Maia had not seen him approach, but she instantly recognized Feint Collier’s voice, and it startled her. He put his arm around the innkeeper’s shoulder, emphasizing the difference in their heights.
“You know as well as I do, Master Collier, that I am paid for the rooms whether they are used or no. Had a sack of coins left with me earlier this day, in fact. Was not expecting you for several days. You are early.”
“A change in my plans,” he replied with a broad smile that seemed to be directed at Maia. “If the rooms are to sit empty unless the king’s men arrive, may not she be loaned one? Let her have a room, Clem. She can have mine. I would just as soon sleep in the stables. You know that.”
Maia felt a flush of pleasure, which she stifled immediately, and shook her head. “We will not be staying. I was only asking out of curiosity. The Gables is a lovely inn, Master Pryke.”
Feint Collier clapped the innkeeper on the back. “When my lady commands, I must obey. You have a good stable lad, Clem. He knows how to treat a horse. Here is an extra crown for him. Who are the musicians? Where do they hail from?”
“From Pinnowe,” the innkeeper said. “Good music always draws in a crowd. Best to you all.” He gave them a warm smile and a nod, then left.
As soon as the innkeeper faded into the crowd, Feint Collier’s expression changed, turning deadly serious. “The village in the mountains was massacred,” he whispered through clenched teeth.
Maia felt a jolt of queasiness. “It was Corriveaux,” she whispered. “He was traveling with soldiers who wore the king’s uniform.”
Raw fury flooded his gaze. “When the king hears of this . . .” he said. “I swear they have gone too far. Many souls escaped in the dark and fled to Roc-Adamour. They said it was the Dochte Mandar who did it. Like in olden times. They came from across the mountains, from the cursed lands. They were chasing someone.” He looked at her pointedly.
“This you already know,” Maia said. Her stomach felt like a hive of ants. “Why are you here?”
“Maybe I wanted to see you again,” he answered quietly, “before you disappear forever.”
Maia swallowed, her insides buzzing. “I must disappear,” she whispered. “No one who is near me will be safe. We must go.” The kishion scooted his chair back and rose, his eyes full of malice as he gazed at the intruder at the table.
Collier shook his head. “I have thrown them off your trail,” he said. “They are searching Roc-Adamour still, looking from house to house and stopping every person attempting to leave. They believe you are still there.” He gave her a coaxing smile. “I bought you time, my lady. No need to flee.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “But we are not safe here either.”
“Sit,” Collier said, swinging his head to the kishion. “Finish your meal at the least. You can have my room. It is as I said, I will sleep in the stables or here in the common room on the floor.”
Maia shook her head. “You have already done too much,” she said. “We returned the horses as promised, but you cannot help us without endangering yourself. Even now, you are taking a great risk.”
“I know,” he answered with a smile. “I cannot help it, I was born to wager the odds. I want to help you.”
Maia wished Jon Tayt would return quickly. She wanted to leave. She wanted to bed down in the forest, away from the music and the cheese and the warmth—away from this handsome man who had left a flower in her saddlebag. Collier made her wistful for something she knew that she could never have. At least not while her father governed her life.
“You must not,” she said, shaking her head.
He scowled, frustrated by her refusal. “Very well. Then give me one boon at least.”
She sighed. “I will not tell you my name,” she answered stubbornly.
He shook his head, his expression serious, his tone intimate. “Not that, lass. Just give me one thing.”
She felt conflicted and anguished. Where was Jon Tayt? A prickle of uneasiness sent her body into a panic. “And what is that?”
“A dance,” he said, extending his hand to her. “If you must go tonight, then give me this memory to take with me. Please, my lady. Dance with me.”
In my day, the Dochte Mandar had a saying, which I believe has survived centuries in their tomes: Be extremely subtle, even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious, even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of your opponent’s fate. The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.