Priestess

Chapter 19

Chapter 19

A cluster of buildings appeared in the distance. The closer Ara came, the smaller and more strange they appeared. When they’d finally crested the first building, Ara finally saw why. The homes weren’t made of wood, but mud. Coen stopped in the dusty street in front of what appeared to be the inn.

“Why do even the smallest towns have inns?” she asked.

Swinging his leg over the horn, Coen dropped down. “Everyone likes a good ale now and again.”

Taking his place in the saddle, Ara positioned her foot in the stirrup and dropped down beside him.

Coen spoke to a woman who had just stepped out of the building. “We’d like a good meal and some supplies.”

 “Your wife can sit inside while you take your horse around back.” The woman gestured to the stable.

Coen placed a hand on the small of Ara’s back. “It’d be easier to go along with it. Will you be all right?”

With a fiery blush burning her cheeks, she nodded. “I’ll be fine.” His gaze darted around, obviously searching for any threats. She pushed him toward the stable. “Really. I’ll be fine.”

With a reluctant nod, he left her. Ara couldn’t help but gaze at the spot where she felt Kodan waiting for her, his muscles as taut as a drawn bow. At the first sign of trouble, he would come thundering in, revealing himself to everyone. “I’m fine,” she reassured him before following the woman inside.

“My name’s Betris.”

“Senna.” Ara used the names she and Coen had adopted. “My husband is Joshen.” The words felt strangely warm on her tongue.

“Your husband a soldier?” Betris asked as she prodded the fireplace.

Ara nodded. “He’s on leave.” She kept her responses short, hoping that the woman would sense that she didn’t want to talk.

But the pudgy woman didn’t seem to notice her reticence. “What news of Nonae?”

Coen returned in time to hear the question, a man Ara thought might be Betris’s husband in tow. “The Kanovians have captured everything south of Anath. The army is kept busy protecting the cities while roving bands attack villages and farms.”

Betris wiped at a bead of sweat running down her temple. “You make it sound bleak.”

“I speak honestly.” Coen turned to Betris’s husband. “About those supplies. We need oats, potatoes . . .” By the time he’d finished, Betris had laid a simple meal before them. Stew with meat, potatoes, and some early tomatoes. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but Ara ate slowly, enjoying a meal without the normal crunch of grit or seasoning of ashes. And blissfully, no jerky. Her last bite finished, she leaned back, a contented sign on her lips.

Guessing her thoughts, Coen smiled at her, and she back at him.

“The way you two keep eying each other, you mustn’t have been married long. Of course, you’ll be needin’ a room,” Betris said.

Ara choked on nothing and blushed furiously. Looking at each other how? All she had done was smile.

Coen cleared his throat noisily, his mouth twitching. “That won’t be necessary.”

Betris’s frowned severely. “Oh come now, we’ve enjoyed the company.”

Coen coughed in his hand. It sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “We’ve a long way to go.”