He'd have to track them down again later, but that shouldn't be hard. If nothing else, the only way in or out of the city was the gate, and the pair had no reason to sneak away, so he could catch them in the morning. He still wasn't entirely certain they were his assassins, though he'd tried and tried to pry any information at all from them.
"By all means, go after them if you like," Odilia said bitterly. "We hardly need your escort anymore."
Leonine snapped his attention to them. "What? I said I'd escort you to your landlord, and I meant it."
"Looks like you've better things to do with your time."
Anger sparked to life as he finally registered why they were scowling, why Odilia was speaking so horribly. "You're the ones who threw me out," he snapped. "You're the ones who decided I was too much trouble to continue bothering with. You don't get to be angry that I'm flirting with other people. You might also recall that I have good reason to think they're the ones I'm hunting, so it serves me well to keep them convinced I see them as harmless enough to flirt with."
Odilia's mouth flattened, and her eyes were still dark with unhappiness, but she only gave a terse nod and turned away. Everard met his gaze a beat longer, looking only tired and sad.
Stifling an urge to scream, Leonine took the reins of his horse back from Everard and motioned for them to fall in behind Odilia. Whether they liked or not, he was going to see this through. Duty first, above all else.
"Shall we find a room first, in case all this takes more time and effort than we anticipate?" Leonine asked. He wouldn't mind the chance to clean up and refresh, get his horse stabled, so she could rest as well.
They nodded, Everard muttering, "Whatever you wish."
Stifling a sigh, Leonine took over the lead, his spurs and horse good at clearing a path and making the way far easier.
He settled at the Orange Basket, a favorite stop of his and Cimar's when they'd worked for the monastery, protecting books and other important items the monastery made and brewed and grew.
As they knew him, it took several minutes to get past questions, congratulations, and idle chatter, but eventually he was able to escape, leading Everard and Odilia up to the room he and Cimar always rented when they were here, unless there was a rare occasion it wasn't available.
He set his bags on the chest at the foot of one of the two beds, then set to work on his armor. He didn't have full plate yet, as a proper knight would, but only because there'd been no time to commission it, everything had happened so quickly. Something to look forward to when he got home.
For the present, he sat at the bare end of the chest and removed his spurs, then his boots, then worked his way from top to bottom on his mail and the leather armor that supplemented it. Though the weight had been properly dispersed, it was still nice to be out of it for a bit.
He stretched with a long groan, then pulled his hair out of the knot he'd kept it in, combing roughly through the sweaty, dirty strands.
The soft sounds of swearing, the shuffling of restless feet, reminded him he wasn't alone. Once just days ago, he'd have stripped down in front of them without thought. Now, the idea made his stomach curdle. Why? What did it matter? It didn't.
He couldn't bring himself to do it, anyway.
"Sorry," he said. "If you don't mind, I'd like to bathe and get fresh clothes on, and then we can head out. I'm sure you're eager to have this done." So saying, he slipped behind the screen on the far side of the room, stripped down, and filled the tub there from a clever piping system that carried hot water from wherever they stored and heated it.
Though he would have loved to linger, soak in the heat until it began to fade, there were things to do. People to see for hopefully the last time, save in passing, though the idea of never really seeing Odilia and Everard again tore him apart.
Whatever. He was a knight trusted by the queen herself, risen all the way from unwanted orphan. He had made it this far; he would keep going. Someday, he'd find someone who wanted him forever.
The words were cold comfort to his broken and battered heart, but they were the best he had for the moment.
Climbing out of the water, he dried off with one of the cloths hanging on the wall and returned to his bags, where he swiftly pulled out the clothes he should have remembered to take with him. "Water is still warm."
Everard and Odilia only nodded, mumbled thanks without ever quite looking at him, and hastened behind the screen. Sighing, Leonine pulled on his clean clothes, bound his hair back in a small queue, and sat down to clean his boots as best he could before pulling them back on. After that, he worked on his armor, though he went with just the leathers for this trip, instead of pulling his mail back on.
Food arrived just as he finished, and by the time the others reappeared, he had laid it out on the table. They ate in silence, tense and miserable. He wondered why they kept enduring him, when it was so painfully clear they couldn't wait to be rid of him. They could have snuck off while he was bathing or something. It wasn't like he could have dressed and found them before they were long gone.
So why hadn't they? Maybe it simply hadn't occurred to them.
"Shall we?" he asked when they ran out of food.
"Yes, and thank you," Everard said. "I admit, what I've heard about this man from Odilia over the years, I'm not looking forward to dealing with him. We don't expect you to, of course, but your presence might mitigate the worst of him."
"We should be so lucky," Odilia muttered, and pulled up her cloak as they headed back out into the frigid day. "We're bound for Apple Street."
Leonine gestured. "Lead the way." He kept pace right behind them, making it clear he was with them. He'd have stood out significantly more if he'd brought his horse along, but the spurs were enough to draw notice and clear a path. So strange that it was his spurs provoking the reaction and not Cimar's.
Apple Street proved to be more of a rundown alleyway than an actual street, with rickety houses that stood up only because of the way they leaned into each other for support. The people milling about were in about the same condition, most of them too thin, with sickly, ashen skin, a few with the eyes of those who lived solely on cheap booze. A few people, mostly children or people so underfed it was hard to tell their age, begged for coins. Leonine handed out what he could, until they at last came to a stop in front of a house that was moderately nicer than the others, with an expensive lock on the door and bars on the window that said the owner had a regular problem with thieves.
"This is where you grew up?" Leonine asked.
"Not for all of it," Odilia said. "We started out better than this. My mom liked her liquor too much; in the end, she liked it more than her children." She pounded on the door, every bit the fierce queen who kept order in a rowdy tavern. "Mack! I'm here! Come out now, you slimy good for nothing!"
A couple of minutes later, after much turning of locks and rattling of chains, the door swung open, and a man who looked exactly the way Leonine expected a slimy, weaselly, good for nothing slum lord to look filled the doorway. He looked like a corpse even starving vultures wouldn't touch, his facial hair so filthy that rats wouldn't use it for a nest. "Ah, Odilia, how I've missed your—"