Page 26 of At the Mercy of Midnight
“She takes after you, then?”
He smirked. “Only when you’re talking. Though at least Ember doesn’t try to murder me when I tighten her saddle.”
“She’s spirited,” Amelia said defensively, scratching Tempest’s neck.
“She’s evil,” Silas countered with a twitch of his lips. “She literally tried to kick me in the head yesterday when I walked behind her.”
“You shouldn’t have been standing there.”
“It was a campsite, Winslow,” Silas said with a shake of his head, “not a battlefield. She shouldn’t have been so restless.”
“The Rift is—”
The stable hand she had noticed approached them tentatively, as though unsure whether to interrupt them. “Uh…do you need me to take them? One silver per horse for one night.”
Amelia folded her arms. “I’ll take care of mine.”
Silas, apparently done with the argument, handed over Ember’s reins with one final pat. “Please take care of her.” He shot Amelia a smug look. “Unlike some people, I know how to delegate.”
The stable hand took the reins, glancing between them.
Amelia snorted and lead Tempest towards the hitching post. “Don’t come crying to me when they switch out your gelding for some half-starved mule.”
Silas sauntered beside her with a quiet grin. “As long as it’s not your horse, I think I’ll manage.”
The entrance was dimly lit, the hearth crackling with embers, casting long shadows against the aged wooden beams. The walls were busy, plastered with relics and runes, housing swords, weathered maps, and faded banners from travellers long since passed through. The air was thick with the smell of stew and cheap ale.
A chalkboard behind the counter listed the available rooms. As her eyes tracked across the chalkboard, she felt her willingness to stay in the lodge progressively lessen. Sections were crossed out, depicting either the rooms being occupied, or the rooms being deemed ‘uninhabitable’. She paused with caution.
What would make a room uninhabitable?
The innkeeper, an older woman, sat behind the wide counter, shifting coin from left to right. She didn’t look up as they stepped inside and approached.
Amelia turned to Silas with a frown, who seemed at ease despite her initial impression. “Well, looks like we have three solid options: ‘creaks while windy’, ‘lock doesn’t work’, or my personal favourite, ‘rot in thefloorboards’…”
Silas brushed at a patch of dust on his riding cloak before he finally looked up, glancing unflinchingly at the chalkboard. He took a step forwards and knocked on the front desk, bringing the older woman’s eyes glancing up to glare at him. He smiled charmingly at her, and Amelia could have rolled her eyes for the way she softened under the look.
“Can I assume that ‘rot in the floorboards’ is minimal and not hazardous?” Silas asked.
The innkeeper let out a loud snort. “Depends what you consider hazardous.”
Silas’ smile just deepened at the words. “Will me or my companion fall through the flooring?”
The innkeeper shrugged. “Possible.”
Amelia sighed, pinching at the bridge of her nose. She walked away from the counter, motioning for Silas to follow. He gave the innkeeper one last charming look before joining her in the dark corner.
“Fantastic,” Amelia hissed to him, “you brought me to the one place that might be more dangerous to our health than the bloody Rift itself.”
Silas rolled his eyes. “So dramatic, Winslow. I’ll get the room that doesn’t lock, and you can deal with a bit of creaking if it gets windy out. No problem.”
She stared up at him incredulously. “Are you daft?”
He tapped at his chin mockingly, pretending to think on her question seriously. Amelia scowled. “Not to my knowledge, which may prove I could be.”
“Oh, be quiet,” Amelia snapped, feeling her exhaustion stoking her temper. “I am not going to be pulled into the middle of the hallway at midnight. We should share a room until the bond is broken.”
His smugness rapidly faded, an unusual seriousness taking its place.
