Page 58 of Deadly Maiden

That is a limitation. I’m not sure where Rorsyd is aiming to go next, but three days is not much time.

Chapter 16

Wyntre

After Rorsyd pays Hunder, we leave before the next client arrives.

“That limit on the crystals—” I dodge a cart then finish the sentence. “We need a way to add more etharum.”

“We do. It is a problem. To stretch it out, we take them off at night and whenever alone or under cover.”

“Yes, and I have an idea I could try.” Though I fear destroying a crystal if it goes wrong.

“What is it?” He ducks his head to hear my words more privately.

“Later. In the box with the letter is a weapon that uses a warnite crystal containing a type of etharum called gheist.”

Gheist is also called getharum. That’s an older word for it that Landos told me, so it has to be closely related to etharum?

With a nod, Rorsyd agrees.

On exploring the streets, we find an inn toward Venin’s center. I’m impatient. Ineedto hear Rorsyd’s explanation about his eyes.

The inn is small and crammed between a barber and a shoe shop. It’s rundown and the walls have mold, but I simply do not care. After we give the innkeeper woman a payment on the room, we tramp upstairs, still wearing our new disguises.

The pendants seem obvious. Yet no one has looked at us as if we are anything new or unusual.

I appraise Rorsyd as I sneak past him, sideways, in the narrow hallway of our room while he holds the door open. I poke him and feel the usual ungiving rocklike muscle, am tempted to poke him lower but I don’t. Nothing seems off to my eye.

Nothing looks abnormal.

I pull off my boots, then back away with my head cocked. He has closed the door, and locks it before he follows, slowly.

“What?” Rorsyd opens his palms, clearly puzzled.

“Hunder is right. You are a masterpiece of ordinary. A tradesman. A lowly worker. A man who digs or hunts or grows food for a living. The eye just seems to slide right off you.”

“Does it now? Come here my peasant-girl wench.”

“Oy! Wench?” I pretend to be revolted by the word as he grabs my hand and pulls me toward our window area.

By the left wall is a double bed, middle of the room holds a table with two chairs. And then there is this scruffy red love seat facing the window. It reclines, basted by afternoon light, with its studs and stitching coming undone along the back. Rorsyd navigates around the right-hand end and sits.

Leastways, I assume it is a love seat? Half of it has a high back while the rest swoops lower, and it’s upholstered in slightly fancy red leather. I sincerely pray nothing dirty has been done on this seat.

The walls though, the stained ochre walls snicker at me. They pretty much tell me I am wrong.

“My lap for you, wench.” He pats his thigh.

Gingerly, I sit on said lap. “Tell me, about them.”

“Them. My eyes?”

I nod. “Wait.” I remove the medallion from my neck then slip his off. I go to the table and carefully lay them out, before I return to sit on him again. I squirm a little. Yes, his bulge is definitely bulging. I try not to look intrigued. Serious matters are in play. “Tell me.”

He parts his mouth but says nothing. His throat bobs. Embers flare and drift in his eyes. I missed them. I really,reallymissed those flickering bonfires.

Is my dragonshifter lost for words?

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