“Look at the fool smirk—see he knows it! Well, if you got no man, then you oughta spend the night with me, then!” He slid toward her from his seat, then circled his hand around her neck and pulled her face toward his, perhaps trying to kiss her.
A gust of wind knocked over the drunk’s ale, spilling it down onto his leg. Another blew out the candles on the wall above them. Confused, the man tried to right his ale, missing entirely the dagger Mara had drawn. Aven watched her slip it back into her bodice, unnoticed by anyone but him. The others were too busy looking around for the source of the wind. The door was shut tight, and no one had recently entered.
Smaller tendrils of wind whipped in tiny vicious bursts around the room, nipping at the candles, the fireplace, grizzled beards. The drunk frowned at his wet pant leg, and Aven again found himself smirking. He straightened his expression as soon as he realized it. Served him right, though. Mara might be his captor, but Aven was still a knight, and such behavior he would not abide.
The man locked his eyes with Aven’s, his glare growing more angry and suspicious by the minute. Aven stared back. The light in the room flickered as a blast of air threatened the fire.
“You’re too drunk for your own good if you can’t keep your ale upright,” Mara said suddenly. “Do I need to call the innkeep?” The drunk grudgingly turned his eyes from Aven to Mara, still suspicious.
Thankfully, the stew arrived. The barmaid came between the two tables, breaking the tension slightly, and Aven hunkered over the stew and shoveled. Damn, he’d been hungry.
The air in the room continued to misbehave. Usually, at home, he would try to still his thoughts and calm himself until whatever was motivating his magic to misbehave was cleared from his mind. But not this time. Why should he? For once, he didn’t have to. For once, there was no one to stop him from letting his magic do as it pleased. And… it was strangely exhilarating.
He stifled a laugh. But it was damn funny. Now that he was in shackles, he felt freer than ever. Perhaps magic was more a part of him than he’d realized. It felt good to let it run wild, even if it was making this drunk suspicious of them. He couldn’t prove anything. What could he do? Leer? He glanced at Mara’s older face as she took a sip of ale. She was staring at him, a complex and unreadable expression in her eyes.
No number of years she could add would hide the beauty of her face. But he did miss her dark, brooding eyes. The white streaks in her hair gave her a wild, exotic look, and he had a feeling that the world-weariness in those wrinkles might be true to her soul, if not her face.
They finished their stew and retired to their room without a word.
The room held two low beds next to a warm, roaring fire. Aven headed straight for one of the beds and sat down in hope of somehow claiming it rather than the floor. The innkeeper brought them a pitcher of hot water for the basin. He ran his fingers over the rough but reassuring blankets folded at the foot of the bed, amused to watch the shackles slide over them, jarring against the brown linens. Nothing like the blankets at home.
When the innkeeper had left them and Mara had thoroughly locked and barred the door, she turned and glared hard at him. “I told you not to make a scene!”
He opened his mouth to try to answer but then looked at her flatly and shrugged. Of course nothing could come out.
“That was stupid. Moronic! What did you think that was going to accomplish?”
He shrugged again and looked at her, puzzled. What was she talking about?
“Damn drunks. Damn ale. Shouldn’t have had any myself. Maybe that was it—was it the ale talking?”
He stared at her blankly, unsure what she was even saying at this point.
Even more irritated, she grabbed the bottle from the pouch, hastily yanked off the cap, and tossed its invisible contents in his direction, as though she were throwing water in his face. With a strange sort of thud, his throat felt suddenly heavier. He coughed, testing it.
“I can’t wait to be done with you,” she said. “You’re going to get me killed.”
“What are you talking about?” he finally choked out.
She shook her head at him in disgust, hands on her hips. “You are a fool.”
“A fool!”
“A damned fool.” She sat down on the other bed with her back toward him and jerked her boots off roughly, kicking them against the wall. “Going to get me killed.”
“Well, then let me go.”
She glowered at him. “Nice try. Not going to happen.”
“Why not? If I’m such an idiot, you’d be better off rid of me, don’t you think?”
“Don’t waste your breath.” Her stare was even icier at him than at the drunk.
“Why are you doing this?” he demanded.
She said nothing.
“Isn’t there something I can do—something I can get you? Something I can trade for my freedom?” She sat still, watching the fire. She didn’t reply or turn to meet his gaze. “Look, I don’t know what I’ve done to be a fool, so I’m not likely to stop unless you tell me.”
That got her attention. She twisted and stared wide-eyed, incredulous. Then she snorted and rose, heading to the window and surveying the street.
“C’mon, be sensible. You’ll never get away with this,” he said, trying to sound practical.
“Really? Is that a threat or your attempt at an observation?” She shook her head at him again. “You know nothing about me. How can you even dare to say that? Would you care to make a bet on it?”
“No. Gambling is against the Code.” She looked away from him and back out the window. “You’ve kidnapped a prince, you realize. It’s not like no one will notice I’ve disappeared.”
“Oh, damn, what a mistake this has all been! I was trying to find the court jester and mistook you for him—imagine that.” She rolled her eyes.
Finally, some confirmation of something. It was because he was a prince that she’d captured him. “I’m just trying to say, they are going to look for me.”
“Hadn’t occurred to me,” she laughed.
“What can I give you?” he demanded. The question was on the table now, he might as well push it to its furthest conclusion. “If you’re looking for something, Akaria will find it for you. Whatever someone is paying you, we can make it more. There has to be something that motivates you. If there’s some wrong I’ve committed, I’ll right it. What is it that you are after?”
A gust of wind knocked over the drunk’s ale, spilling it down onto his leg. Another blew out the candles on the wall above them. Confused, the man tried to right his ale, missing entirely the dagger Mara had drawn. Aven watched her slip it back into her bodice, unnoticed by anyone but him. The others were too busy looking around for the source of the wind. The door was shut tight, and no one had recently entered.
Smaller tendrils of wind whipped in tiny vicious bursts around the room, nipping at the candles, the fireplace, grizzled beards. The drunk frowned at his wet pant leg, and Aven again found himself smirking. He straightened his expression as soon as he realized it. Served him right, though. Mara might be his captor, but Aven was still a knight, and such behavior he would not abide.
The man locked his eyes with Aven’s, his glare growing more angry and suspicious by the minute. Aven stared back. The light in the room flickered as a blast of air threatened the fire.
“You’re too drunk for your own good if you can’t keep your ale upright,” Mara said suddenly. “Do I need to call the innkeep?” The drunk grudgingly turned his eyes from Aven to Mara, still suspicious.
Thankfully, the stew arrived. The barmaid came between the two tables, breaking the tension slightly, and Aven hunkered over the stew and shoveled. Damn, he’d been hungry.
The air in the room continued to misbehave. Usually, at home, he would try to still his thoughts and calm himself until whatever was motivating his magic to misbehave was cleared from his mind. But not this time. Why should he? For once, he didn’t have to. For once, there was no one to stop him from letting his magic do as it pleased. And… it was strangely exhilarating.
He stifled a laugh. But it was damn funny. Now that he was in shackles, he felt freer than ever. Perhaps magic was more a part of him than he’d realized. It felt good to let it run wild, even if it was making this drunk suspicious of them. He couldn’t prove anything. What could he do? Leer? He glanced at Mara’s older face as she took a sip of ale. She was staring at him, a complex and unreadable expression in her eyes.
No number of years she could add would hide the beauty of her face. But he did miss her dark, brooding eyes. The white streaks in her hair gave her a wild, exotic look, and he had a feeling that the world-weariness in those wrinkles might be true to her soul, if not her face.
They finished their stew and retired to their room without a word.
The room held two low beds next to a warm, roaring fire. Aven headed straight for one of the beds and sat down in hope of somehow claiming it rather than the floor. The innkeeper brought them a pitcher of hot water for the basin. He ran his fingers over the rough but reassuring blankets folded at the foot of the bed, amused to watch the shackles slide over them, jarring against the brown linens. Nothing like the blankets at home.
When the innkeeper had left them and Mara had thoroughly locked and barred the door, she turned and glared hard at him. “I told you not to make a scene!”
He opened his mouth to try to answer but then looked at her flatly and shrugged. Of course nothing could come out.
“That was stupid. Moronic! What did you think that was going to accomplish?”
He shrugged again and looked at her, puzzled. What was she talking about?
“Damn drunks. Damn ale. Shouldn’t have had any myself. Maybe that was it—was it the ale talking?”
He stared at her blankly, unsure what she was even saying at this point.
Even more irritated, she grabbed the bottle from the pouch, hastily yanked off the cap, and tossed its invisible contents in his direction, as though she were throwing water in his face. With a strange sort of thud, his throat felt suddenly heavier. He coughed, testing it.
“I can’t wait to be done with you,” she said. “You’re going to get me killed.”
“What are you talking about?” he finally choked out.
She shook her head at him in disgust, hands on her hips. “You are a fool.”
“A fool!”
“A damned fool.” She sat down on the other bed with her back toward him and jerked her boots off roughly, kicking them against the wall. “Going to get me killed.”
“Well, then let me go.”
She glowered at him. “Nice try. Not going to happen.”
“Why not? If I’m such an idiot, you’d be better off rid of me, don’t you think?”
“Don’t waste your breath.” Her stare was even icier at him than at the drunk.
“Why are you doing this?” he demanded.
She said nothing.
“Isn’t there something I can do—something I can get you? Something I can trade for my freedom?” She sat still, watching the fire. She didn’t reply or turn to meet his gaze. “Look, I don’t know what I’ve done to be a fool, so I’m not likely to stop unless you tell me.”
That got her attention. She twisted and stared wide-eyed, incredulous. Then she snorted and rose, heading to the window and surveying the street.
“C’mon, be sensible. You’ll never get away with this,” he said, trying to sound practical.
“Really? Is that a threat or your attempt at an observation?” She shook her head at him again. “You know nothing about me. How can you even dare to say that? Would you care to make a bet on it?”
“No. Gambling is against the Code.” She looked away from him and back out the window. “You’ve kidnapped a prince, you realize. It’s not like no one will notice I’ve disappeared.”
“Oh, damn, what a mistake this has all been! I was trying to find the court jester and mistook you for him—imagine that.” She rolled her eyes.
Finally, some confirmation of something. It was because he was a prince that she’d captured him. “I’m just trying to say, they are going to look for me.”
“Hadn’t occurred to me,” she laughed.
“What can I give you?” he demanded. The question was on the table now, he might as well push it to its furthest conclusion. “If you’re looking for something, Akaria will find it for you. Whatever someone is paying you, we can make it more. There has to be something that motivates you. If there’s some wrong I’ve committed, I’ll right it. What is it that you are after?”
