Page 16 of Court of Treachery

His father paled at his words. “What storm?” he asked, aghast.

Dimitri shook his head. His expression was serious, but inside, he coiled with suppressed glee at their discomfort and upset. “I will say no more. Heed my words.”

And with that, Dimitri left them all sweating upon their fate.

14

HARPER

The days ate up the long distance, and the Dragontooth Mountains, which had been a low, hazy smudge in the distance, soon soared so far into the heights that their summits were lost. Harper craned her neck, trying to see them as they rode. Today, she rode with Aedon once more, as Ragnar and Erika each took their own horses and Brand soared above them.

Still, the lurching movement of the horses unsettled her, and she was glad she did not have to figure out how to ride one herself. Her arms encircled Aedon’s waist firmly as she rode behind him, clinging on for dear life and looking forward, as ever, to dismounting that night, for the sake of both her sore legs and bottom.

It was as close to time alone as the two of them had—for Brand put paid to any privacy between them, lurking nearby at all times, it seemed. Harper did not know whether to be irritated or touched to begin with, that the gruff warrior had taken her wellbeing so to heart. Her gratitude waned in the face of his oppressive presence everywhere she turned, until she longed to scream with the feeling of being stifled. Aedon’s silence on the matter irritated her too—he made no more moves towards her,to shed clarity on breaking things off, or to stake his claim upon her. She did not know whether she wanted him to or not—but anything would have been better than his limp avoidance. That only bred disdain in her, Harper found.

Disdain did not elicit any of the consuming inferno of feelings within her that she had only ever found in the dangerous presence of one certain spymaster whose violet gaze and domineering presence stalked through the edges of her dreams. And, when she made the mistake of falling asleep during the long rides, it was all too easy to reckon, in the disorientating moments between sleeping and waking, that it washiswaist her arms encircled, and his unyielding muscled back she rested against. That shocked her awake quickly without fail as she suppressed the thoughts with brutal savagery.

They made for quicker progress than on foot, however, so she was ultimately glad for the horses. A sore bottom, chafed thighs, and private embarrassment were a worthy payment, or punishment, against miles of walking, Harper reasoned. Even with the lure of her magic to experiment with, it was hard to distract herself from the misery of the saddle as the days stretched on.

As the mountains neared, Ragnar, who led them, altered his course toward a giant rift in the peaks and a great valley hemmed in by sheer cliffs. The gorge penetrated deep into the range until it was lost in the twisting, turning valleys between the peaks. Harper wondered how long it would take them to get there, because the mountains were so large, they never seemed to draw any closer.

A rising wisp up ahead caught her attention. “What’s that smoke?” she called to Aedon as the wind rushed past her face, beating her hair against them both.

“A full stomach!” he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s the Maiden’s Beard. The final inn on the road before we cross into the dwarven realm of Valtivar.”

Harper snorted. “The Maiden’s Beard? What kind of name isthatfor an inn?” In her home county they had names like ‘The Anchor’, ‘The Crown’, or perhaps at most exciting, ‘Knight & Dragon’. Tam’s inn, where she had worked, was called ‘The Hound & Barrel’.

Aedon threw her a lop-sided smile. “Well, you’ve never met a dwarven woman have you?”

Harper stared at him. “They have beards?”

“Their beards are better than mine, let me tell you, lass,” sniffed Ragnar, looking indignant as he palmed down the length of his braided beard. “Luxurianttresses with not half the maintenance I have to keep on my wiry bush. Lucky buggers.”

Harper stifled a giggle. Her heart lifted at the prospect of food—a hearty, hot meal, with any luck—and their impending crossing into Valtivar. She hoped reaching the dwarven realm meant soon reaching shelter for a longer period. Already, she missed her shack more than she thought would be possible. Her pallet back in Caledan seemed like a kingly bed compared to the cold, packed earth and open elements. Even though Aedon had now taught her how to spell against the cold and shroud herself with a blanket of warm air, she could not conjure a soft place to lay, no matter how much she wished it.

It grew dark by the time they reached the inn, which sheltered against a bluff. Harper realised that, to her surprise, the inn was a single storey dwelling of timber that seemed embedded within the very hill itself. The chimney rose through the grass above, and the warm glow of firelight danced through the small, diamond-paned windows. They picketed the three horses in the lean-to with the other patrons’ mounts, where fresh hay was stacked against the most sheltered wall. Thehorses seemed to be as glad as they to be out of the elements, for they strained at their tethers at once to graze.

Heat blasted Harper as she stepped across the threshold of the inn and onto a rush-lined, stone-flagged floor. The heat tingled through her as she removed her cloak and flexed her fingers to ease the stiffness and chill within them. For a lone inn situated in the middle of nowhere, it was busier than she had anticipated. After the silence of the outdoors, apart from the thundering drone of horses’ hooves as a constant companion, the noise was unexpected. Now, conversations assailed her from all sides, in all manner of strange tongues. Dwarves, men, and elves filled the inn, but it was a far cry from Tam’s inn back in Caledan.

Here, she saw merchants, warriors, and rangers, not drunks and layabouts. Here, the air did not smell of stale sweat, pipe smoke, and worse, but musky woodsmoke, pine, and rich food. Here, the patrons seemed uninterested in the serving girls—at least before their sustenance—being more than content to flick them a coin for their service before tucking into steaming plates. Despite her appreciation of this place, smelling the familiar scent of ale upon the air gave her a pang of almost homesickness when she thought of Betta.You can’t return, she reminded herself.Betta will be fine. She hoped the weathered old battle-axe would manage to survive the winter without her help.

Wooden pillars supported the low ceiling elaborately carved with nature scenes. Some were carved from giant, living root systems that descended from the trees growing above the tavern, continuing down into the earth below. Harper brushed her fingers across the smooth wood as they passed, winding through the stools and tables to the bar at the head of the room.

Flames crackled from the twin fires at either side of the surprisingly large space. One to warm the patrons, the other to cook bubbling pots of stew and a boar upon a spit. Harper’smouth started watering as the smell of meat and woodsmoke twined its way into her nose alluringly.

“Can we have some of that?” she whispered to Ragnar, tugging on his sleeve.

“I should think so,” he answered, sounding offended at the prospect of not doing so.

“What can I get for yer?” the barkeep asked, flicking a practised gaze over them. Harper noticed every snag of his eyes upon their various weapons.

“Ales and your meat stew all ‘round, please,” Aedon said, counting coins from a purse hidden within his cloak. Harper eyed the money. She had still not figured out what Pelenor currency entailed.

The barkeep nodded and swept the coins from the countertop in one swipe. “Wait for yer drinks. Maid’ll bring yer food.” He poured the fizzing, honey-coloured liquid from a cask into wooden tankards, sliding the full vessels across a bar worn smooth with age.

Once each had their drinks, they made their way to a corner near the fire where they begged enough spare stools from neighbouring tables to form their own circle around a barrel. Brand stooped, his wings crumpling against the ceiling, and he huffed a sigh of relief as he perched upon the stool, which was comically tiny under his bulk, able to ruffle his feathers once more.

“Cheers to another mission well done,” Aedon said, raising his tankard.

---