Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 153795 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 769(@200wpm)___ 615(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153795 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 769(@200wpm)___ 615(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
I close my eyes and swallow, ignoring the delicious stir in my stomach.
When I open my eyes again, Thane leans back with a faint smirk on his face and gives me a full once-over. He then marches away, and perhaps it’s my imagination, but I swear I hear a dark rumble of a laugh leave him before he enters the inn, as if he knows his words and proximity have gotten the best of me.
I sit on the bench again with a huff.
What the shadows is this man doing to me?
Chapter 17
It takes longer than expected for them to clear the bodies, drag them to the middle of the forest, and burn them. Despite them going deep into the woods, I can still smell the scent of burning flesh, and it’s putrid. It’s so bad it makes me want to throw up.
By the time most (but not all) of the blood is cleaned up and broken tables are hauled out and tossed in a pile, the sun is setting. I didn’t expect it to take so long, but what can we do now? It isn’t wise to walk through any forests at night.
“Just stay the night,” Rynthea says when I make a mention of it to Thane. She’s working on starting a fire behind the inn. “There are plenty of rooms. I already have some dough rising, so I plan on baking bread and making more soup for everyone.”
“Oh—I’ll be happy to help you bake it,” I offer, tossing up a hand. “I work in a bakery in Meriva, so I’m basically married to bread.”
She laughs, and when the flames ignite and the wood crackles, she says, “Come on, then. You handle the bread and I’ll make more soup.”
Within the next couple of hours, the bread is fresh out of the oven and the soup is piping hot. We eat around the fire, perched on thick logs that connect around the firepit to form a square.
Rynthea, Torjack, and Algar chat away about Kamtaur Inn—future plans, fond memories, and past guests.
Thane is quiet…and I realize I am, too.
Baking bread took my mind off the massacre for just a while, but even now I can still smell the burned corpses lingering in the air.
A rustling noise sounds behind me, and Pearl groans a short distance away. I stifle a gasp as I look over my shoulder to where she’s tied to a tree next to a water trough. I forgot she was there for a second.
Calm down, I think to myself.
But how can anyone be calm? I’m so jumpy after all the fighting and bloodshed I witnessed earlier. Thane said Maliek got away. What if he comes back to finish us all off? Not that I think Thane would allow it, but still. That man has magic, too. And he seems powerful.
I glance at Thane. He’s already looking at me, studying my face with slightly narrowed eyes, as if he’s trying to read my thoughts.
I look away, putting my focus on the fire instead, hoping it’ll rid my mind of all the worries.
…
After dinner, Rynthea and Penju heat up water from their well and fill the washbasins in each room being used for the night. I study the basin on the stand, the ewer below, and sigh. At least I get to clean myself up a bit. I’ve been dying to wash the grime of today away.
After dipping my hands in the water and washing my face, I remove my clothes, then grab one of the cloths from the armoire. There’s a small block of soap Rynthea left as well that smells like a mixture of spices and florals. It smells nice.
I wash with it while releasing a slow and steady breath. The water feels good on my skin. Refreshing.
As I dunk the cloth in the bowl again, I catch my reflection in the mirror connected to the washbasin stand and pause.
I look so…stressed.
All of my features are tense. And it’s now I realize how much my body aches. Every limb feels heavy and every joint tight. I notice my shoulders are a little too close to my ears, so I relax them. The action does nothing to ease my mind, though. How can I relax when I’m traveling across the world with a shadow assassin? One who’s being hunted by equally dangerous people?
Shaking my head, I finish washing, then strip out of my undergarments. There’s a clean ivory gown in the armoire that I assume the inn offers to guests. I put it on. It’s baggy and stops at my knees.
I go for my rucksack and take out my brush, then sit on a stool in front of the washbasin mirror to work through the kinks in my hair. The flames of candles in brass candelabras—one on a bedside table and the other on a windowsill—dance and sway, casting the room in a warm glow.