In fact, they barely spoke to one another. Eerie. Like being surrounded by marching tin soldiers come to life. When presented with an audience of one captive thief, one impossible creature from a long-extinct race, and one monstrous silver lizard, the Queensguard ought to have been crowing about another noble victory over Shining Talon’s people, shoving Rags’s face in how easily he’d been caught in an Ever-Noble’s game, and so on.
And yet, not a jeer.
Rags didn’t like that.
The twisting, lonely patches of road they traveled hadn’t been proper thoroughfare in decades, but were still leading them toward civilization, one hooved step at a time. Morien disappeared from the path once or twice to report to his master. Whether that was Faolan or the Queen, Rags wasn’t sure.
Soon enough, they saw the first humble signs of human life: an abandoned hut; a filthy shepherd girl who stopped and gawped as they passed.
Morien waved a hand in the girl’s direction. “She won’t remember the lizard,” he said distantly, by way of explanation.
From the way the sheep stumbled over themselves to get away, he hadn’t bothered ensorcelling them to forget the shit they’d seen.
“We require additional resources for our return trip,” Morien said sometime later, “and must stop in the nearest village in order to restock our supplies. However . . .” He spared a glance for One, who lifted her chin defiantly, her third eye flashing, then nodded at Shining Talon. “. . . that will prove difficult, with certain more conspicuous members of our party.”
“In this, Lying One, you do not lie,” Shining Talon replied.
“Cloak for him,” Rags suggested quickly, with a glance at Shining Talon, a look he hoped conveyed the sentiment: Enough with the “Lying One” shit before it pisses Morien off for good. “But the lizard . . .” He couldn’t think of a fix for that problem.
Morien affected a half bow, still in his saddle. “With its permission, I will take care of that matter.”
“Her,” Shining Talon murmured softly.
Morien didn’t appear to hear him.
Rags did.
A cloak for Shining Talon was pulled from a Queensguard pack, and another was procured for the lizard and draped over the majority of her bulk. She shuffled beneath the fall of wool. For a time, Morien’s hands traced the signs of his craft in the air above his horse’s mane, until Rags realized that when he wasn’t paying close attention, the brown cloak made the silver lizard look like a shaggy herding dog. If he let his attention wander, he started to believe the illusion, despite knowing the truth. He shuddered.
Shining Talon pulled the hood of his own cloak over his face, hiding his hair beneath. The cloak took care of the major details—the glow of his skin, the tattoos, the whiteless silver eyes, the pointed ears.
Rags didn’t believe that disguise as easily as One’s.
“Don’t you want to know where we’re going?” Rags asked him, unable to keep it in any longer.
The expression of calm on Shining Talon’s face was downright infuriating. “As long as I am by your side, and we are by hers, I do not question that I am where I am needed.”
Rags envied him.
His confidence was stupid, but it must’ve been pleasant.
When they came to it, the village was exactly what Rags expected. One stable, a few unfashionable shops for necessities, and a public house with half its roof in need of rethatching. Homesteads neighbored the town’s center—not that it could be called a “town” with a straight face—and dotted the surrounding fields. The sun, a low red gash, kissed the hills as it set.
Morien instructed them to wait at the edge of the village while he negotiated terms of their stay with the owner of the public house.
The sun was not yet gone when Morien returned. “We have the run of the place tonight,” he informed them curtly. “Stable for the horses in the back. Queensguard, see to it. As for the rest . . . some of us must remain upstairs in private quarters for the duration of our stay.”
“Meaning the dirty thief, the tattooed fae lunatic, and the dog who’s actually a silver lizard?” Rags asked, and grinned recklessly. Some of his humor had returned with the thought of sleeping in an actual bed. Morien stared him down until the grin faltered. It dropped altogether as Rags dismounted.
“Remain upstairs. Got it.” He handed his horse’s reins to the nearest Queensguard. “Want us to scale the outside wall while we’re