The Heart & The Heir

Chapter 5

Rhycilla shook her head, dismissing Azkin's apprehension, and raised her bowl to her nose. Breathing in the savoury aromas. "You worry too much. I saw us leaving this place shortly after dark, after you meet a man in black." Taking the spoon in her hand, she took a large mouthful. Her throat reverberating a deep moan of appreciation the moment the food hit her tongue. The tension seeped from her, every muscle in her body relaxing.

"That's not what you said."

"It's dangerous knowing too much of one's future. I told you what you needed to know; the rest is merely anecdotal. Trust me." Scraping the sides of her bowl, Rhycilla polished off the rest of her meal in record time.

She glanced up to Azkin, her eyelids heavy. "I fe-el straa-nge," she slurred.

Her bowl slipped from her hands, as she awkwardly she crawled to the end of the bed. With the back of her hand, she sent the second serving of stew flying to the floor. Rhycilla collapsed to the bed, pinning her an arm beneath her, snoring heavily.

Azkin leapt to his feet, rushing to her side. Unsure how to help her and weary of touching her, he had to do something.

Gathering the hem of her skirts in his hands, he hauled her legs to the centre of the bed. Grasping her tunic by the loose fabric at her shoulder and that of a pocket, he pulled her towards him, freeing her arm. Her head lolled to the side, her hair falling across her face.

She slumbered peacefully, ignorant of his attentions.

Before he could stop himself, he reached out with a light finger, gently brushed the hair from her face. His fingers drifting over her soft cheek and down her jawline.

She was so thin. How had he not seen that before? The way deep shadows rimmed her eyes, or how her face seemed so hollow.

His gaze drifted lower, over the shape of her helpless form. She wore clothing that was far too big, with a belt cinched tight about her waist. While Azkin was used to having threadbare, dirty clothes to wear, at least what he had was his.

Rhycilla's tunic was three sizes too big. The front enveloped her, one side wrapping on top of the other. Her skirt was lightweight—summer fabric—not appropriate for this time of year.

How she must have froze.

The nights had been unseasonably cold; winter had been brutal, while spring was slow to start, and still an unnatural chill gripped the lands.

"How have you survived?" he asked, taking her hand in his. He lifted it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles.

Rhycilla murmured softly in her sleep. Azkin waited for something to happen, for the earth to shake or her touch burn him, but nothing happened. With a soft sigh, Azkin gently placed her hand across her stomach.

Tuning his keen hearing to the inn, and everything within the walls, he heard Coufie, far below in the kitchens, laughing to himself.

Azkin's jaw ticked, his fist clenching at his side. The elf had drugged their food deliberately. Why? They were elves, like him. They posed no threat to him, nor his business.

He moved with deadly stealth, leaping to his feet, out the door, and down the stairs. Azkin pulled his dagger from his boot, concealing it beneath the sleeve of his tunic, as he passed through the great room, approaching the kitchen.

The kitchen door swung inward, silent on its hinges. A large boar lay half butchered on the worktable, while a cast-iron pot simmered on the fire and a tray of fresh rolls cooled on the wood stove.

Coufie was nowhere in sight.

Azkin's jaw clenched, drawing a deep breath through his nose. The elf was here. He could feel his heartbeat stirring the air. Following the rhythm, Azkin passed through the kitchen, drawing up short near the cellar door.