Her eyes gazed around the room, taking in the details, and she felt a small smile threaten her. She indulged in it for just a moment. On each table were little vats of melted cheese, and patrons were dipping hunks of bread into it on small skewers. The smell of the melting cheese was enthralling.
As she looked from table to table, she noticed one man was sitting alone, his leg propped on another chair in a lanky pose, swirling a goblet near his chin as he watched the patrons of the inn—exactly what she was doing. He was tall and broad with dark hair that went down to his shoulders. When she saw him, her heart took a shiver and a jolt, for he was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. It was a dangerous kind of handsome, and he had the smug look of self-assurance that said he knew exactly how others regarded him.
His gaze met hers, and the swirling cup stopped. The goblet came down on the table with a thud. A bright smile stretched across his face, a look of delight that sent shivers down to Maia’s blistered feet.
“Tayt!” the man shouted across the room, his voice surpassing the drone of everyone else.
Jon Tayt whirled at the salute, his eyes narrowing when he saw the man seated at the table by himself. “Ach,” the hunter muttered under his breath. “It had to be him. By Cheshu, why tonight?” he murmured with a groan.
“Who is that?” Maia asked cautiously as the man sat upright, waving his arm vigorously for them to join him. Her heart skittered with dread.
“He’s the king’s collier,” Jon Tayt said, defeated. “Not a word. He cannot be trusted.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Roc-Adamour
Maia had a penchant for being disappointed by handsome men. She was not one who instinctively trusted those who could win someone’s favor with a charming smile or gallant behavior. Those traits, life had taught her, were often wrapped up in shallow-mindedness and the spoiled stubbornness of people who were used to getting their way. Things often came too easily for men and women like that, perhaps because others deferred to beauty too readily. Though it pained her to admit it, her own father had always allowed beauty to get the better of him.
They approached the man at the table, except for the kishion, who had melted into the crowd without a word. Just she, Argus, and Jon Tayt made their approach, and Maia moved forward warily.
The man scooted his goblet away and scrutinized them. He gave Maia a cursory look, his eyebrows wrinkling slightly as he took in her disheveled appearance, but he greeted the hunter with enthusiasm.
“At the end of another mountain expedition by the looks of you,” he drawled, slapping the tabletop good-naturedly. “How many in the party died this time?”
“Only three or four,” the hunter said blandly. “A boring trip.”
The man reached out to Argus, but the boarhound growled menacingly, and he withdrew his intent. He stood and bowed with a flourish to Maia. “Feint Collier, at your service.”
“Faint?” Maia asked with surprise.
Jon Tayt let out a short, wicked laugh. “A common mistake, lass. The king’s collier fancies himself to be a swordsman. When you trick your opponent by pretending to strike in one place before quickly switching to another, it is called a feint. As you may guess, he has a reputation for such trickery.”
The man took the teasing good-naturedly. He indeed wore a blade at his hip, inside a rather battered scabbard. His vest tunic was dusty and frayed, though it was made of supple leather. His shirt was open at the collar. Now that she saw him more closely, she realized he was young—probably around her age.
“I have, it is true, a reputation with a double meaning,” he said, smiling at Maia with a look of mild annoyance. “Feint Collier, if you please. Tayt calls me Collier, and I call him Tayt. I discovered this little inn through my association with him, my lady. He is an expert in all things culinary, as you can tell plainly from the length of his belt.”
“It is unfair to tease a man about his appetite,” Jon Tayt said waspishly.
“As fair as it is to tease a man about his swordsmanship?” Collier answered, quick as a whip. Both men chuckled. “By Cheshu,” he continued with a mocking lilt in his voice, “but you both look hungry. Share my table. There is room for all, even your skulking friend over there. I was bound for Argus tomorrow anyway to find you, Tayt, so I thank you for sparing me the journey.”
“I never refuse to eat at another man’s expense,” Jon Tayt said and sat down at the table. Argus curled up beneath his chair, wary.
After Maia had seated herself, Collier followed her example and then leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table. “Tayt knows everything about everything. I am sure you have realized this already. The best way to care for a horse. The best way to sharpen an axe. How to construct a sturdy building. How to find water where there is none. No man in Dahomey is as prolific in his knowledge of useless things as our friend here.”