Covenant's End - Ari Marmell Page 0,23

rumor. Same as always, just…more of it.”

Shins tapped a fingertip against her cheek, somehow felt Olgun doing much the same. She knew she could get a clearer answer out of the barman, and knew just as well that he'd resent her trying. This wasn't turning at all into the homecoming she'd anticipated.

And that made her even more apprehensive to ask the next question.

“Where's…?” She swallowed, feeling a sudden burning need for one of the mugs Gerard was topping off. “Where's Robin?”

Was it a product of nervous imaginings, or did the man's back stiffen further at the sound of that name? Shins felt her heart begin to pound.

“Upstairs. The bigger bedchamber, one that you used to use.”

The young woman almost melted all over the floor, so frightened had she been—given his reaction, and how unusual it was (or at least had been) for Robin not to manage the night shift herself—that Gerard's answer would be something far worse. She started for the far stairs…

“Shins?”

She glanced back, at a face shifted dramatically from rigid to sympathetic. “A lot can happen in almost a year. You should maybe…temper your expectations a little. I'll have a cup of something ready for you if you need it.”

On the edge of losing it now even more than she had been, Olgun's efforts to calm her somewhat sabotaged by his own concern, Shins bolted up the steps, leaving a shuddering, dust-shedding staircase in her wake.

She knew Robin must have heard her pounding up the steps. The whole tavern, if not the whole street, probably had. And she absolutely knew her friend had heard the knock on the door, because Robin had very distinctly called out, “Come in!” in a voice that Widdershins had forgotten how much she missed.

And for no reason she could put words to, no emotion she could identify in the swirling morass of all the others, Shins had to wrestle with the urge to run away. “Olgun, what the figs is wrong with me?”

She knew his response—which translated, if loosely, to “How much time do you have?”—was meant to cheer her up, or at least distract her from the bundle of nerves that now occupied most of her body. “Appreciate the thought,” she told him, “but I think I'm kind of uncheerupable right now. And don't even try to tell me that's not a word! I dare you to find a better way to get that point…”

Enough. She was stalling and they both knew it. One very deep breath, and Widdershins pushed the door open with an only marginally unsteady hand.

“Hi, Robin.”

The next few endless seconds were the strangest thing. For Shins, it was almost as if she viewed the tableau through a cracked sheet of glass, emphasizing this image, this movement, this part of the room, this detail over that.

Robin first and foremost, of course. The younger woman's features had gone slack, as though not merely shocked at what she saw but still uncertain she was truly seeing it. The freckles dusting her skin like confectioner's sugar were lighter than Shins remembered, her hair a bit longer. Perhaps most peculiarly, though, was her outfit. Never in Shins's life had she seen Robin in anything but drab tunic and trousers, the sort of clothes easily mistaken for a boy's at any distance. Tonight, her blouse, though still loose and simple, was a soft, lush green, and she wore a peculiar skirt, one that wrapped twice about her waist before fastening, of such deep crimson it was almost black.

Gaze directed, almost guided, to the perimeters of the room. All the furniture had been moved from how Shins remembered it. The bed was now turned sidelong to the wall against which it stood, rather than head-first; cheap wardrobe, cheap desk, also as far to one side as the chamber would permit. The result was a gaping open space in the center, several paces across.

And only then, as Shins believed her bewilderment had reached its peak, did she even notice the third person in the room!

Taller than Robin, she was, at a guess, probably closer to Widdershins's age, maybe older. Her hair was the sort of blonde that the old tales might have called gossamer or moonlight, but for which Shins was quite content with “blonde.” She wore what looked very much like a fancier version of Robin's own clothes, topped with a tightly laced vest of black.

“Who…?” Shins actually felt dizzy, turned her focus back to Robin, again began to ask, “Who…?” And only then did