Chapter 11

The inn keeper’s wife brought us two bowls of stew, interrupting the conversation. The stew was heavier on vegetables than meat but smelt reasonable and my stomach was uneasy with hunger.

“Ah,” Rivyn said to her. “What is the name of this village?”

“Nedin, my lord,” she replied flushing and sending him an inviting smile. She was a pretty woman, much younger than her husband.

“Thank you,” he did not seem to notice her attention. As she left, he inspected the stew with a weary sigh. “Do you have any idea where Nedin is?” he asked me.

“I am not bathing with you,” I whispered across the table, giving the other occupant of the tables the side eye. He did not seem overly curious, withdrawing further into his hood and angling away from us slightly. “And no, I have never heard of Nedin.”

“It’ll be a tight squeeze,” he replied, lifting the spoon to his lips and sampling. “Tastes better than it looks. I’m not sharing a bed with you unless you’ve washed the travel from yourself.”

“I am not sharing a bed with you,” I was outraged.

“There’s probably only one bed in a tavern this size,” he pointed out. “But you can sleep on the floor if you insist. Stop hissing at me and eat your stew.”

He was right. The stew did taste better than it looked. I smuggled a sample to my fairy man. Rivyn watched me, with a slight frown on his face, as if I were a puzzle that he could not quite work out.

I was growing to like the beer, and the level in my tankard was dropping. “So, what is the next thing you need to get and where is it?”

“Ah,” he watched me drink my beer speculatively. “Well, I need to obtain some spell components as Nedin is inconvenient for us, and then we’ll see if we can get ourselves somewhere more civilised.”

“What sort of spell components?” I wondered.

“Nothing too esoteric. Our bath is ready,” he observed, his eyes on the inn keeper’s wife who had re-entered the room, red cheeked and sweating from her efforts. He chuckled when I stood and swayed. He had been, I realised, waiting for exactly that. “Beer has a kick, hm?” he observed, steering me to the door where she waited.

She led us to a room tucked away behind the tavern. A rudimentary bed pressed its head against the bricks of the wall, big enough for two, I thought with a flush. The sheets and bedding looked clean, at least. Opposite to the bed, a fireplace burnt with cheerful flame, freshly lit, and only just beginning to warm the chamber. They had set a large wooden tub before the fire, freshly filled with hot water as steam still rose from its surface. Soap and a cup sat on a small wooden table, and cloths for drying were rolled and set to the side.

“Will you be needing help?” The innkeeper’s wife asked Rivyn, her interest blatant.

“My wife has it handled,” he replied firmly. “Thank you.”

“Your wife?” I demanded as the door shut.

“Well, it sounds more respectable than the wench I picked up off the road yesterday,” he divested me of my cloak and bag. “Boots off, Siorin.” He sat on the bed to remove his and dropped his cloak and bag onto the bed. “Don’t be shy,” he pulled off his shirt, and my mouth went dry. I turned my back to him firmly, but the image of him shirtless was seared into my mind’s eye.

I heard the water as he stepped into the tub with a sigh. “Don’t make me get out and fetch you,” he said. “Water will get everywhere.”