Page 50 of Grave Situation

Overhead, Leicht roars a protest, and we all cringe.

“Well, since I’m not willing to go searching for horses that might not exist, let’s take his word for it,” I declare. If there are no horses nearby, the logical assumption would be that the attackers—human and zombie—walked. Which means they couldn’t have been that far from our camp. The stone said there were zombies loose throughout the continent, but I didn’t stop to consider what that meant.

“Strike camp?” Jaimin asks.

“Yes. It’s time to leave this place.” I glance up toward Leicht and catch sight of the moon. It’s surrounded by a clear ring of light, and I blink. “That’s unusual.”

Tia’s gaze follows mine, and she grunts. “Not that unusual. We better get moving.”

“Ring around the moon, rain coming soon,” Jaimin says softly, and my head snaps around.

“What?”

He shrugs. “It’s usually the case. It’ll probably storm by morning.”

Fuck. I knew there was a reason I’m an indoors type of person. “By all means, let’s beat the rain to the village.”

We don’t quite manageto beat the storm. It’s close, and the dark shadows of the village are within sight, but clouds blot out the glow of predawn ferociously fast. Within mere minutes, the sky goes from clear to the first heavy drops of rain, and by the time we ride into the innyard, we’re soaked through.

So delightful.

Thankfully, the scullery boy is already awake and opens the door to my pounding, racing off to fetch the innkeeper. He’s grumpy at being woken an hour early but cheers up when I tell him we want a room for the day and night, stabling and fodder for three horses, and all our meals. I also pay extra for private baths and ask if there’s somewhere we can dry our clothes. His face is alight as he babbles that his wife and daughter can look after everything for us. Business is likely to be slow for him in this weather anyway—most people are intelligent, like me, and don’t travel in the rain.

Tia takes Jaimin upstairs—he’s been swaying in his saddle for the last half hour—and the innkeeper rouses the stablehand to help me with the horses. Only when I’m satisfied they’re all dry, warm, watered, and fed in their cozy stalls do I enter the inn.

The innwife meets me at the bottom of the stairs, a huge covered tray in her hands.

“Is that for us?” I ask. My stomach growls. I don’t normally eat this early in the morning, but my body’s been awake long enough to decide it needs sustenance.

“It is,” she says. “If you’ll take this one, I’ll fetch the other. We’re heating the water for your baths, so the sooner you get some food in you, the better.”

I almost break down weeping. Instead, I muster my most charming smile. “If you ever decide you’d like a new husband, I’d run away with you in a heartbeat.”

She laughs. “As if I’d marry trouble like you. Get upstairs and out of those wet things.”

I obey, because it’s only force of will that’s keeping my teeth from chattering right now. At the top of the stairs, I turn right, remembering the innkeeper’s directions, and go to the end. The door there is firmly closed, and I reach out to my sister.

“Open the door, would you?”

A moment later, she’s standing there, out of her leathers and wearing simple cotton trousers and a shirt. “Is that food? Thank all the gods.”

Following her in, I say, “Leave the door open—there’s another tray coming,” and take in the room. We’re in luck—it’s a nice one. There’s a wide window with a bench seat, a huge four-poster bed at one end, and two armchairs before a fireplace with the fire crackling cheerfully away. Jaimin’s sitting in one of them, his head leaned back, eyes closed. At the other end of the room is a cot, but it’s a good size and made up with decent linens. There’s also a screened-off area and a small table and chairs. My guess is that this room runs the entire width of the inn and is usually reserved for traveling nobles.

No wonder the innkeeper was so happy to see us. This isn’t a room most travelers can afford.

I set the tray on the table and shoot Tia an apologetic look. “This doesn’t fit with your low-profile plan. I’m sorry.”

She shrugs and lifts the cloth off the food. “We need a place to regroup. And I’m rethinking the whole low-profile thing. We might need more muscle.”

My frown comes swiftly—the stone won’t like that—but the innwife bustles in before I can reply.

“Here we are.” She sets down the other tray. This one is only half covered, and the other half has a teapot with steam rising from the spout and a jug of pale liquid. “This is my own restorative tea recipe—will do you all good! And the cider is from Carby’s orchard, over the other side of the village. The baker was just taking the first loaves out, so you’ve got those too, and porridge. There’s some cheese and a bit of last night’s roast. That should get you started.”

My stomach growls again. “Ma’am, that offer of marriage stands.”

She scoffs. “Now, you’ve probably found the tub.” She gestures to the screen. “I’ll send someone up to fill it for the lady. You gentlemen can bathe after she does, or we’ve a private room off the kitchen with another tub. There’s no guests awake at the moment, so you’d have it to yourselves. I can tell the girls to start filling it, if you’d like.”

“Please do,” Tia says. “But our friend will use the tub up here. He had the sleeping sickness last month, and riding through the night has worn him out.” She makes a face. “We were trying to beat the rain.”

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