Page 47 of Godsbane
A second voice chimes in. “Aye, and that’s where they’ll find your body once he kills you for asking too many fucking questions.”
Marks moving troops to Topaz? Why indeed.
With mountains to the east and nothing but the iceberg-filled sea to its north, that particular region is the most naturally guarded in all of Corinth. There’s virtually no threat of invasion there, unless of course the invasion isn’t foreign. I wouldn’t put it past Marks to use the threat of a military raid to secure Governor Wilson’s vote.
“Freeman, Sanders! Get back ‘ere! You’re not done yet!” another voice yells loudly.
I sneak a peek around the corner just in time to see two men decked out in Corinthian gray uniforms walking towards the city shops. With slow, light steps, I follow them until they round the corner of the inn. No sight of the commanding voice, but something tells me its owner is the same man I saw flag down Cal with a single nod.
Like the streets, the inn is also teeming with people. It’s standing room only in the small tavern that occupies the lower floor, the loud cacophony of voices overtaking the cramped space. Magic twitches inside, tugging me towards the back of the room.
Each crowded table I pass is covered in a spread of roast pig and goblets filled with the Ruby Region’s famous sparkling wine. The free-flowing effervescent liquid sweeps the patrons into a haze Bastin would be proud of.
Through that haze, I see a god of a different sort. The stoic captain leans against the back wall, trying and failing to blend in. His elevated foot rests behind him and he’s rolled up his shirtsleeves to expose tan arms that end in a clenched fist. Dark hair falls lazily over his furrowed brow and he’s twirling a roomkey around his pointer finger. If ‘uptight ease’ is what he’s going for, Callan Murphy is nailing it perfectly.
Anyone who glances his direction, and has had the right amount of fizzy wine, might be fooled into thinking he’s a normal man without a care in the world. But to the trained eye, the one that has spent the past week analyzing his every move, the truth is obvious. The real, stripped down man hides behind a deadly persona. To me, he’s a hybrid—half-Cal, half-Captain of Corinth. And I’m captivated by his presence.
As if cued by his own magic, Cal stiffens and pushes off the wall standing to his full height. His head turns to find me in the crowd, a mixture of relief and exasperation written on his expression. I push through the crowd, offering him his bag with an extended arm.
His voice is sharp when he speaks. “What took you so long?”
“Saved a cat.” I shrug, pushing past him and starting up the wooden stairs to my room.
“You saved a cat?” Cal tugs on my arm, stopping me and twisting me to face him.
“Yes. I gave Death a life yesterday. The scales must stay balanced.”
“Waaa….tttcchhh oooouuttt…” a voice from behind me slurs. I don’t have time to react before Cal pulls me against his chest and presses me against the stairwell wall. An overweight drunk man barely misses us as he tumbles down the last remaining steps before landing on his face on the floor.
The tavern below erupts into laughter at his fall, but I barely hear them over the sound of power roaring in my veins. The sheer proximity of his body to mine has liquid heat pooling in my core again.
Cal leans in, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispers, “You never cease to amaze me, Ivy.”
“Hot soup coming through!”
An apron-clad woman carrying a tray of fragrant, steaming bowls pushes her way up the tight staircase, forcing Cal to press his body impossibly closer. My lower back digs into the wooden handrail but the pain is drowned out by the scent of leather and salty air that invades my senses.
I barely managed to pick myself up from the godsdamned puddle he left me in earlier today, and here I am, melting again in a fucking stairwell. So much for that hot bath I was looking forward to. I hope they have ice here.
By the grace of the gods, Cal backs away and motions for me to start up the stairs ahead of him. Devilish pride swells in me as he tries to inconspicuously adjust his leather pants when he thinks I’m not watching.
Glad to know I’m not the only one affected.
The stairs give way to a hall bustling with people coming and going from their rooms. Cal weaves us in between the passing patrons to a wooden door with a large number12engraved on an oval brass plaque, the number corresponding to the one stamped on the key in his hand.
The room is small and the sparse furnishings take up the entire space: a simple bed, an armchair, and a flimsy wooden desk. It’s not much, but it’s better than a bedroll.
There are more inns further into the city center—larger, nicer inns that are quieter, less crowded and more luxurious. But traveling further into the city means risking unwanted attention from Governor Rollins, a man who only tolerates me because of his longstanding trade agreement with my father. I’d like nothing more than to get in and out of Gathe without a run-in with our reluctant ally.
Cal shuts the door and groans audibly when he takes in the space.
“Not the palace you wanted for me, Captain?” I tease, setting my bag down in the armchair and unclasping my cloak.
“The innkeeper said there’d be a couch in here,” he grumbles.
“A couch…”
My breath catches in my chest. The gods must have one hell of a sense of humor to trap us in not one but two inns at max capacity. I’d bet all the coins in Emerald’s vaults that there’s no rat-infested broom closet for Cal to hide in this time. No, tonight he’ll be here with me and all the tension that’s been building between us.
