Page 106 of Keldori By Daybreak

“You really think so?” I beamed. He snorted in reply. “What’s the inn we’re staying at like? Is it nice?”

“Not sure. I stayed the night at the Ceremender’s with you, but when Orla brought your clothes, she gave me directions.”

I let him lead the way, taking in the shops and distant swaying canopy of vines until we stopped in front of a tavern. Music played inside, and someone was singing.

“The inn is in the back.” Ciarán stepped through the door first. “Our rooms are—”

He froze, and then stumbled back onto the street, knocking me back with him.

“What?” I demanded. “What’s happening?”

“Lady Quill,” he hissed.

“Orla? What’s wrong with her? Does she need—” I pushed past Ciarán into the tavern, and then backpedaled out as violently as he had.

“I don’t think she needs help,” Ciarán whispered.

I shook my head and peeked around the corner.

Orla sat in the tavern corner, halfway lost to flickering shadows. I probably wouldn’t have noticed her there if it weren’t for Iseult’s striking hair catching the candlelight from where she perched in Orla’s lap. Her fingers tangled in Orla’s pixie cut, and while I couldn’t tell exactly what they were doing from this angle, their faces were definitely too close to just be talking.

“Are we sure she doesn’t need help?” I whispered, unable to look away. “That’s Galahad’s granddaughter.”

“I think she looks perfectly at ease. Come on. While they’re not paying attention.” Ciarán ushered me through the tavern’s seating area, and when I stopped to stare again, he hooked me by my elbow and pulled me after him towards the back door.

The back halls of the inn lit in a faint orange glow as Ciarán brightened his eyes to better see and guide us towards our rooms. I was happy for Orla, but worry nagged at the back of my mind.

One, because Iseult was Iseult, but also—

“I thought that wasn’t allowed,” I said.

“What’s not allowed?” Ciarán stopped in front of a door and slipped a key into the knob.

“Sovereigns and guards. Doing…that.” I followed him into a small single-bed room when the door swung open. “We aren’t going to both fit on that.”

I pointed at the twin-sized bed, where both my and Ciarán’s old clothes had been left folded neatly and cleaned.

“I’ll be sleeping in front of the door, keeping you safe like I always do.”

“Right.” I dropped my backpack on the bed and lifted Liam’s blue hoodie from the folded laundry. “Because Sovereigns and guards and…”

I trailed off but bobbed my head back in the direction of the tavern.

Ciarán sighed and joined me at the bedside to collect his things.

“Orla is a Sovereign, yes,” he said. “But Iseult, to my knowledge, hasn’t taken the oath of a Quillguard.”

“Oh. Right.” I sat back on my bed, still holding the hoodie, and then blurted, “But why can’t Grimguards and Saergrims be together?”

Ciarán frowned down at me. “Why are you asking?”

Heat rose in my cheeks. “It just seems like an arbitrary rule. There’s only been one Saergrim until recently anyway. It’s never actually mattered.”

“It did matter. The first Grimguard, Darragh, loved your grandmother.”

I stared at Ciarán in horror.

“Gams?” I clarified. While I understood that Gams was absolutely a catch, the thought of anyone, especially Ciarán's great-great-great-grand -uncle, seeing her that way was more shocking than the discovery that she was the Frozen God.