Page 43 of Through the Wicked Wood

Sorin shrugs, casual as always. “Last I heard in Davenport there’s a potion they take. Allows them to tap into magick being used in nearby areas.” I watch Sorin intently as he speaks, never having known myself exactly how the hunters can sense such a thing as magick. “One of the fishermen, Quinn was his name, told me about a group of hunters who passed by several years ago. Posted up at the Blackwind Tavern for a few days. There was talk then about a drink they all were required to take regularly.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” I whisper, and by the look of Sam and Jarek’s face, they haven’t either. A potion to sense the use of magick. My body shudders at the thought and the dark magick that must have been used to concoct it.

I take a sip of the stale ale and refrain from puckering my face as it slides down my throat. The more we speak on the matter of Valebridge, the less confident I become that coming here was the right choice. What do I have to offer to help the situation besides a faint memory of where the Stones are located and the knowledge of a tunnel leading to the castle?

Swallowing the rising regret in my throat I focus on the people in front of me. Sorin’s hand is still placed on mine, the heat of his touch pulses up my arm and into my chest. Leaving tiny trails of static across my skin. The immediate urge to pull away has subsided and now I find myself dizzied by his touch.

Sam and Jarek are working on their third round of ale when Galen saunters back to our booth from the inn across the street. He remains standing despite the empty chair at the end of the rounded table.

“There are three rooms.” He sounds tired as he takes in the empty tankards and spilled ale across our table. The snarl of his lip says more than his words need to. Most of the other tavern patrons have left, leaving us alone to discuss our business. Sorin assured me Park and Jeanette would remain quiet about any details overheard, and I’m inclined to believe him given their friendly nature earlier.

“And you reserved all three?” Jarek asks before downing the last of his ale, and then mine. I chuckle despite myself as he drinks down the brown liquid before slamming the tankard on the table.

Galen shoots him a look before rolling his eyes. “No, Jarek, I insisted we only needed one.” Pushing his hands in his pockets, he leans back against the wooden beam next to our booth. “Clearly, yes,” Galen says, closing his eyes, “I reserved all three.”

“What crawled up his arse?” Jarek mumbles under his breath. Sam chokes her ale as she breaks into a fit of laughter. Standing to collect the empty tankards, Sorin plays peacekeeper as I imagine he so often does with the four friends.

“Sam and Jarek take one, Galen and I will bunk in another, and Elora can have the third. Easy enough.” My stomach sinks and I struggle to come to terms with why. I tell myself it’s because I don’t want to be alone, not because I want to be with Sorin.

Liar.

Tipping my head to the side, I give my earlobe a light tug. Galen tosses Jarek a key with a wooden toggle attached, then does the same to me. The toggle is shaped like an arrow, with a number two burned into the wood.

My eyes drift to Sorin as he crosses the pub over to the bar, juggling the empty tankards before setting them down on the bartop. Park greets him with a smile and shakes his hand in a way of thanks.

The gold shimmers against the oil lamps as Sorin slips the man a handful of shillings, far too many for what our meal and drinks could be worth. The two of them begin a hushed chatter that I know I won’t be able to make out, but I try anyway, leaning slightly forward on the table.

“You know…” Sam’s words are drawn out as she leans across the table, “rather than watching him all night, you could just kiss and get it over with.”

I imagine the look on my face is somewhere between surprise and embarrassment as I jolt backward away from her. Heat flushes over my cheeks, and I bite the inside of them to keep myself from spewing some ridiculous excuse that I know she won’t believe.

Sam’s laugh echos through the empty pub, and I fight the urge to kick her under the table. “Relax,” she says between laughter, “I’m just teasing.” She reaches for my hand, and I let her grab it despite my embarrassment. “Unless, of course, you do want to kiss Sorin,” she whispers. “Which…” She squints her eyes at me for a moment, contemplating her answer. I pull my hand away a bit too aggressively, the memory of Sorin’s lips on my skin making my cheeks redden even further. Slapping her hand down on the table as if she’s just solved a mystery she says, “Yes. I believe you do want to kiss him, and if that’s the case might I suggest—”

“I believe that’s our cue.” Jarek laughs as he cuts her off. Standing, he swings Sam over his shoulder as if she weighs nothing at all. “Off to bed, my queen,” Jarek says, patting her across her arse, making her laugh even louder than before.

“We’ll meet at the stables at morning’s first light,” Sorin shouts across the pub as the two of them head out the door. Rejoining us at the booth, Sorin slams down a bowl of soup in front of Galen. “Thank you for taking care of the rooms. Eat.”

Galen sighs, but doesn’t argue as he leans in and starts on the soup.

* * *

Excusing myself a few moments later, I leave Sorin and Galen at the pub. My body aches in agony from the multiple days on horseback not to mention how desperate I am for a bath.

The Sherwood Inn is located just across the cobblestone streets of Mahaffey's Pub. The two stories that make up the building have a slight lean to them. The mossy coated roof reminds me of those in Loxley, which brings a sense of comfort I wasn’t expecting. An elderly woman by the name of Anne greets me and insists on escorting me to my room. Even though I can clearly see the number two marked on the door that matches my key. Unlocking the door, she guides me into the room.

“If you need anything, Enchantress, don’t hesitate,” she says, making her way back toward the front of the inn. Surprise lodges in my throat as I realize I’ve let my mask fall, showing my eyes true color. Then again, Sam hadn’t masked hers at all and no one took notice. Perhaps Sorin has more allies than he’s let on.

Once inside the room, there isn’t much to see. A simple bed that sits atop a dusty patterned rug, a small end table with a lit lantern and across from the bed is a window that overlooks the streets of Wickersham. I pull the heavy, floral drapes closed to conceal the view, not that there are many onlookers this time of night. Waves of dust disperse from the fabric and I cover my mouth to avoid inhaling anything unsavory.

The fireplace isn’t lit, but with the air still warm outside from summer, I don’t bother starting a fire. Tossing my cloak in the chair adjacent to the fireplace, I head for the bathing chamber that’s attached to my room. It consists of a chamber pot, pitcher and bowl, and to my delight, a deep, soaker tub.

Once out of the bath, I shake my hair free and let it hang loosely down my back. Pulling on my tunic, I decide to forgo my breeches since the room is already warm from the sticky, summer air. The quilt on the bed has various patchwork patterns, swirling purples and deep oranges in different shapes, and in the center a spiraling flower. While it appears just as dusty as the rug underneath the bed, it’s soft and warm, so I climb in and pull it up to my chin. Taking a few deep breaths, I ignore the musty smell and focus on relaxing my shoulders. Sleep isn’t far off as I jerk myself upright.

When a second knock raps at my door, my heart stammers against my chest.

Chapter 23

Sorin

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