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Her neck cracked with the speed at which she turned to look at him. She was certain she hadn’t done anything to show the terrible burning sensation of the curse under her glove. He shouldn’t know anything. He couldn’t.
“I noticed you keep scratching at your palm and opening and closing your fingers. Is that why you asked after the physician?” Valen pushed, a blond brow raised.
She hadn’t scratched at it. Nor was she dimwitted enough to draw any attention to it. She was certain. Their conversation was quiet enough and she wasn’t worried about Bram picking up on what they were saying over the clipped sound of the horses’ hooves, but it unsettled her that he’d somehow known. She stared at him until he too was shifting in his seat.
No one, save for the man she was tied to, or a witch should be able to sense something of the magic that stained her skin. Seeing how Valen was neither the dark-haired man she’d seen nor a woman capable of magic, she couldn’t fathom how he might have even an inkling of knowledge. Perhaps she had been scratching it or twitching and not noticed it.
“My hand is fine. I was only curious about the physician because it must mean you’re very rich.”
“About to be richer too if this trip is successful.” He gave her a playful wink.
Ah, yes, Meira thought bitterly, the peak of my life as a scale rider is only to help make rich men richer.
14
Remis
Remis woke to the smell of warm syrup and sweet cakes with an erection far more severe than he’d remembered having before. His room was light, but he refused to open his eyes yet, still clinging to the last of the dream he’d had.
He dreamt of long brown hair and pale green eyes. Somehow, he could still feel the warmth of the woman’s skin beneath his fingers, the brush of her lips on his, and the scrape of her teeth against his neck. It had been one of those dreams where nothing had made sense, save for his wanting. And he did want. He wanted to hold onto whoever she was with such ferocity he’d forgotten momentarily about everything else.
Yawning, he stretched only to recoil when his arm brushed against a form next to him. Remis stilled. His heart stuttered in his chest. Had his dream been real? Or was there some other woman in his bed? Either option would be great to rid himself of the demanding need between his legs.
Light momentarily blinded him as he cracked an eye open and then forced the other open as well. Sleep clung to his lashes in small, crusted clumps that he rubbed at with the back of his fists. His vision cleared only to reveal a tiled ceiling and unfamiliar blue walls.
Remis sat up and the blankets fell away from his torso. The person next to him rolled over and groaned. A mess of dirty blond hair stuck up at weird angles and the shine of drool dampened Merritt’s cheek. Remis frowned down at his friend, both relieved and annoyed to see him there.
The events of the evening before came charging back to the forefront of his mind, as did the terrible pain in his shoulder. Remis was in Warlord Vigor’s room at the inn. Yesterday had been a blur of highwaymen and near-death experiences. That same anxious knowledge that he was being hunted lingered. It was what got him out of bed.
When he stood, he felt the constriction of clothes that didn’t quite fit him. The length of the clothing was nearly right, except perhaps the legs were a little long and the torso was almost too short, but the waist dug in uncomfortably. After locking every window and door inside the warlord’s suite they’d found spare clothing, Remis guessed the ones that were close enough to fit belonged to the son. Valen was near enough in height but was more slender and the sides of his pants dug into his hips. He tucked his straining cock into the waistband with a wince. The trousers, shirt, and waistcoat were nicer than what Remis ought to have borrowed but everything else in the dresser drawers was far more outrageous than the last.
The suite itself was a half-decent recreation of their lavish home. It had the same white flooring and everywhere he turned his eyes were quick to catch some glimmer of gold. When they’d arrived, the innkeeper had quickly taken them back to the suite but commented on how more often than not the rooms were used for Warlord Vigor’s discretions, thus making their stay here safe and secure. They’d all assumed that Warlord Vigor’s discretions were a fancy way of saying lovers. They’d flipped a coin to decide who got to sleep on the couch and who had to take the bed. Percy won.
This morning Percy was also the first to awaken. He waved from the table where he ate breakfast next to two other plates sitting covered and waiting. Remis’ stomach growled with a predator’s strength. The sound was loud enough to surprise him.
“I could sleep for another day and a half,” Merritt mumbled against his pillow before he sat upright, and Valen’s shirt strained further against his bulky form.
“Best not to do that. When I talked to the innkeeper, he said we’re only allowed to stay until half past noon. So you have enough time to eat breakfast.” Only half of what was said was easily discernible between Percy’s racing bites. His cheeks poked out like a chipmunk before the statement was truly complete.
Apparently the warlord’s hospitality only ran so far. Remis was thankful for the medical care and the few hours of rest; it was more than he thought he’d get.
He didn’t need to look outside to know that it was nearly noon now. The sun was peeking in around the curtains in startling bright streaks of light. He knew if he opened the curtain he’d find Olden busy with activity under a pretty blue sky. He’d been robbed, attacked, and hunted then would continue his harrowing trek and somehow the world was still going. There were so few who cared if he lived or died or how his life unfolded.
Led by his ravenous hunger, he found himself sitting at the table. Percy gave him a showman’s smile before pulling the lid of his plate away for him. Steam rose to greet Remis’ nose and he inhaled the sweet aroma. Thick round breakfast cakes were coated in glistening syrup and sprinkled with powdered sugar. Colorful berries were clustered all around the edges of the plate.
By the time Merritt pulled himself out of bed and they’d all eaten, the innkeeper was knocking on the door. He was a polite man, non-threatening, but stern, and Remis wasn’t one to push when their welcome had clearly run out. So without a carriage, a horse, or any of the supplies they’d previously packed, the three of them stepped out onto the busy Olden street.
Frost had melted in the windowpanes that glistened under the warmth of the sun, though even the sun couldn’t ward off the bitter chill in the air. Remis pulled his borrowed cloak against him. His hand moved to touch the coins still waiting in his pocket. It wouldn’t be enough to get them everything they needed, but hopefully it would get them at least to Croughton where his father’s accommodations waited.
“What now?” Percy looked down the road. He’d managed to find a bag to sling over his shoulder where his book and both Remis and Merritt’s salves were stored. Remis had been surprised to see how far his wound had come in only hours. The stitches were ugly, the skin still pink and bruised, but most of the pain had dissolved. A witch’s magic at work? Or was the medicinal salve making him numb to both the pain and intelligence?
“Now we barter for a couple horses?” The faster they could get through the woods the better. Though he was well aware of his need to get to Croughton, he felt a hazy sort of loss, now that they no longer had the luxury he’d grown up in. He hadn’t had to fend for himself in such a way even though his father had taught him how to haggle on behalf of a business.
“And put two men on one horse?” Percy asked.
“We don’t have enough money to get more than two, possibly not even that. So either we ride together or we walk.” Remis shrugged.
Wandering up and down the road, it took a while to find anyone with a horse who dared to stop and talk to them. Even then, only one person didn’t laugh when they asked to purchase their horses. After another failed attempt Merritt stopped to lean against a building, shadowing himself in an alley.
