She rode in the lead now. Behind her, she could hear Alric grumbling. He spoke too low for her to catch the words, but his tone was clear. He was unhappy with her—again. Any other time, she might have fallen back, apologized for whatever it was she had done wrong, and tried to make him feel better. But she was cold, hungry, and tired. She wanted to get to the tavern. His feelings could hurt at least until they were settled.
As they approached Central Square, she tried to keep her eyes down and focus on the snow where Princess walked, but she could not resist. When they were in the exact middle of the square, her eyes ignored her will and looked up. The post was still there, but the ropes were gone. Dark and slender, nearly blending into the background, it was a physical reminder of what might have been.
There is blood under the snow, she thought.
Her breath shortened and her lip began to quiver. Then she noticed someone riding beside her. Arista was not aware if she had heard his approach, or merely sensed his presence, but suddenly Hadrian was an arm’s length away. He did not look at her or speak. He merely rode quietly alongside. This was the first time he had left Royce’s side since they had started out, and she wondered what had brought him forward. Arista wanted to believe he joined her because he knew how she felt. It was silly, but it made her feel better to think it.
The signboard above the door at the public house was crowned in snow and yet remained as gruesome as ever. The obscenely large open mouth, hairy pointed ears, and squinting eyes of the namesake gnome glared down at them.
Arista halted, slid off her mount, and stepped onto the boardwalk. “Perhaps the rest of you should wait here while Hadrian and I make arrangements.”
Alric coughed and she caught him glaring at her.
“Hadrian and I know this city. It will just be faster if we go,” she told him. “You were the one that wanted to come here.”
He frowned and she sighed. Waving for Hadrian to follow, she passed under the sign of The Laughing Gnome. A flickering yellow light and warm air that smelled of grease and smoke greeted them. A shaggy spotted dog scampered over, trying to lick their hands. Hadrian caught him just as he jumped up toward her. He let the dog’s forepaws rest on his thighs as he scrubbed behind its ears, causing the animal to hang its tongue.
The common room was empty except for two people huddled near the hearth—so different from the first time she had been there. She stared off at a spot near the center where a fiery-haired young man had once held the room spellbound.
This was the place. It was here I saw Emery for the very first time.
She had never thought about it before, but this revelation made the room sacred to her. She felt a hand on her shoulder. Hadrian gave her a gentle squeeze.
She spotted Ayers behind the bar, wiping out mugs. He was wearing the same apron, which appeared to have the same stains. The innkeeper had not shaved in a day or two, and his hair was mussed, and his face moist.
“What can I do ya for?” he asked as they approached, the dog trailing behind, pawing at Hadrian for more attention.
“We’d like rooms.” Arista counted on her fingers. “There are fifteen in our party, so maybe four rooms? Do your rooms sleep four?”
“They can, but I usually charge by the pair.”
“Oh, okay, so then seven rooms if you have them, I guess—the boys can all sleep in one room. Do you have vacancy?”
“Oh, I’ve got ’em. No one here but the mice. All the folk heading down from Wintertide passed through weeks ago. No one travels this time a’ year. No need to…” He trailed off as he looked intently at Arista. His narrow eyes began widening. “Why, ain’t you—I mean, yer her—ain’t you? Where have you been?”
Embarrassed, she glanced at Hadrian. She had been hoping to avoid this. “We’d just like the rooms.”
“By Mar! It is you!” he said, loud enough to catch the attention of the two near the fire. “Everyone said you was dead.”
“Almost. But really, we have people waiting in the cold. Can we get rooms? And we have horses too that—”
“Jimmy! Jimmy! Get your arse in here, boy!”
A freckle-faced kid, as thin as a Black Diamond member, rushed out of the kitchen, bursting through the doors with a startled look on his face.
“Horses outside need stabling. Get on it.”
The boy nodded, and as he stepped by Ayers, the proprietor whispered something in his ear. The lad looked at Arista and his mouth opened as if it had just gained weight. A moment later he was running.
“You understand we’re tired,” Arista told the innkeeper. “It has been a long day of riding and we need to leave early in the morning. We are just looking for a quiet night.”
“Oh, absolutely! But you’ll be wantin’ supper, right?”
Arista glanced at Hadrian, who nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“Wonderful. I’ll get something special for you.”
“That’s not necessary. We don’t want to cause any—”
“Nonsense,” Ayers told her. “Rusty!” he shouted over her head toward the two at the hearth, who were now on their feet, hesitantly inching closer. “Run and tell Engles I want his cut of pork.”
“Pork?” the man replied. “You can’t serve her no smoked pork! Benjamin Braddock got a prize lamb he’s kept alive all winter, feeds it like a baby, he does.”
“Yeah, real sweet animal,” the other man said.
“Okay, okay, tell him to get it to Engles and have it butchered.”
“How much you willing ta pay?”
“Just tell him who it’s for, and if he wants to come ask her for money, let him.”
“Oh please, this isn’t necessary,” Arista said.
“He’s been saving that lamb for a special occasion,” Rusty told her, and smiled. “I can’t see how he can expect a better one.”
The door opened and the rest of the party entered, dusting snow off their heads and shoulders and stomping their feet. Once inside, Gaunt let go his train and threw back his hood, shivering. He walked directly toward the fire with his hands outstretched and brought to Arista’s mind the image of a giant peacock.
Rusty nudged his buddy. “That’s Degan Gaunt.”
“By Mar,” Ayers said, shaking his head. “If’n you get a drop, it’s a flood. And look at him all dressed up like a king. He’s one of your group?”
Arista nodded.
“Blimey,” Rusty said, staring now at Hadrian. “I seen this fella afore too—just a few weeks ago. He’s the tourney champion. He unhorsed everyone ’cept Breckton, and he only missed ’cuz he didn’t want ta kill him.” He looked at Hadrian with admiration. “You woulda dropped him if’n you’d had the chance. I know it.”
“Who else you got with you?” Ayers asked, looking overwhelmed. “The Heir of Novron?”
Arista and Hadrian exchanged glances.
“Our rooms—where are they?” Alric asked, joining them as he shook the wet out of his hood.
“I—ah—let me show you.” Ayers grabbed a box of keys and led the way up the stairs.
As she climbed, Arista looked down at the empty space below and remembered how they had spent forty-five silver to sleep there. “How much for the rooms?”
Ayers paused, turned, and chuckled.
When they reached the top of the stairs, he threw his arms out. “Here you are.”
“Which rooms?”
Ayers grinned. “Take the whole floor.”