Page 41 of The Wicked Lies of Habren Faire
“Perhaps I’ll tell you someday,” I say, and lead him once more to the woods.
14
y dafarn
(THE INN)
The thrill of my small victory over Peg fades quickly. We make slow progress from the cottage and I begin flagging behind Neirin. I keep pushing myself to walk faster, but his legs are far too long, and he doesn’t seem to be burdened by human inconveniences like exhaustion. I’m not so lucky, and I’ve been traveling for perhaps three days straight with barely a few hours of sleep spread sporadically between them.
“You look like you’re about to collapse,” says Neirin.
I wave him off. “It’s nothing. We must keep moving.”
I carry on walking, but Neirin falls back. I let out a loud huff, gesturing toward the path of our forward march. Neirin remains rooted, eyes raking up and down my rigid, heavy body.
“As much as I admire your energy,” he says, “it’s getting late, and while I could keep walking, I think you’re close to hitting the floor and not getting back up.”
“So serious,” I scoff.
Neirin reaches my side in a few quick strides. He takes hold of my elbow, the light grip of his fingers burning even through the thick wool of my new coat. My eyes flick to his.
“In this, I am.” Neirin leans slightly toward me. “You are mortal, and so is your sister. You both get tired. You both need to rest. Sleeping will cost you very little, and we don’t have to bunk in the dirt.”
That makes a disturbing amount of sense by Neirin’s standards.Maybe he’s starting to understand my sense of urgency. He wouldn’t suggest stopping if it put us in danger of falling too far behind, because if my sister gets to Y Lle Tywyll first there’s a chance that I will not be the champion—which means Neirin will not win. But Ceridwen shares my weaknesses, and I hers. We both must rest, and the sky is darkening above. If Ceridwen is on the road, she will stop soon, too. I hadn’t thought of it that way.
It still feels like losing time I can’t afford.
My brow furrows. “Yes, I imagine the inns around here are delightful. Their rats must be world-renowned.”
Neirin snorts. “If anyone opened an inn near Peg’s cottage she’d eat them before the first day was up. No, I was going to hurry us along to somewhere a bit more… civilized—and on our route, before you start yelling about your sisteragain.”
My limbs tingle at the thought of giving in, of going to sleep somewhere warm and comfortable, and I even have a spiteful moment of delight when I imagine my sister bedding down in the forest while I am treated to an inn.
I purse my lips. “Another magical horse?”
“Oh no”—he waves me off—“I prefer a bit of luxury. Though I wanted to check before I offend your sensibilities.”
“What sensibilities?”
“You’re rather proud of your”—he slouches as I do and affects an accent that’s supposed to mimic mine—“humble, salt-of-the-earth ways.”
“That’s nothing like me,” I say, even as I pull the same face. “Impress me with your extravagances, then.”
Neirin takes that as a challenge. He releases my arm, the heat of his touch falling away, puts his two little fingers at the corners of his mouth, and whistles like he’s trying to signal a dog that’s miles away. It rings in my skull.
I cover my ears. “A little warning?”
The quiet that follows stretches thin, until it’s sliced through by the sound ofsomethingthumping toward us. There’s a flash of black, white and silver, and a carriage hurtles through the trees. I leap back, certain it’s going to crash, but it screeches to a halt mere steps away. Neirin doesn’t even flinch.
“Evening, Iwan,” Neirin says.
For a second, I think he’s speaking to the carriage itself, until a small figure rises from the coachman’s perch and lifts his hat. He’s a bwbach, slightly bigger than the ones I saw in the kitchen, and dressed in a footman’s lilac livery, his lavender hair sprouting in wild tufts from a head that seems slightly too large for his body.
“Sir,” says Iwan. “Am I to take you home? You’ve been missed.”
Neirin waves him off. “I’ve been gone longer before.”
“Not in a good while, sir.”
