Page 78 of Deadly Maiden

Wyntre leans in on her elbows. “A couple of people are looking. I thought we were supposed to be plain and unremarkable like this?”

“Yeah. I’ve no idea why. Just ignore them.”

Two men do seem to be watching us, but they soon return to their game of cards. I take note of them, just in case. One has intense eyes but scruffy, dirty-blond hair, while the other man is older, wrinkled, and sun-burned, with long black hair tied behind his head.

We order chicken, potatoes, greens, and beer, the right sort of beer. Rumpelskin Black, the beer that’s thicker than a sweater. We consume the food in silence, since we’re both starving after days on the road. Despite the place’s reputation, it boasts quality food.

It’s not until the plates are cleared that she tries the beer.

After an initial grimace and a gasp, Wyntre eyes the pewter tankard with skepticism then nods. “It’s…good. If lethal.”

I grin and raise mine, take a swig. Then I set it down and contemplate her with my hands wrapped about it. “No one is close enough to listen, so, what are our plans for Langordin?”

“If it’s safe to stay a while, I would like to visit those huge libraries. To find out more about my parents and other things? Such as why the war happened.”

I could tell her to ask me, but that’s a trap waiting to happen. “You think the books here will be more honest? More detailed than what you know already?”

She nods.

“Why?”

“I know it might not be so, but if I’m to choose where to go from here, I want to know…” She opens her hands, tilts her head. “Everything I can?”

“I don’t know if you’ll find much about Slaedorth…”

“I don’t want to go there, or live there, but if I can read something withoutbeingthere, you know? Plus necromancy…there has to be something? Those libraries look like they’re enormous.”

“They are. They’re ancient. Tens of thousands of books.” I drum my fingers on the cold pewter. “Although, in all my time alive, I can honestly say necromancers are as rare as dragonshifters.”

“Meaning unless one of them was keen on writing down his stuff, I may find little to nothing.Hmmm.”

“Yes.” I lean back in my chair, feel it shift and creak in protest. I pray the joints hold. “And we’re hoping to find this Kyvin. Yes? The man who has not wakened for twenty years. Which is a big clue saying he is und—” Wyntre kicks my boot and widens her eyes, twitches them left.

I turn my head to find our two watchers approaching.

They halt a few feet away. Up close, I can see the scruffy one’s blond hair is white at the tips. In one hand, he carries a satchel. He stretches his eyebrows upward, gives a flat, fast smile. “Hi there.”

We both nod. “Hi,” I add. “Something bothering you?”

“Neils, you keep an eye out while I talk.” Then he presumes on us and nabs a chair from the next-door table, pulls it over, sits. A spray of hair swings across his eye, and he leaves it there.

His friend—the older, gnarlier man, with misshapen hands that have seen heavy labor—he does similar with a chair but sits a little further along the wall. Since we’re in a corner, he has a good field of view of the rest of the room.

Are these enemies? Why us?

“We don’t know you,” I begin, making a quiet threat.

The blond comes closer, lays his hands flat on the table. “No, but we know something about you. It’s okay.” He lifts one palm, aiming to calm us. “No harm intended. The opposite, actually. We’re a group of let’s say, unhappy people, who have connections all through Orencia and Zardrake.”

“Orencia?” I enunciate that slowly. The man’s accent is from there.

“My name is Andacc. I’m pretty sure I know yours. The mage at the gate is one of ours. He provided a distraction so that Miss W here could get through.”

At theW, Wyntre sharpens her expression, purses her lips. She needs to learn to stay a little less obvious in her reactions. Imust teach her that. Surreptitiously, I extrude my claws, hiding them in my lap—it’s faster to use those than a sword.

“Go on.” She shoots me a glance. “I can vouch that I felt something back there.”

If they know who we are despite the disguises Hunder made us, these men are dangerous.

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