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Riot takes the path to the left and in minutes we’re downstairs, gliding past the dining room and out the front door. A carriage pulled by twohorses waits for us at the landing. Riot shoves me inside and slams the door. He taps on the window and before I can get my bearings, we’re moving. I stumble forward and crawl to the bench seat.
The only reason I’m not cursing Riot’s name six ways from Sunday is because he chose to sit with the coachman, and I don’t feel like wasting my breath.
The carriage ride into the village is smooth. I draw the curtain, half-expecting people to point and look at us—excitement buzzing through the air of whom they may see from the palace in their shops today—but the streets are quiet. There isn’t a soul outside.
The inn is just as ghostly. My webs sense beating hearts but no one, not even the caretaker, is out. Riot turns the knob of my room and motions for me to stay behind him. I don’t tell him that it’s empty. I can’t explain how I know without revealing my magic. I wait in the hallway for him to signal that the room is free of threats, then follow him inside.
Compared to my room at the castle, this place is embarrassingly small. My new bathroom is almost twice this size. I’m not sure why I care. Riot isn’t paying attention to me or the lack of space around us. He draws the curtain with his finger and watches the empty streets.
I grab my backpack, Ezra’s pack, and Sage’s things. Even though she doesn’t have much, leaving her stuff behind feels like I’m abandoning her again. I wish I hadn’t listened to Bash and left the ballroom. If I’d gotten to Sage before the belladonna stopped her heart, I could have saved her.
Maybe.
I came into my magic the night of the fires. It took my bloodied, charred body and healed me from the inside out. It’s been doing the same, with each cut and bruise life hands me, ever since. I’ve never healed anyone else. Truthfully, I don’t know if I can, but I would have tried.
“Is this all you have?” Riot asks, taking in the two-and-a-half bags in my hands. “All the other ladies came with trunks of clothes.”
“Technically, only this one is mine.” I hold up a canvas backpack. “The duffle is Ezra’s, and the pillowcase is Sage’s bag.”
Riot huffs and snatches the backpack from my hand. He pulls out my clothes and stares at them, his lips pressed into a tight frown. He then dumps Sage’s bag beside it and then Ezra’s. All together there’s one set of men’s clothes, a pair of pants, three blouses, and two skirts.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He grabs the bed sheet and wraps all of our things in it, making one big sack to carry outside.“We need to get you some clothes.”
“Why? I’m not going to be chosen to be queen.”
“You’re right, but Bash will have my head if I leave you to the wolves with nothing more than a dress and a pair of pants.” He tosses the makeshift sack into the carriage and stalks down the street.
I chase after him. Riot heads for Jessup’s dress store and I refuse to go inside. “No, absolutely not!”
“Why?”
“Because the dressmaker is a jerk, and I don’t want to support him.” I cross my arms and glare. This is one hill I will die on. I hate Jessup’s style, but even if he had the most beautiful clothes in all of Arcane, I refuse to line the pockets of someone who beats a woman. I don’t have many morals, but the few I have are sound.
“Must you always be so difficult?”
“Yes.”
“You do realize that you’re expected to attend tea and eat crumpets and do all that bullshit princess crap, and every other girl is going to be dressed to the nines, right?”
“I don’t care. I’ll walk through the castle wearing nothing but underwear if I have to, but I refuse to wear something made by that man.”
Riot runs his hand over his face and sighs. “You are a giant wrench in an already fucked up plan.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He walks three stores down to an odds-and-ends shop with a day dress hanging in the window. “How’s about this store? Do you have a problem with its keeper?”
“Not yet.” I yank the door open, and a small overhead bell chimes. “But that could change if he's a jerk to me.”
Two hours later, I have four modest dresses that I don’t hate, a pair of pants, a couple of blouses, and some shoes. Riot insisted I change out of my pajamas but refused to let me wear the pants. I vehemently rejected a dress, simply because he wanted me to wear it. We settled on a skirt and one of the blouses because it was what I fought him on the least… and he agreed to buy me muffins if I changed. I made him feed me first.
“I’ll be damned,” Riot says when I step out of the lodge’s communal bathroom. “You almost look like a lady.”
“I'll take your backhanded insult as a compliment.” I wrap the silk sash around my waist and tie a bow at my back.
“Take it however you please. I’m not the one you need to convince.” The clock on the wall chimes noon and Riot curses under his breath.
“What’s wrong?”
