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The notion of the two men arguing over plans and possibilities made Thea snort. “I don't know if Gil's that talkative.”
The maid cast her a curious look. “Is that so?”
Something about the woman's tone was off. Thea didn't know what or how, but it left her unsettled. “Perhaps with the prince, he would be. They do seem to be good friends.” Despite Gil's assertion that he had none. He'd refuted her suggestion he might, as he'd refuted her insistence he was an assassin. Before, she'd thought he was just being difficult. Now, she couldn't help wondering how much of what he'd said had been subtle misdirection.
Misdirection she'd clearly fallen for.
“Here we are,” the maid announced as she opened a door and chilly nighttime air flowed in. It was cold enough to make Thea shudder, but once they started scrubbing, the cool air would be a comfort and a relief.
Just outside the back of the house, there was a stone-walled well and a small cobblestone-paved workspace. A washtub sat upside down beside the well, and the well's bucket sat on the ground beside it. The maid lit a lantern, turned over the tub, and dropped the bucket down the well. It hit the water with a smack a second or two later.
“The washing bat's over there, leaned up against the wall,” the maid said.
Thea retrieved it as the other woman filled the tub with enough water to suit their needs. They dropped the clothing into the tub and took turns pummeling the dirt loose, though Thea took more care with the dress. That, she scrubbed between her hands, working the fabric against itself. She hadn't touched the skirt again since she'd climbed from the river with Gil's help, a part of their travels that now seemed long ago.
“Goodness, look at the dust,” the maid exclaimed. Even in the dark of night, the cloudy swirls of dirt that filled the water were obvious.
“Now you see why I wanted to wash things,” Thea said with a laugh. “We hardly stopped. Just long enough for me to sew travel clothes. My dress wasn't well-suited to the task.” She fingered the tattered edge of the skirt, wistful.
“Well, if you're half as good a seamstress as it sounds like you are, you'll have it fixed up in no time.” The maid nodded to herself, then pointed to a rope line. “Here, let's rinse and string them up. I'll check in the morning and if they're dry, I'll bring them up with your breakfast.”
Thea wrung as much water from the garments as she could. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”
“Always happy to help, milady. Sometimes folks hardly know how much they need it, but it's always nice when one sees the truth of things.” A bit of a spark lit the woman's eyes.
“I haven't asked your name yet,” Thea said.
“Oh, begging your pardon, milady. I'm Inaley, though most visitors just call me Ina. You're welcome to use either, of course. Are you ready to head back to your quarters? I'd be happy to take you, milady.”
“Thea, if you please.” She'd like that better; she was no one here, closer to the maid's social station than that of the men inside. Or, that of the prince, at least. Surely Gil's position as the crown's assassin had given him some sort of rank, but Thea grudgingly admitted she didn't know that, either.
“Of course.” Ina grinned at her, then tilted her head toward the door. “Let me stop by the kitchen to get some coals from Cook's fire. We'll warm your bed right up.”
Warm blankets sounded heavenly. “Thank you.” Thea savored the idea as she finished spreading the wet clothing across the lines. She didn't want to dry her hands on her dress, so she shook them and rubbed her chilled hands together until they were no longer dripping.
Minutes dragged by and Ina did not return. Had she gone ahead to the room? Thea hadn't realized she was meant to follow. She crept back through the doorway by which the maid had led her out, but the hall was dark, and she heard nothing. No rattle from the cook in the kitchen, and no whispering footsteps from the maid.
Thea retraced her steps through the hallways and up the stairs. The lights in her room were lit, though Ina wasn't there. Farther down, light spilled from another door, open little more than a crack. Voices spilled along with it. Wary, Thea paced closer.
“I've done everything you asked, but I won't do this.” That was Rilion; there was heat in his voice that hadn't been there before.
Gil's followed, but it was low, dangerous, again the voice of the assassin who had spirited her out of Samara and into the wilderness. “Then everything you've done has been fruitless. I will not be deterred. Not now, not when I am so close. I will continue to Angroth, with or without you.”
Angroth. The country lay to the north, just beyond the northern ridge of mountains that framed Ranor. Was that where Gil's destination lay?
“You'vebeento Angroth,” Rilion snapped. “You've been to Lyrangroth, to Vahar, to Helmsor, to Havrek. When does it end, Gaius?”
The name hit her like a thousand pound weight. Thea's stomach lurched and her stomach constricted.
No.
“It ends when he's dead,” Gil said. “Or when I am.”
No.
“Then you'll die alone.”
Shadows breaking across the light warned her of movement, but her feet were leaden and she could not make herself move.
