Page 94 of The Endless War

The people appeared primarily Valcottan, possessed of dark hair and skin of various hues of brown, men and women both dressed in the baggy trousers and loose shirts he’d seen in Nerastis, though there were individuals from other nations as well. Maridrinians sat on the stained cushions used in lieu of chairs, and he heard the accents of Harendell and Amarid, though never together. “Looks like I’ll fit in just fine.”

“Only if you keep silent.” Zarrah approached the bar. “We need two rooms,” she said to a woman filling a glass with foaming ale.

“Full up,” the woman announced. “Not a room to be had in all of Arakis. Got four to a bed. Try one of the camps outside of the city.”

“Why is the city so full?”

The bartender paused in her pouring, giving Zarrah an appraising once-over. “Because of the raids. Whole villages burned to the ground, so people have come to the city for shelter.”

“Burned by whom?” Zarrah demanded, but the woman only shrugged, looking away.

She was afraid.

Keris had seen such a reaction countless times before in Maridrina. People afraid to speak out about violence because the instigator was the one who wore the crown. It was Petra’s soldiers who were doing the burning, likely on the whispers of rats selling out those who dared to stand against her.

“I see,” Zarrah answered, and though her face was unmoved, the tension in her shoulders revealed that she saw as clearly as he did. “I’ll pay double.”

The bartender shouted, “Anyone wanting to sell their room for double the price you paid me?”

Keris winced at having so much attention drawn to them, but no one even looked up. “Triple?” the bartender shouted, smirking at Zarrah, who had made no such offer.

“I’ll sell you my room,” a greasy man with red hair said. “Three silvers for the night, and I’ll keep myself warm with the ladies at the Minx till sun-up.”

Zarrah’s eyes shifted to the bartender, who nodded. “He’s got the attic. No hearth, no bed, no blankets, but it’s out of the snow.” Right at that moment, a gust of wind carrying flakes of white followed the latest patron through the door. “I’ll send up a bucket of hot water so that you can wash away the pinch of paying so much for so little.”

“Fine,” Zarrah answered. “Boiling water, as well as food and drink.”

The bartender snorted. “He didn’t pay for such.”

Shaking her head, Zarrah fished a few coppers out of her pocket and handed them over, then turned to the greasy man. “Key.”

The man drained his ale cup, then held out his hand, and Zarrah grudgingly handed over the silver.

“Enjoy,” the greasy man said, handing her a key. “I’ll put your coin to good use.”

Zarrah didn’t answer, only headed toward the stairs. They climbed in silence, and for Keris’s part, it was because he was out of breath, hisshoulder throbbing in time with his rapidly pounding heart. As they reached the top floor, it was to find a footstool against one wall and a trapdoor in the ceiling.

Dragging over the stool, Zarrah stood on her tiptoes to unlock the trapdoor, the fabric of her trousers stretching tight against her bottom as she reached. Keris forced himself to look away, knowing his thoughts should be on how he was going to climb into the attic.

Lowering the trapdoor, Zarrah grasped the edges of the opening, but then paused. “Do you need me to lift you?”

Humiliation turned his cheeks hot, but he was spared having to answer as the bartender appeared, carrying a heavy bucket of steaming water. She set it on the ground, then said, “There’s a ladder up there, if you need it. One of the girls will be up with your food.” Without another word, she departed.

Zarrah silently climbed through the trapdoor. A moment later, a ladder descended. “You might regret every life choice when you see what our silver purchased for the night,” she said as she climbed down to retrieve the bucket of steaming water. “Looks like we’ll be sharing with a family of rats.”

Sighing, Keris hefted his bag over his shoulder and climbed the ladder.

The bartender had not been lying, for there was no bed, no washstand, not even a mattress on the floor. Which wasn’t surprising, given the ceiling was so low he’d be risking hitting his head while on his knees.

The only light was from the setting sun, and it was partially blocked by the filth on the glass of the small window. A draft of icy cold moaned around its ill-fitting frame. Pulling up the ladder, he set it aside, what warmth he’d gained in the common room rapidly fading.

“Ay!” a girl’s voice filtered up from below. “Come get your food.”

Zarrah lay on her stomach, reaching down. “Give it here, then.” Though he had no business doing so, Keris found his gaze drifting over the length of her body.

Don’t,he chastised himself.Banish the thought from your skull.

He’d have had an easier time stopping his heart from beatingor his lungs from filling with air than quelling his desire for her, but thankfully, Zarrah rescued him from his weak will by sitting upright, tray balanced on her lap. Setting it aside, she frowned at the trap. “I don’t trust that lock. Give me your belt.”

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