“Here you are.” The innkeeper opened the door, then moved back to let Adeya enter. She took one step in and stopped.
Six enormous beds flanked the walls of the room. A fire crackled in its hearth on the far wall, casting deep shadows in flickering orange. A half dozen men, all in various states of undress, some even down to their smallclothes, stood about the room. Several already snored underneath sheets, two or three to a bed. The two nearest, both unshaven and dark, eyed her.
“You can’t be—” Adeya turned, but the door clicked shut in her face. She swallowed and looked back at the room while her hand crept up to her amulet.
The two men nodded to her.
She pointedly ignored them as her eyes searched the room. In a dim corner, next to the only empty bed, Kyen sat on the floor underneath one of the windows. She hurried over to him.
“Kyen!”
He lifted his face to her.
“Where’s our room?”
“Room?”
“I thought the innkeeper said we’d get a room for washing the dishes!”
He looked confused.
“I always get my own room when I travel. My own bed.”
Kyen’s confusion grew into wonder.
“You’ve not actually slept like this, have you?” Adeya lowered her voice. “Slept in the same bed as—as strangers! They don’t even look like they’ve washed.”
“You’ve never been to the north, have you?” He smiled a little.
With a huff, she plopped down on the bed and held out the napkin-tied sandwich. “Here.”
His face lit up. “Thank you!” He unfolded it and stuffed it into his face.
While he ate, Adeya took off her longsword, her healer’s pouch, and her cloak to pile them on the bed. She began unlatching her linen armor vest, but her fingers slowed to a stop halfway. Her eyes lingered on Kyen, still in his own vest, cloak, and sword. She stroked the aquamarine amulet at her neck and watched him finish his sandwich in silence. The low voices in the room quieted as more of the travelers took to sleep.
As Kyen neared the crust, she said, “We’re not staying, are we?”
He paused mid-bite.
“That swordsman. Who is he?” she asked
“He didn’t see me, did he?”
“I don’t know. But he saw me. He saw me in the street, too. He’s the one I asked you about.”
Kyen lowered his sandwich, staring off into space.
“So who is he?” she repeated.
“Ennyen, son of Madiryen, of the House of Dearthart,” he replied. When his silence stretched long, Adeya frowned.
“And?” she said. “Why did you run when you saw him?”
“He nearly killed me once. If he sees me, he’ll probably try to kill me again.”
“But he’s from Avanna.”
“Exactly.” He stuffed the last bite in his mouth.
“I don’t understand.”
Kyen rubbed the back of his neck while he chewed and swallowed, then said, “Eh, how do I explain? You’re not of Avanna. It’s—It’s like this.” He edged forward. “In Isea, if two people have a disagreement, they sit down and talk, right?”
“Or have my father, the king, judge the matter.”
“In Avanna, the two would talk with their swords instead.” He fell grim. “The one still alive is the one who’s right.”
“Whatever did you and Ennyen fight about?”
“I did about the worst thing anyone could do to a swordsman of Avanna,” said Kyen. “Short of crippling him.”
Adeya’s eyes grew wide.
“I refused to kill him after I defeated him.”
“How is that bad?” she cried. “Did he want to die?”
“I shamed him in front of all our people,” he said. “And that with the worst of shames, returning alive from a lost battle.”
Adeya stroked her necklace in thought.
“Killing me now would restore both his victory and his honor,” he said.
“Even though Avanna is gone?”
“I’m of Avanna, and I don’t really understand it, either.” Kyen laughed and winced at the same time. He dusted crumbs from his pants, stood, and shouldered their pack.
“I’d rather not risk staying here because he might see me. It’d be an ugly fight.” Kyen opened the window. “If I refuse to kill him again, the shame would probably drive him to kill himself.”
“But the rain.”
“Look, it’s just about stopped.” He put his hand outside; his palm caught a drip or two.
“After all those dishes? And it’s still damp. And we’re two floors up. Are you really going to climb down?”
He put a foot on the window sill. “I’d trade a damp night of sleep for a man’s life any day.”
“Well, I’m taking the stairs, at least.” Adeya tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I didn’t want to sleep in a room full of grubby strangers anyway. I’ll meet you on the ground.” She latched her vest back up, collected her sword, cloak and pouch.
Kyen clambered out the window, clinging to the frame. A two-story drop into a narrow alley waited below him. The rough wall—stone slabs and mortar—offered few grips or handholds, but he still lowered himself down, moving with care from one handhold to the next. Drips from the eaves splatted on his head and arms as he descended. Silent lightning flickered through clouds hanging heavy overhead. He leapt the last stretch and landed hard on all fours in the alley. A few empty stable stalls blocked the end, so Kyen, lifting his hood against the drops, hurried towards the street.
As he did, Ennyen stepped around the corner.