twitch, and when she returned a few moments later, it was with a steaming mug of cider and two white rags.
“Clean yourself up, and then you can pay for the next one,” she said with a wink that reminded him, once again, so utterly of Miren that he lost the capacity to speak.
Instead, he smiled at the woman, found an unoccupied stool, and sat hunched over his drink. Hot and spiced, it loosened some of the knots in his chest, but it did nothing to soothe the headache that had been steadily pounding against his temples since he’d left Âme de la Terre. He had worked diligently over the past several days to keep his thoughts of home fleeting, skimming over them as he might the spines of books he had no interest in reading.
But the cider wasn’t excellent only at loosening knots, and soon he was nursing the dregs while thoughts of home whirled and raced through his mind.
It was driving him mad, not knowing what was happening in Âme de la Terre. Word of Audric’s ousting and Merovec’s assumption of the throne had made its way across the country. Judging by the several hushed conversations taking place around the room and the furtive, curious glances thrown at the door each time it opened, the citizens here in the little village of Tavistère had heard the news too.
Tal gripped his mug and closed his eyes, trying not to think of Miren alone back in the city, dealing with Merovec Sauvillier.
Merovec Sauvillier, king of Celdaria. King Audric, gone into hiding.
Queen Rielle, vanished into the night.
The whispered words floated around the room, and each time they met Tal’s ears, the sounds curdled inside him like some horrible blockage he couldn’t dislodge. His only consolation was the knowledge that if Audric were found and killed, Merovec would ensure that particular piece of news traveled quickly. Until then, there was some measure of comfort to be found in the confused speculation regarding his whereabouts.
“Here.” A fresh mug slid into view. The barkeep was watching him curiously. “You look like you need at least a few more of these.”
Tal managed a weak smile. “I’ll pay for the third one, then?”
“Keep me engaged in fascinating conversation, and you won’t have to pay for any of them. You look like you have some fascinating conversations brewing in that pretty blond head of yours.”
“Fascinating,” Tal agreed. “Startling. Disturbing.”
The barkeep’s eyebrows raised. “You know how to intrigue a girl, Wet Cloak.”
“Aiden,” he lied, with another smile.
“Rosette.” She propped her chin in her hands and grinned back at him. “So? A deal’s a deal.”
And suddenly, Tal wanted nothing more than to confess everything. “I left my home to do something very important,” he said instead, his throat constricting. “And I left behind someone I love.”
“Why couldn’t they come with you?”
Miren’s face flashed before him—sharp-chinned and mischievous. A dense field of freckles across pale cheeks. Soft red curls that gleamed like molten copper in the candlelight of their bedroom.
And then, the last night he had seen her, in the gardens behind Baingarde—her face hard and solemn, her eyes bright but full of resolve. She had stayed behind in the capital to be Audric’s eyes. A loyal spy for the deposed king.
Be brave, she had whispered against his mouth under the garden pines, and then hurried back to the castle before he could even begin to craft the goodbye she deserved.
“Because,” he said at last, rubbing his forehead, “she has an important thing to do as well. Too important to abandon her post, as it were.”
“Quite significant people you two must be,” Rosette mused, a single finger tapping against her lips. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what these grave tasks are?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“You’ve been sworn to secrecy, have you?”
He placed a hand on his chest and bowed his head. “Sworn to secrecy and bound with gilded chains of honor.”
Rosette’s smile widened. “I do love when brooding men laden with noble secrets enter my establishment.”
Tal’s tired mind struggled for a reply. He had drunk too much cider; his thoughts were clouded and sloppy. Miren’s face and Rielle’s face collided and combined—short red curls and long dark waves. Rielle’s echo once again touched his shoulder, sharp and sudden as a gust of wind, and he clenched all his muscles against it.
“I know you’re not really there,” he muttered, pressing his fingertips hard against his temples.
“Aiden? Are you ill?” Rosette touched his arm. “You’ve gone so pale. I like you, but you had