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“You!”
The flames flickered, casting dancing shadows along the wall, as the lute player jumped lightly down to the floor.
He was an otherworldly vision. His hair a wild tangle of amber curls, his eyes a rich, liquid gold that sparkled like a fine ale. He was dressed for battle, clad in a coat of mail, silver links glistening overtop a thick, forest-green tunic. A quiver of red-tipped arrows hung at his back and he held a bow loosely in one hand. Rows of small knives were strapped across his chest. His sleeves had been rolled up to reveal strong forearms and sun-kissed skin. Snug trousers made of a sturdy green fabric emphasized the length of his lean legs, and were tucked into tall, black leather boots that came up to his knees.
As he crossed the room towards us he moved with a lithe, feline grace I had only seen before in one other man.
“You look as if you came prepared,” I said coolly, gesturing to his weapons.
“From what I glimpsed from the rooftop over there, you weren’t exactly defenseless yourself.” His lips curved slowly into a grin, and I felt a flush rise to my cheeks.
“Who is this?” Draven demanded. I turned to see he had pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Who are you?”
The lute player bowed with a flourish. “I’m the man who helped save your life.”
“Helped” was a nice touch. I still wasn’t quite sure what I had done. And neither was Draven, I realized. He had seen none of my displays. Perhaps that was for the best.
The wind blew a gust of smoke into our faces, reminding me of the precariousness of our situation.
“We need to get out of here,” I said between coughs.
“Name first,” Draven growled.
“Maybe you don’t care if you burn to death in a fire, but I do,” I snapped, then remembered the attackers’ bodies. I glanced across the room at where charred figures lay, hardly recognizable as human anymore. Would Draven notice them? Would he ask how they had gotten that way?
The lute player had followed my gaze. Now he spoke hastily. “Vesper. My name is Vesper.”
Was he trying to distract Draven? If so, I was grateful.
“That tells me nothing,” Draven complained.
“How quickly you’ve recovered your strength,” I observed, rolling my eyes. “You can interrogate him later. We’re leaving.”
I pushed myself to my feet. My legs wobbled beneath me. My arms felt like jelly, hanging limp by my side.
I had planned to help Draven rise. Now I stood there, trying not to keel over.
Vesper stepped up swiftly. “Allow me, if you will.” Grasping Draven’s arm with a fluid motion he pulled him up with surprising strength. Draven grumbled all the while, of course, protesting that he did not need any help at all.
“You do and you will,” I said shortly. “Stop wasting time. Let him help you and lets go.”
I unbolted our door and peered out into the hall. It was empty.
We hurried down the stairs, across the lobby, and were about to push open the doors of the inn when they opened before us. Laverna strode in.
She was wearing the same crimson gown but had done something to the skirt, tucking it between her legs and into her belt like a makeshift pair of trousers. Dark lace stockings rose from black shining mid-thigh boots. She carried two swords, one in each hand. There was blood on them.
“Your horses are still here,” she said, meeting my eyes. “I told you they would be.”
I gaped at her, longing to ask questions.
“Your inn is on fire.” My voice came out like the croak of a toad.
But Laverna only nodded. “I saw.”
Her eyes widened a little as they landed on Vesper standing to my side, his arm slung around Draven who had been remarkably silent as we made our way downstairs, evidently still too weak to protest as much as he desired.
“Are you going with them?” she asked Vesper.
