Once they disembarked, they traveled a drover’s path and reached the outskirts of the town just as twilight chased the sun westward. Serovek sent one of his men ahead to secure lodgings for the night, then turned and called Anhuset to join him up front. “Edarine hosts a good market, even in the cold months,” he said. “We’ll purchase more provisions tomorrow for the trip. There’s an inn with clean rooms and a tavern that serves decent ale and food.” He chuckled at her involuntary recoil at the mention of food. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they don’t serve you the potatoes.”
She dreaded what supper might have in store, vowing only to taste enough as a gesture of goodwill in case it was foul, which she fully expected. She gestured to wagon behind them. “What will you do with the monk?”
Frown lines marred his brow for a moment. “I’ll be guilty of hypocrisy for a night,” he said. “Carrying him into the inn so he can stay in a room will bring more attention on us than I care to have. We’ll leave the bier in the wagon and rent a stall in the inn’s stables.”
“I’ll stand guard,” she volunteered. “I can eat in the stables as well. Me at your table in a common room will draw all the attention you’re hoping to avoid.” It only made sense that she keep watch through the night. Nor did she much relish the idea of pacing the confines of a room in an inn crowded with so many humans.
“I’m happy to put you on guard duty,” he said, “I can’t think of a more vigilant protector, though you’re always welcome at my table, wherever that may be. Curious eyes be damned.”
His praise sent another of those awful, embarrassing blushes crawling up her neck to her cheeks. She gave him a quick salute and trotted back to her place behind the wagon, adopting such a forbidding expression that none of the men riding with her dared ask what she spoke about with the margrave.
Except for a cat that paused in its hunting rounds to watch their group ride past, the streets of Edarine were deserted after dusk. Lamplight filled the windows in the houses lining the main thoroughfare, and a few faces appeared behind them, curious as to who rode through the streets at an hour when the shops were closed and most travelers had found their lodgings for the night.
The inn where they planned to stay stood at the other side of the town, a two-story structure from which spilled light and music. Several wagons were parked nearby, and numerous horses crowded the yard of the adjacent stables. A figure emerged from the inn to greet them, the soldier Serovek had sent ahead to secure lodgings for them.
“They had two rooms remaining, my lord. The rest are taken. The innkeeper has said he and his wife are happy to give up their bedroom to the margrave for the night.”
Serovek snorted. “Generous but not necessary.” He dismounted and tossed the reins to the man. “I’ll speak to the innkeeper. Get the horses settled. Did you find a place for them and for our cargo?” At the other’s nod, he crooked a finger to the wagon’s driver. “Klanek, have Weson show you where to park the wagon and where to unload. Sha-Anhuset will accompany you.”
The stall reserved for them was spacious, clean, and tucked far in the back of the stables, away from the main traffic of stablehands and riders coming and going. Judging by the size and the pristine conditions of the space, Anhuset guessed Weson had spent quite a bit of Serovek’s coin for it. Fresh straw covered the floor in a thick carpet, and someone had brought in extra saddle padding as bedding, along with an extra unlit oil lamp if needed.
She, Weson, and two more of their escort carried Megiddo’s bier into the stable, setting it down gently alongside the stall’s back wall. She straightened the blanket in spots where their movements had dislodged the cover to reveal some of what lay beneath. A few of the stablehands had paused in their tasks to watch them pass, but their attention had been solely on Anhuset instead of what she and the others transported.
After assuring her companions that not only was she comfortable in the stall but happy to be there by herself, they left to join Serovek in the inn. The lamp remained unlit, an unnecessary convenience for her and more of a fire hazard than anything. The stablehands drifted away once their work was done, and soon the stable grew dark. Anhuset sat down not far from the bier and reclined against the wall, happy to soak in the darkness and listen to the whuffles and snorts of the horses in the adjacent stalls.
Hints of blue iridescence shimmered under the blanket covering Megiddo. Anhuset leaned over to slide back a corner of the cover for a look at his still features. Had she no knowledge of how he came to be in this predicament, she might have thought him only asleep.
She’d first met him months earlier when he had arrived at Saggara with Serovek, volunteering his sword and his soul to fight the galla. Anhuset might have said all of a dozen words to him in the very short time she’d known him, but he’d left her with an impression of ascetic dignity. Even now, his features, expressionless in soulless, ensorceled sleep, retained a certain gravitas that made her want to bow to him in a show of respect.
The murmur of voices on the other side of the stable wall reached her ears. She stood, passing along the stall’s back wall until she found an opening where one of the boards had warped enough to create a space between it and the board next to it. She glimpsed the silhouettes of three people, one tall and brawny, the other two much shorter and slight. One of the voices belonged to Serovek. The other two were feminine, full of smiles and flirtatious laughter. As their figures moved closer to the stable, their change in positions highlighted more details.
Serovek headed in the direction of the stable’s entrance, a woman on either side of him, attached to his elbows like arm ornaments. He carried a wrapped parcel in one hand and a tankard in another. His deep voice floated in the night air, amused, seductive, teasing. The women laughed, one nestling his arm into her generous cleavage while the other flipped her hair back to show the graceful line of her neck to its best advantage.
An annoying spasm in Anhuset’s right eyelid made her rub at the spot. She did her best to ignore the sharp flare of irritation, turning away from the narrow view of the trio to resume her seat next to Megiddo’s bier. It was no business of hers what the margrave of High Salure got up to or with whom. She was here only as Brishen’s representative. Nothing more. A trill of feminine laughter taunted her. She clenched her jaw and hummed a Kai drinking song to herself to drown out the sound.
She kept her seat when the smaller entrance door to the stable opened then shut. Only one set of footfalls headed toward her, barely discernible, especially for such a big man. His were the only steps, and Anhuset watched the stall entrance for his appearance with narrowed eyes, still annoyed by the unsettling pang lodged in her chest at the sight of him with the women. She declined to name the feeling though that same inner voice which called her a liar was more than happy to do so.
Jealousy, it whispered in her mind.
Anhuset growled low in her throat.
The footsteps halted. “Tell me that’s you greeting my arrival with great joy, Anhuset.”
She snorted, amused. “It’s me.”
“Damn black as the bottom of an inkwell in here,” Serovek groused. “I’m probably about to walk into a horse.”
Glad he chose not to bring his admirers with him into the stable, she repaid the kindness by reaching for the flint and steel in the small pouch belted at her waist so she could light the lamp she’d left unlit. The flare of the broad wick made her blink, eroding the finer edges of her vision with its brightness. She placed the lamp atop the stall’s midrail, scraping away the straw on the floor underneath it to create a small firebreak just in case it toppled.