But the carriage door did open. Trina leaned out with a necklace in her hand that Kestra had been wearing. The ribbon was cut, but it held a gemstone that would be worth a month's lodging.
"The lady wishes to pay with this," Trina said. "It should cover her room and provide generous meals for all of us."
I passed it from her to the innkeeper and wondered how the man could have missed Kestra's horrified expression, or the way her chest heaved in anger. Maybe because he only had eyes for the precious gem.
"You'll want a separate room, I assume?" the innkeeper asked me.
I shook my head. "I'll stay with the lady. For her protection."
"Sir, I can assure you, my inn is very safe. If it's the rebels you fear, we keep them far away."
Somehow, my smile hid my true feelings, and my identity. All I said was, "I have no fear of the Coracks. But I'll protect my lady in her room."
The innkeeper snorted, but with that gemstone clutched in his palm, he was hardly going to argue the matter. I held out a hand for Kestra. Her expression could freeze fire, which made me nervous. This was the first big test. She could tell the innkeeper who Trina and I really were. She only had to say the words and the innkeeper would call for help. My other hand shifted to my sword. The innkeeper would die first, and anyone who came to his assistance. Then I would have to kill Kestra. She'd get no second chances.
I hated this. Hated that the determination of whether I was about to use my sword rested in the hands of a girl who had so little respect for life. If the innkeeper had to die, Kestra probably wouldn't care. I did. I killed when I had to, when there was no other choice, and it made me sick every single time. Dallisors killed for pleasure, and power, and to gain favor from Lord Endrick.
Kestra hadn't even wanted that much. She'd sent me to my death for little more than a pat on the head from her father. How disappointed she must be to see me still alive.
Luckily, she accepted my hand and somehow managed a smile at the innkeeper as she exited the carriage.
He bowed low to her. "The daughter of Sir Henry Dallisor comes to us. It is an honor to receive you. If you will dine with me, I have kept a meal warm."
"My lady is not hungry," I said. Under no circumstances could she have an hour of privacy with this man. "And she should get out of this cool night air."
"Of course. I meant no offense in inviting her."
"And my servant means no offense in speaking so boldly." Her gaze flicked upward. "My apologies for his lack of manners. If you wish to give the boy a good whipping, I won't object."
I would. Thanks to her, I'd already been whipped once. That was enough.
The innkeeper only bowed again and then led us into the inn. The interior was nicer than I had expected, based on what I'd seen from the outside. We first entered a dining area, which seemed reasonably clean and had a lingering smell of roast that made my mouth water. Behind that was a narrow hallway that probably led to other rooms. I wasn't sure how many other guests were here tonight, or who they might be. The way my night was going, each room was probably stuffed with soldiers.
Kestra was offered the upstairs room, where the innkeeper assured her she would have absolute privacy for as long as she wished to stay.
"We'll be gone first thing in the morning." I was too tired and nervous to care about manners. How did Dallisors endure such suffocating hospitality?
"But meals can be delivered to our room." Trina exchanged a glare with Kestra as she spoke. Maybe that was what they had fought about. We'd had to leave camp early to get into place before Kestra's carriage arrived on that road. Neither of us had eaten for hours.
"We require no meals," Kestra said to the innkeeper. "As you were informed, I am not hungry and my lazy servants deserve no food."
Pretending not to hear Trina's muttering scowl, the innkeeper kept his eyes on Kestra. I'd expected that. We were only servants.
Our room was waiting at the top of a narrow flight of stairs. I went in first, assuring that no surprises were waiting. Everything seemed fine, so maybe I'd just been spooked on the road before. The room was simple, with a single four-poster bed, a stand with hooks for a traveling cloak, and a table with two chairs. A window offered a view to the side of the inn, though it was mostly blocked by a massive oak tree. The bedding was thick and warm, made for someone of her status. Had Kestra ever spent a night on the cold, hard earth, or gone without a meal? Had she ever gotten her hands dirty? What a joke to think such a thing. Of course she hadn't.
The innkeeper entered the room right behind me. "May I show you--"
No, he may not. "My lady is tired," I said. "She hopes you understand."
"Of course!" The innkeeper dipped his head at her. "May I say again, my lady--"
"Good night." I practically pushed him from the room, hoping the door didn't bang on his bowed balding head in the process. "She thanks you for your service."
Technically speaking, Kestra's thanks would likely come in the shape of a fist. Not to the innkeeper, but to me. And to Trina. Her current expression was murderous.
Let her be angry, then. She had made a promise, and my job was to ensure she kept it, nothing more. Four days. All I had to do was outlast this girl for the next four days.
Only one of us could win.