Page 9 of Seven Ways to Kill a King
“Food and a room,” Cass answered.
A clatter and thud came at the back entrance, followed by a curse in a young boy’s tone. The waitress didn’t even glance over her shoulder. “That’ll be your bags, then. I’ll be sure to have them settled carefully into your room.”
The woman turned from the table and made a comment to another patron as Miri’s gaze slid over the room. The place was large and open, poorly lit for the late afternoon but stocked with candles and lanterns that would likely be burned come suppertime. They’d made good time, probably because of Miri’s insistence that they need not stop for regular breaks, and had beat the evening crowd. Cass had assured her the inn was not usually full, but Miri could tell the space had held its share of travelers. Empty tankards, stacked upside down and right-side up, lined the back bar. The tables were dark wood, thick, heavy planks stained with age and scarred from use. Chairs and stools scattered the space, and a large fireplace filled half of the back wall, charred marks crawling away from it toward the ceiling and across the floor.
“Someplace you’ve been often?” Miri asked.
“On occasion.”
Her gaze snapped to his at the evasion she heard behind the words.
He sighed. “I’ve been working for the harbormaster, on and off. Sometimes his business takes me north.”
He’d had a job. She kept forgetting that, losing the idea that the few who were left of the queensguard, like her, had to hide as well and pretend.
“It wasn’t that bad.” His voice was low, the words an apology, and Miri tried to clear her face of whatever it showed.
“Of course,” she said.Of course.
The waitress returned with two mugs and a carafe of water. “We’ve a spring out back,” she said. “Or, if you’d like, warm mead. At supper, the boys’ll be bringing in some brandy sharp enough to shave your face.”
Cass smiled at her. “Water for now. But maybe we’ll be down for a late dinner to partake in the brandy.”
The woman wiggled her eyebrows at Miri while wiping a hand on her apron. “It burns, but don’t I recommend it, though. Stuff’ll make you forget your manners and shout at the rafters.” The woman gave Miri a solid pat on her shoulder as she turned and whooped a call toward the ceiling. Somehow, it made Miri feel more at ease.
“Do you drink, Cass?”
His eyes moved to the barkeep, a barrel-chested man with gray streaking his beard. “Not when I’m working.” Cass leaned back, drawing his hands from the table as the waitress settled a platter of food on it.
“Thank you,” Miri offered, but the woman was already headed toward the muffled shouting in the back room. It sounded like a delivery of some sort.
Cass purposefully picked up his knife to spear a hunk of meat. “Eat, Bean,” he said.
The reminder immediately drew Miri back, and she settled her shoulders into the casual posture of a trader. It wasn’t difficult after a long day’s ride. They’d spent the previous night huddled against a low embankment. Cass had forgone a fire because of their proximity to the town, and though it was well past spring, Miri had felt the chill of the earth through her thin blanket. She’d slept fitfully most of her life, so that was nothing new, but she was certainly ready for rest in a real bed.
* * *
When they finally climbed thenarrow stairs to their room, Miri had the sinking feeling the inn was built more for drinking than for rest. Cass turned sideways to pass through the hallway, his palm resting against the handle of a blade at his hip. They ducked through the door into a room that was a few yards wide and held little more than a cot, a side table, and a wash basin. Miri stepped past Cass as he bolted the door, then she climbed onto the bed to peer out the small window into the darkening trees. A few figures shifted between the stable and the inn, and Miri made out the form of a tall, slender man in a dark cloak. She wondered if it was the queensguard who’d yanked her out of the barrel only days before and how many were left.Six? Ten?The kingsmen had been sniffing them out for years, rabid dogs in search of the last scraps of meat.
Miri turned to ask Cass whether her mother’s men had followed and if more were at watch, but Cass had drawn a cloak from their packs and was settling it onto the floor. Miri glanced beneath her at the muddy boots that stood in her bed, and her lips went tight. She was fairly certain the bed was only wide enough for one in any case, but when Cass lay flat on the uneven wood planks between the bed and the wall, she said, “You’ve slept far less than me. Take the bed for now, and we’ll switch later.”
He’d been staying up watching her. She knew full well that it had not been as safe in the woods as it felt.
Cass stared up at her, his expression disproportionately harried. He was in need of a good shave but otherwise did not appear to weather the outdoors as poorly as she did. His clothes did not look especially well made but were not as rumpled and stained as hers. She’d been a mess since she’d met him, and his mouth had been twisted into similar expressions nearly the entire time.
Miri squatted on the bed, coming closer to hear muffled words. Cass wasn’t preparing to sleep. He was eavesdropping. “What is it?” she whispered.
He frowned at her, and she closed her lips, sliding farther down to lie on her stomach, her hair spilling over the side of the bed. The mattress smelled faintly of hay and sweat beneath a hefty dose of lavender. Miri pressed her chin into her shirt, lifting the material to cover her nose.
Cass snorted quietly. Their faces were close as they both listened to the voices rising from below.
“Sixteen strong, they was, sorcerers demanding blood for the kings.”
“No, I tell you, they took the miller’s daughter and three from the orphanage outside of Pirn.”
They were stealing women and children for blood rites to pay for the magic the kings spent like water from a spring. Blood was blood. It didn’t matter whether it came from a child or an elder, a woman or a man. The sorcerers chose by fetish, not need. There was only one person whose blood was stronger, and that was the queen. Her fate was tied to her people’s and to long-ago bindings.
Someone with a lower voice made mention of the kingsmen in Smithsport, but the sound was overtaken by the rattle of carriage wheels outside. Miri’s eyes met Cass’s in the dim light from the window. She wasn’t entirely certain how much danger they were truly in.
