3. Chapter 3

three

N evander slumped by the crackling fire in the main hall, the warmth slowly seeping back into his bones. His wool socks draped over his boots, steam rising from them in the heat of the flames. He’d cleaned the mud caked on his boots and rinsed out his socks earlier at the stone well in the courtyard, but there was little hope for his travel-stained cloak and breeches other than to let them slowly dry by the fire.

The hearty stew and fresh bread he’d devoured earlier sat heavy in his stomach, making his eyelids droop. He stretched his aching feet closer to the glowing embers, feeling the occasional sting of an errant spark.

As he scanned the room through half-lidded eyes, the flickering lanterns cast eerie shadows on the time-worn tables. The new innkeeper’s obsession with owls was evident everywhere. A row of wooden owls had replaced the landscape painting above the fireplace, each one smaller than the last. Stuffed owls hung from the walls and ceiling, their wings frozen mid-flight, their vacant glass eyes seeming to follow his every move. Nevander never understood the need to decorate with dead things. He’d seen enough death and there was no beauty in it.

In the corner, a young man hunched over a bowl and mug, his own boots and cloak faded and worn. His raggedly cut blond hair framed a face full of premature lines. He lifted his arm to reach for his mug, but it was merely a stub, cut off from the elbow down. The man’s eyes lingered on his empty sleeve, momentarily perplexed, before he reached out and took hold of the cup with his other hand.

Something dark coiled around Nevander’s chest. How many men came back from the war, missing pieces of themselves? How many men never came back at all? How many wives and children still cried themselves to sleep at night?

He didn’t deserve to be in the same room as that man. Not after what he’d done. Nevander rose abruptly, gathering his clothes and shoving his feet into his damp boots with jerky movements.

At the clerk’s desk, he paid for a pitcher of milk and some dried meat, then hesitated before dropping two silver crowns on the counter. “This is for whatever that man in the corner eats. And give him the rest of the change.”

The stable’s familiar scents of hay and horse sweat greeted him as he checked on Sunu. The mare nuzzled his hand, and he allowed himself a grim smile. At least she didn’t judge him for his past.

A soft meow announced Akeela’s arrival. The cat dropped a mouse at his feet and sat expectantly. Nevander knelt, running his fingers through her soft fur. “You can have that. I’m full. But I brought you some milk, if you’re still hungry.”

As Akeela lapped up the warm milk, her tail twitching with excitement, Nevander stepped outside into the crisp night air. He lifted his gaze to the constellation of Enkin’s ship in the northern sky, its seven bright stars as familiar as his own hand. As a boy, he’d spent countless nights tracing that outline, dreaming of adventure. Now, it only reminded him of everything he’d lost .

He hadn’t been on a ship in over a year, and the mere thought of it still made him ill.

Although not as ill as that woman appeared to be in the lobby earlier. Despite her pallor, her beauty had been undeniable - freckles dancing across golden skin, full lips, and large, dark eyes that spoke to something inside of him. Something he shoved away.

Was she lying in the bed that was meant for him right now? Enjoying the large copper tub that should have been his?

Nevander’s jaw clenched. She was lucky to have arrived when she did, or her screeching companion would have spent the night in their opulent carriage. His eyes narrowed as he took in the polished wood and gold trim, the large crest with a stylized W.

Why did the name Wynlar sound familiar? It seemed like he’d heard a story about that family once, but he was too tired to dredge it up from his weary mind.

Fatigue weighed him down as he gave Sunu one last brush. Where was he going to rest? He couldn’t face that one-armed soldier in the lobby again. Sleep wouldn’t find him there.

Rubbing the back of his aching neck, he glanced around the small stable. He’d slept in worse places. Nevander tossed his saddle blanket over a bed of fresh hay in a corner and sunk down, leaning his head against the weathered wood of the stable wall. A few stems of hay stabbed him in the back and he punched them down before resettling. This was going to be rough. But at least here, he could let his guard down.

As Nevander closed his eyes, he prayed for peace, even for one night. But in the darkness behind his eyelids, the ghosts of his past waited to haunt his dreams once more.

Kallessa couldn’t sleep. She’d lain in the soft bed next to Dovina for hours, listening to the creaking of cooling boards and the distant sounds of night. Her cousin had fallen into a deep sleep shortly after they’d settled in, but it eluded her, and she knew why.

This wasn’t her bed.

Her actual bed was miles away in a cottage by the beach, where open windows let in the sound of rhythmic waves breaking on the shore.

She remembered her mother when she heard the sounds of the beach. They’d collected shells in the pink predawn light when the world was new and fresh and anything was possible. Her tiny mother, barefooted and laughing, running along the beach, pointing out hermit crabs as they buried their crusty bodies back into the sand as the sun came up.

But this place was foreign, and quiet. If she listened intently, she could hear the trickle of the brook behind the inn, an owl’s hoot in the woods, a horse whinny in the barn.

But that wasn’t really the problem.

This wasn’t her bed because it belonged to that burly man from the lobby. Where was he now? As the dying coals in the fireplace dimmed, a chill crept through the room. She pulled the blanket higher to her chin as she fought with herself. It wasn’t right, what they’d done, and if she didn’t try in some small way to make it right, she’d never sleep a wink.

Her head throbbed dully as she rose, careful not to disturb her cousin, and pushed her feet into slippers. She didn’t want to explain what she was about to do. Dovina wouldn’t understand, anyway. Slipping into her robe and grabbing an extra blanket, Kallessa padded into the hallway, cool air swirling around her bare ankles.

How late was it? She didn’t recall seeing a clock earlier, her attention consumed by that man who’d dominated the lobby. She had to stop referring to him as ‘that man,’ but how else could she think of him?

He’d towered over her, wild braided hair and a bronze beard that would have looked ragged on another man, but on him, it looked perfect. His eyes were a mesmerizing blend of light and dark green, flecked with silver and amber, like a summer leaf caught in the morning sun. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he’d stood ramrod straight. No, there hadn’t been a relaxed bone in his body, and when she’d stumbled upon him and Dovina arguing, he’d knocked the breath from her already queasy stomach.

Virile. That was the word. Not like–no. She wouldn’t think about him now.

Her slippered feet whispered across the polished wood floor and down the stairs. The lobby and dining hall were silent, the lanterns extinguished. Only faint embers glowed in the fireplace, leaving a hint of wood smoke in the air. She scanned the room, half-expecting to find him asleep on a chair or a bench, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Had he left? Surely not. It would be foolish to travel at night. That left the stable. But why choose that over the inn’s comfort? Only one way to find out. A shiver of nervousness raced across her skin, but she shoved it aside.

Kallessa creaked open the front door and stepped into the moonless night. The chill air whipped her curls into her face and swirled the hem of her dressing gown. The night felt different here, more closed off, full of land and trees and creatures, unlike the one she left behind. No damp, salty breeze here. Everything smelled like soil and moss and leaves.

The trail to the barn wasn’t paved as she’d hoped, but packed dirt, damp from recent rain. She should have worn boots, but she didn’t know she’d be traipsing across the grounds. Too late now.

The stars cast a faint glow on her surroundings, providing just enough light for Kallessa to navigate her way. As she stepped inside the stable, the comforting scents of hay and horses filled the air. She inhaled deeply, memories of childhood flooding back. She missed her horses. Her mother had raised and bred the finest Reykian horses in all of Dracia. But that was all gone now.

A single lantern illuminated the stable. In a dim corner, she spotted the man’s dark form curled on a pile of hay, head resting against the wall. That looked uncomfortable, to say the least. And while he was out here shivering in the cold, Dovina was sound asleep in a soft, warm bed.

A horse shuffled its feet as she picked her way over to the slumbering man. He looked less fierce as he slept in his stocking feet, those piercing green eyes closed. A slight tremor ran through his limbs as a cold gust blew through. His eyelids twitched, lips quivering as if he was caught in a nightmare.

Kallessa’s heart clenched. He must have been exhausted to fall asleep like that. Maybe the blanket would help. She’d just drape it over him and leave. No one would even know she’d been here.

Carefully unrolling the blanket, she squatted down. She leaned forward, arms spread wide –

Suddenly, her world tilted. Her back slammed into the hay as she gasped for breath, flailing in confusion. A heavy weight pinned her, imprisoning her arms to her sides like iron manacles. Her long curls flung across her face, blinding her.

She opened her mouth to scream, but a calloused hand clamped over it, as unyielding as the arm that had snared her. Kallessa’s heart raced, thundering in her chest like a stampede of wild horses, but her body was frozen. Frantic thought flitted across her mind begging her to move, do something! Her muscles tensed, quivering with the urge to fight or flee, yet she remained paralyzed, sparks flying in front of her unseeing eyes.

She couldn’t move. That one thought spiraled through her as desperate breaths fought to escape her lips.

A stifled whimper rose from her throat, raw and animalistic, a sound she didn’t recognize as her own.

Then everything went still. Dead still. Silence enveloped them as she heard a harsh breath over the pounding of her own heart. In a single moment, Kallessa felt a thousand sensations. His sleep warmed skin burning against hers, his thundering heartbeat matching her own, the tension in every corded muscle pressed against her. His feral scent of leather and sweat filled her nostrils.

The hand jerked away from her mouth. The iron grip relaxed, and she was hauled upright with a haste that suggested regret–or fear. She gasped in air, her trembling breath tumbling from her lips as her vision cleared. But she couldn’t gather a single coherent thought to save her life.

His arms were no longer a prison, but cradled her lower back as his body trembled against hers. His ragged breath fanned her night-chilled skin. The rough fabric of his clothes scraped her robe, sending new sensations skittering across her flesh. He gripped her tighter, as if needing an anchor, then spoke words that reverberated through her bones.

“Never...” His voice, a harsh whisper that sent a tremble racing across her skin, held a tremor of its own, raw with hyper-alertness. “Never sneak up on a soldier, girl.”