Chapter 20

Ijog down the trail, mud splattering up my calves, knapsack smacking my hip in rhythm with my thundering heart. The three hollow presences flit around me like a churn of restless spirits.

Almost as if they’re playing.

Swiping sodden hair from my eyes, I give in to the reckless laugh popping up my throat, setting free a raw, happy sound that feels foreign on my tongue.

Though the rain has stopped, my clothes still cling to me like a second skin by the time the floodlit village comes into view between the trees. My feet slow with the Irilak’s easing spin as I edge toward the light, grip tightening on the mug-o’-bells held close to my chest.

I pause.

A deluge of men have spilled out into the mud and collected around a large circle of lanterns—a fighting ring for the two shirtless brutes that are bouncing on their toes, shooting little jabs while the raucous crowd chants, slurs, and hollers from just outside the staked line.

“Crap,” I mutter.

I could pick a path around the village perimeter and sneak in through a different access point. Or I guess I could ... blend in and walk straight past them all, pretending I didn’t just emerge from the jungle with no lantern to protect me from the supposedly vicious creatures chasing my every step.

The thought spikes my blood with adrenaline, making my heart hammer as another chorus of slurred shouts echo through the night …

They’re all too drunk to notice me, anyway.

Dropping to a kneel, I lower my bun so it’s sitting at my nape, similar to how the men wear theirs. I scoop some mud and smear it across my cheeks, then look over my shoulder at my small adoptive pack hovering uncertainly at the fringe of light.

I give them an awkward wave.

The baby flicks forward—like it got jolted with a spark of curiosity—swiftly corralled by the largest one, who rushes it into the thick pall of shadow.

Gone.

Slouching a little, digging one hand deep into my pocket while practicing my man-walk, I step into the light, the mug tucked close to my side as I trudge around the fractious throng, keeping my eyes down.

A meaty thud makes me wince, and I slip between the shelter of the two tall buildings.

The rain appears to have emptied the courtyard entirely, allowing me to cut a swift, silent path toward Blue Hollow Inn. I’m nearing the alleyway that leads to my lodgings when a roll of rusty laughter has me backing up against the wall.

Listening.

A giggle chimes in, and I curse, peeking around the corner.

A woman clothed in scraps of blue, back cushioned by fluffy greenery that’s twisted through the trellis I climbed down earlier, throws her head back as the man holding her in place drags the front of her bodice down, spilling her plump breasts.

I whip my gaze away and climb it up said trellis to my washroom window on the second floor ...

What unfortunate timing.

Her giggle melts into a moan, snapping my attention to the man’s hand roaming up the bare length of her leg that’s hooked around his waist. He grabs a healthy handful of her equally bare ass, and something deep inside me clenches.

Aches.

She undoes the front of his trousers, fingers nimble, frantic as she drives them down the front of him. Her shoulder drops, elbow finding a deep beat, and then it’s he who has his head thrown back while she pumps—again, and again, and again.

My cheeks burn, eyes widening.

He shoves down his pants, revealing an ass that’s a lot less tanned than the rest of him, then hooks her other leg back, punching his hips forward—

She moans, burying her face into his neck.

I swallow, unable to rip my gaze away from the wanton scene as he pumps up into her at a heart-thumping rate, her small body somehow absorbing every thrust.

That ... that right there is what’s expected of me at our coupling ceremony.

That. Right. There.

Will I want it like she does? Will the moment take me over and spike me with thrill?

How will I feel after the comedown, having given all that to someone I quite possibly wouldn’t have chosen for myself had the circumstances differed?

My chest tightens.

Ducking behind the wall, I look to the sky. Another threadbare moan rings through the balmy air, curling my fingers and my guts.

I hold a breath in my cheeks, blow it out, and swing my stare toward the Inn’s main entrance. Edging closer to the window so I can look inside, I see a lazy churn of movement amongst the smoky atmosphere.

A bard on a corner platform carves a tune, tapping his foot to the lively beat while barmaids balance overburdened trays on their heads and weave between the crowd. Stumbling men clunk tankards, sloshing amber liquid on both themselves and the scantily clad women perched on their laps.

My gaze is drawn to a flight of stairs and the sign on the wall beside it that reads Overnight Guests Only.

Relief washes over me like a cool bath on a hot night.

Fingers crossed I’m wearing enough mud to pass as a scrappy teenager out past his curfew, I reinitiate my man-walk, wobbling a little for good measure as I stomp toward the door. I wrap my hand around the handle, draw a deep breath, and pull.

Stepping into the stuffy rabble, I resist the urge to bat away the sweet-smelling smoke swirling at my eye level.

A firm hand grasps my shoulders, slamming me against the wall, a big body blocking me from the room, and I look up the line of Gun’s broad back to a swathe of salt-and-pepper hair.

“Gods give me strength,” Gun growls, a low chastisement that saws at my bones. “What in Kvath’s name were you doing out there? Do I even want to know?”

“I went to get a plant,” I whisper-yell, and he looks over his shoulder, eyes lowering. I raise my hand so he can see my little mug-o’-bells in their full, drooping glory.

His thick brows smack together. “Are you mad?”

Yes.

“You’re sodden. And where are your boots?”

“Forgot them. Why am I backed against the wall?”

“Forgo—” He bites off the word, shaking his head. “Because there’s a guard on your door.”

I roll my eyes, tapping my bare, very muddy foot against the wooden floorboards.

“When you do that, you remind me of my partner,” he mutters. “And not in a good way.”

“I think I’d like them.”

“You would. He’s also a pain in my ass.”

I smile, cracking the mud on my cheek.

“So … what now?”

“First, I’m going to buy you a mead,” he says, thieving one off the tray of a passing barmaid when she has her back turned.

I raise a brow.

He gives me a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do look and ushers me toward a sheltered corner table with two leather seats, pinching a cap off one and slapping it atop my head. He nudges it low, casting half my face in shadow and concealing my mess of wet hair that’s dripping all over my shoulders. “Then, you’re going to sit right here until the shift swap in an hour and hope like hell the High Master doesn’t come back and recognize you through all that mud.”

I take the corner seat and tuck myself out of view. “He’s out?”

Gun shifts his own chair, shielding me from all angles. “Yes,” he says, tipping his mug and drawing a hearty gulp, frosting his mustache. “Why the plant?”

I twirl my mug-o’-bells round and round. “They remind me of someone ...”

“They’re also one of the thirty-four ingredients required to make a certain outlawed drug.”

My stare whips up, mouth dropping open. “How do you—”

“My Enry. He’s a botanist with a big mouth. We have a plant shop in the city beneath my parents’ old house.”

“Your partner?”

“The one and only.”

I lift my drink, sipping the sweet liquid that’s crisp and cool and tastes a bit like honey. “Then I definitely like him.”

He grunts.

I pick at the dried mud on my arms, and it falls to the tabletop riddled with discolored rings and burn marks.

“What do you know about this Madame Strings Vanth mentioned on the ship?”

Gun’s hand pauses mid-lift, and he takes a stretched moment to set the mug back on the table.

Quietly.

“You have something you want to know?”

Lots of things.

I rest my cheek against my bunched fist and shrug, looking up at him from beneath the rim of my cap.

He clears his throat and checks the window nearby that reflects the rowdy crowd. “She’s a nomadic merchant who claims no color and never seems to age. Comes and goes as she pleases,” he finally grinds out. “Sells her wares in the city square. She can sometimes be found around a campfire surrounded by impressionable children who gobble up her stories like they’re spiked sweets.”

“And you don’t believe them?”

“I don’t trust her,” he growls, the words grating across my skin as he drains his mug.

I frown into mine, like all the answers I seek are swirling at the bottom ...

Hate to admit it, but Vanth was right. Though provoked, that creature did end up almost sinking our ship in a wild lash of fury—just like in the stories he claimed to have heard from this Madame Strings.

I know it’s a long shot, but perhaps ...

Perhaps she knows something about me.

The real me.