Empire of Storms (Throne of Glass) (25 page)

“And you?” he said, brows still high.

Elide surveyed herself, and set down her pack. First, she removed the leather jacket, even though it left her feeling like a layer of skin had peeled off, then she rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt. But without the tight leather, the full size of her breasts could be seen—marking her as a woman and not a slip of a girl that people assumed she was. She then took to her hair, ruffling it out of its braid and restyling it into a knot atop her head. A married woman’s hairstyle, not the free-flowing locks or plait of youth.

She stuffed her jacket into her pack, standing up straight to face Lorcan.

His eyes traveled from her feet to her head, and he frowned again. “Bigger tits won’t prove or hide anything.”

Her cheeks heated. “Perhaps they’ll keep men distracted just enough that they won’t ask questions.”

With that, she started upstream, trying not to think about the men who had touched and sneered in that cell. But if it got her safely across the river, she’d use her body to her advantage. Men would see what they wanted to: a pretty young woman who did not bristle at their attention, who spoke kindly and warmly. Someone trustworthy, someone sweet yet unremarkable.

Lorcan trailed, then caught up to walk beside her like an actual companion and not some promise-bound escort for the final half mile around the bend of the river.

Horses and wagons and shouts greeted them before the sight did.

But there it was: a broad if worn stone bridge, wagons and carts and riders lined up in droves on either side. And about two dozen guards in Adarlanian colors monitoring either bank, collecting tolls, and—

Checking wagons, inspecting every face and person.

The ilken had known about her limp.

Elide slowed, keeping close to Lorcan as they neared the two-story, derelict barracks on their side of the river. Down the road, flanked by the trees, a few equally sorry-looking buildings were a flurry of activity. An inn and a tavern. For travelers to wait out the lines with a drink or meal, or perhaps rent a room during inclement weather.

So many people—humans. No one appeared panicked or hurt or sickly. And the guards, despite their uniforms, moved like men while they searched the wagons passing the barracks that served as tollhouse and sleeping quarters.

She said quietly to Lorcan as they headed for the dirt road and the
distant back of the line, “I don’t know what magic you possess, but if you can make my limp less noticeable—”

Before she could finish, a force like a cool night wind pushed against her ankle and calf, then wrapped around it in a solid grip. A brace.

Her steps evened out, and she had to bite back her urge to gawk at the feeling of walking straight and sure. She didn’t allow herself to enjoy it, savor it, not when it would likely only last until they cleared the bridge.

Merchants’ wagons idled, crammed with goods from those who hadn’t wanted to risk the Avery river to the north, their drivers tight-faced at the wait and impending inspections. Elide scanned the drivers, the merchants, the other travelers … Each one of them made her instincts shout that they’d be betrayed the second they asked to ride or offered a coin to keep quiet.

To trawl the line would catch the eye of the guards, so Elide used every step to study it while seemingly heading toward the back. But she reached the end of the line empty-handed.

Lorcan, however, gave a pointed glance behind her—toward the tavern, whitewashed to no doubt hide the near-crumbling stones. “Let’s get a bite before we wait,” he said, loud enough for the wagon in front of them to hear and dismiss it.

She nodded. Someone else might be inside, and her stomach was grumbling. Except—

“I don’t have any money,” she murmured as they approached the pale wooden door. Lie. She had gold and silver from Manon. But she wasn’t about to flash it in front of Lorcan, promise or no.

“I’ve got plenty,” he said tightly, and she delicately cleared her throat.

He lifted his brows.

“You’ll win us no allies looking like that,” she said, and gave him a sweet little smile. “Walk in there looking like a warrior and you’ll get noticed.”

“And what am I to be, then?”

“Whatever we need you to be when the time comes. But … don’t glower.”

He opened the door, and by the time her eyes adjusted to the glow of the wrought-iron chandeliers, Lorcan’s face
had
changed. His eyes might never be warm, but a bland smile was on his face, his shoulders relaxed—as if he were slightly inconvenienced by the wait but eager for a good meal.

He almost looked human.

The tavern was packed, the noise so deafening that she could barely speak loudly enough to the nearest barmaid to order lunch. They squeezed between crammed tables, and Elide noticed that more than a few pairs of eyes went to her chest, then her face. And lingered.

She pushed against the crawling feeling and kept her steps unhurried as she aimed for a table tucked against the back wall that a weary-looking couple had just vacated.

A boisterous party of eight was crammed around the table a few feet away, a middle-aged woman with a booming laugh instantly singling herself out as their leader. The others at the table—a beautiful, raven-haired woman; a barrel-chested bearded man whose hands were as large as dinner plates; and a few rough-looking people—all kept looking to the older woman, gauging her responses and listening carefully to what she had to say.

Elide slid into the worn wooden chair, Lorcan claiming the one across from her—his size earning him a look from the bearded man and the middle-aged woman at the table.

Elide weighed that look.

Assessment. Not for a fight; not for a threat. But in appreciation and calculation.

Elide wondered for a heartbeat if Anneith herself had nudged that other couple to move away—to free up this one table for them. For that very look.

Elide laid her hand out on the table, palm up, and gave Lorcan a sleepy smile she’d once seen a kitchen maid give a Morath cook. “Husband,” she said sweetly, wriggling her fingers.

Lorcan’s mouth tightened, but he took her hand—her fingers dwarfed in his.

His calluses scraped against her own. He noticed it at the same moment she did, sliding his hand to cup hers so he might inspect her palm. She closed her hand, rotating it to grip his again.

“Brother,” Lorcan murmured so no one else could hear. “I am your brother.”

“You are my husband,” she said with equal quiet. “We have been married three months. Follow my lead.”

He glanced around, not having noticed the assessing stare they’d been given. Doubt still danced in his eyes, along with a silent question.

She said simply, “Men will not fear the threat of a brother. I would still be unclaimed—still be open for … invitations. I have seen how little respect men have for anything they think they are entitled to. So you are my husband,” she hissed, “until I say otherwise.”

A shadow flickered in Lorcan’s eyes, along with another question. One she didn’t want to and couldn’t answer. His hand tightened on hers, demanding she look at him. She refused.

Their food arrived, mercifully, before Lorcan could ask it.

Stew—root vegetables and rabbit. She dug in, nearly melting the roof of her mouth at the first bite.

The group behind them began talking again, and she listened as she ate, selecting bits and pieces as if they were shells on a shore.

“Maybe we’ll offer them a performance and they’ll cut the toll fee in half.” From the blond, bearded man.

“Unlikely,” the leader said. “Those pricks would charge
us
to perform. Worse, they enjoy our performance and demand we stay awhile. We can’t afford that wait. Not when other companies are already on the move. We don’t want to hit all the plains towns after everyone else.”

Elide almost choked on her stew. Anneith
must
have freed this table,
then. Her plan had been to find a troupe or carnival to fall into, disguise themselves as workers, and this…

“We pay full price on that toll,” the beautiful woman said, “and we might get to that first town half starved and barely able to perform at all.”

Elide lifted her eyes to Lorcan’s—he gave a nod.

She took a sip of her stew, steeling herself, thinking of Asterin Blackbeak. Charming, confident, fearless. She’d always had her head at a jaunty angle, a looseness to her limbs, a hint of a smile on her lips. Elide took a breath, letting those memories sink into muscle and flesh and bone.

Then she pivoted in her chair, an arm draped around the back as she leaned toward their table and said with a grin, “Sorry to interrupt your meal, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.” They all turned toward her, brows high, the eyes of the leader going right to Elide’s face. She saw the assessment: young, pretty, unblemished by a hard life. Elide kept her own expression pleasant, willed her eyes to brighten. “Are you some sort of performing troupe?” She motioned to Lorcan with a tilt of her head. “My husband and I have been looking to fall in with one for weeks with no luck—everyone’s full.”

“So are we,” their leader said.

“Right,” Elide replied merrily. “But that toll is steep—for anyone. And if we were to be in business together, perhaps on a temporary basis…” Lorcan’s knee brushed hers in warning. She ignored him. “We’d be glad to chip in on the fee—make up any difference owed.”

The woman’s assessment turned wary. “We are a carnival indeed. But we have no need of new members.”

The bearded man and beautiful woman shot glances at the woman, reprimand in their eyes.

Elide shrugged. “All right, then. But in case you change your mind before you depart, my husband”—a gesture to Lorcan, who was giving his best attempt at an easy smile—“is an expert sword-thrower. And in our
previous troupe, he made good coin matching himself against men who sought to best him in feats of strength.”

The leader turned her keen eyes on Lorcan—on the height and muscles and posture.

Elide knew she’d guessed right on the vacancy they’d needed filled when the woman said to her, “And what did you do for them?”

“I worked as a fortune-teller—they called me their oracle.” A shrug. “Mostly just shadows and guesswork.” It’d have to be, considering the little fact that she couldn’t read.

The woman remained unimpressed. “And what was your troupe’s name?”

They likely knew them—knew every troupe that patrolled the plains.

She scanned her memory for anything helpful, anything—

Yellowlegs. The witches in Morath had once mentioned Baba Yellowlegs, who had traveled in a carnival to avoid detection, who had died in Rifthold this winter with no explanation.… Detail after detail, buried in the catacombs of her memory, poured out.

“We were in the Carnival of Mirrors,” Elide said. Recognition—surprise, respect—sparked in the leader’s eyes. “Until Baba Yellowlegs, our owner, was killed in Rifthold this past winter. We left, and have been looking for work since.”

“Where did you come from, then?” the bearded man asked.

It was Lorcan who replied, “My family lives on the western side of the Fangs. We’ve spent the past few months with them—waited until the snows melted, since the pass was so treacherous. Strange things happening,” he added, “in the mountains these days.”

The company stilled.

“Indeed,” the raven-haired woman said. She looked to their leader. “They could help pay the toll, Molly. And since Saul left, that act has been empty…” Likely their sword-thrower.

“Like I said,” Elide chimed in with Asterin’s pretty smile, “we’ll be
here for a little while, so if you change your minds … let us know. If not…” She saluted with her dented spoon. “Safe travels.”

Something flashed in Molly’s eyes, but the woman looked them over once more. “Safe travels,” she murmured.

Elide and Lorcan returned to their meal.

And when the barmaid came to take their money for it, Elide reached into her inner pocket and pulled out a silver coin.

The barmaid’s eyes were wide, but it was the sharp eyes of Molly, of the others at that table, that Elide noted as the girl slipped away and brought back their change.

Lorcan kept silent as Elide left a generous tip on the table, but they both offered pleasant smiles to the troupe as they vacated their table and the tavern.

Elide went right to the back of the line, still keeping that smile on her face, her back straight.

Lorcan sidled up close, not at all noteworthy for the front they were putting on. “You have no money, do you?”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “Looks like I was mistaken.”

A flash of white teeth as he smiled—genuinely this time. “Well, you’d better hope you and I have enough, Marion, because Molly’s about to make you an offer.”

Elide turned at the crunch of dirt beneath black boots and found Molly before them, the others lingering—some slipping around the corner of the tavern, to no doubt retrieve the wagons.

Molly’s hard face was flushed—as if they’d been arguing. But she just clicked her tongue and said, “Temporary stint. If you’re shit, you’re out, and we won’t pay back the money for the toll.”

Elide smiled, not entirely faking it. “Marion and Lorcan, at your service, madam.”