” she asked. Few people looked at her, but the sooner she had a chance to sew herself a proper tunic, the better.
He did not answer. Instead, he crossed the wide street toward a tall stone building. A hanging plaque declared it an inn.
“I thought we were going to your friend's house,” Thea said.
Gil adjusted his temporary hood before he opened the door and pointed inside. His silence was irritating, but perhaps there was a reason. She hadn't seen any guards, but that didn't mean they weren't there. Maybe the less said, the better.
“You're too late for breakfast,” a man called from across the sunny room. “And noon's not for a few hours yet.”
“But it's never too early for bed,” Gil replied.
The man swore and hurried out from behind the reception counter. “You made it. I didn't think—who's this?”
Thea drew back a step, but Gil shut the door firmly behind them so she couldn't escape.
“A complication.” His voice held none of the amicable nonchalance it had through the rest of their travels, but it wasn't threatening, either. Just flat.
The innkeeper swore again.
“Mind your tongue, Jaret. We are in a lady's presence.” Gil motioned toward her, as if she could have been missed. As if they hadn't just spoken of her.
The displeasure that twisted Jaret's mouth indicated he didn't appreciate the prompt. “Light scorch your chivalry, G—ah, does she...?” His eyes flicked to Thea's face.
She raised an eyebrow. “Gil has introduced himself.”
For an instant, Jaret looked surprised. Then his scowl grew deeper and his attention swept back to Gil. “You're a madman. You know you are. I never should have let you tangle me in this.”
“But you owed me, and after this, your debt will be repaid.” A broad smile cracked Gil's face. “Give us a room. We need rest, and my Threadmancer here has a task to complete.”
Jaret's brows shot halfway up his forehead. “A Threadmancer? You don't mean—”
“I do, and I would appreciate a room so we can complete the project in peace.”
Thea tried to offer a smile of her own, but it was tight, strained.
The innkeeper considered her for no more than a second, speculation thick in his dark eyes. “One?”
“Do not question me,” Gil said, the edge in his voice a harsh reminder of the way he'd spoken to Thea as they fled the palace. How had that contrast already become jarring?
Jaret made a noise that was either dismissal or disagreement, but he strode around them to lock the door and then jerked his head toward the back. “Come with me.”
They followed him to the stairwell nestled between the front room and a private dining area. Upstairs, most doors in the long hallway stood partway open. The innkeeper gestured for them to go ahead. “Pick one.”
Gil swept ahead, his boots strangely silent on the hardwood floor. He stopped halfway down the hall and slid into a room. “Thea.”
She twitched at her name and shuffled along behind him. The room he'd chosen was airy and bright, with a small table and a cozy-looking narrow bed. She eyed that for a long time.
“You may leave us,” Gil said to Jaret as he unwound the green fabric from his shoulders. He put down the sewing basket and draped the cloth across it. “I will be down to speak with you after we've had a chance to rest.”
“And when Samara's finest guards come knocking at my door?” Jaret asked flatly.
“Then you greet them with surprise and disbelief and answer them as honestly as you dare.” Gil smirked and shut the door in the man's face. The moment it was closed, he exhaled and seemed to deflate. For the first time since their escape began, he struck Thea as weary.
She glanced toward her basket of sewing supplies. “Should I—”
“You should rest. We cannot stay here more than a day. By the time the sun rises tomorrow, we must be moving again.” He plucked a dagger from its sheath at his waist and wedged its tip between the window and its sill, then closed the curtains.
Slowly, Thea sank onto the bed. It was worn, but as soft as her mattress back home. She willed herself not to think of the large bed she'd never sleep in again as she wiggled her feet out of her boots. Her socks were still wet, her toes shriveled. She peeled the woolen socks off her feet and draped them across the footboard of the bed.
