Captain Kovac was waiting near the well, his coat thrown over one shoulder. He nodded to Mallow as they approached. “Good haul,” he said. “Balthir will be pleased.” Then his gaze cut toward Lain. He gave Mallow a measured look, not unfriendly, but heavy with something unspoken.
“You’ve changed,” Kovac said after a pause. He spoke as if Lain wasn’t standing right before him. “Strange things have a way of turning on men who get too close. The world’s full of beautiful ruin. You know that as well as I do.”
Mallow’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Funny thing about ruin, Captain – it’s usually the men who make it.”
Kovac scoffed. “You always did have a soft spot for lost causes.” He clapped Mallow on the shoulder and moved off to bark orders at his men. Lain stood silent, the word strange echoing through her chest. Beautiful ruin.
When the carts rolled on toward the stables, Mallow lingered just long enough to glance at her, then at the line of shops across the square. “Stay here,” he said. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Where are you going?”
“Apothecary,” he said, already moving. Before she could answer, he was gone, his coat flashing between the shuttering market stalls.
She wandered toward the square’s edge, where a small inn sat beneath a crooked sign that read the Root and Rabbit. A cluster of villagers were gathering inside, their laughter spilling through the open door. She stepped in, drawn by the warmth.
The common room was dim and golden. Candles guttered in sconces, and the smell of roasted apples and ale hung thick in the air. She took a seat near the hearth, feeling the fire’s heat soak into her robes.
When Mallow entered, his hair was damp with melted snow. He carried a small bundle of herbs wrapped in parchment and a single corked bottle. Her sensitive nose picked up the faint smell of mint. “Saint’s sake, don’t they teach you Sisters obedience at the Spire?”
She blinked at him, confused.
“I told you to stay put.”
She shrugged. “It was warm in here.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “Chasing your Heat, now, are we? Pray we’re in luck, then. This is the best they had.” He set the bottle on the table before her. “It should calm your blood. Or at least slow it down.”
“You didn’t have to –”
“Don’t start,” he said. “You’ll want to wait until we eat, anyway. So it doesn’t upset your stomach.”
A serving boy came around the room with stew and bread, and Mallow waved to Lain to ask for something without meat.
“Wasn’t fasting day yesterday, Sister?” the boy said.
“She’s on a pilgrimage,” Mallow said. “She’s got… extra to atone for.” He gave Lain a wink. The boy brought them food.
Even though her plate had only boiled potatoes and other root vegetables, it was the most vibrant meal she could imagine, her tongue exploding with the earthly flavor of beets and salted butter and crip potato skins.
The server returned to clear their plates and brought them each a wedge of something that smelled absolutely heavenly: apple slices, cinnamon, sugar, a buttery, flaky crust. Steam rose from the slice of pie, whose honey glaze glimmered in the lamplight.
“Courtesy of Lord Balthir,” the boy said. “They brought our village sugar just last week, after helping clean up after the storm.”
“And they’re outside again today,” Mallow said, swallowing down a bite of the pie as the server moved to the next table.
“Wonder what bribes they brought this time,” Mallow mumbled under his breath.
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Lain’s hands shook as she lifted her fork. All she could picture was Elder Tanel, bringing the apple from his coat pocket, holding it out to her in offering. It was meant to be the last thing she ever ate, standing side by side with him, passing that small gift back and forth, its succulence still vibrant in her memory.
But the raspberry cake had come, and undid everything.
“You alright?” Mallow asked.
“I’m fine,” she said. She buried her fork in the pie, then lifted a bite to her mouth.
The sugar hit first, followed by the cinnamon and a touch of precious clove. The apple, moist and tart, bloomed across her tongue. It was with an immense willpower that she did not let out a sob at how delicious it tasted.
But Mallow must have seen something in her face. He put his hand out, palm up on the table, as if in offering.
She brought her palm against his, the Heat opening to that tenderness as it mingled with the flavor of the apple pie.
She had dampened her joy of Tanel’s apple with the draught. She couldn’t have known how good it was. She’d been too subdued, too suppressed. That was why she’d cried that day. Not because of the gift, not because of the flavor of it. It was because she hadn’t truly tasted it at all. Here she tasted fully, and so ecstatic was the experience that she shuddered in reverence.
The innkeeper started tuning a small fiddle, and someone tapped a rhythm on the bar with a spoon. The air thrummed with soft anticipation. Lain watched a group forming in the corner, mostly villagers, laughing. As the music began in earnest they joined hands, spinning in loose, uneven circles. It wasn’t like the formal dances of Ivath, where every step was measured and every smile a prayer. Here, people stumbled, bumped shoulders, laughed when they missed a beat. It was human and real. She imagined herself joining them –
But she wasn’t human. She was Kelthi. She’d never been good at even the ceremonial processions at the Spire; her legs bent differently, her steps too heavy or too light. Human dancers moved in a way her body couldn’t mirror.
Mallow followed her gaze and smiled faintly. “You ever dance?”
She shook her head. “We weren’t allowed. And even if we had been…” She glanced down at her hooves, self-conscious. “I don’t move like humans. My balance is wrong.”
He grinned. “Two left hooves, then?”
Her ears tipped back beneath her cowl in embarrassment. “Something like that.”
“Good,” he said, rising. “Then we’re on equal footing.” He paused. “On equal hoofing?” She laughed. “I don’t know how to dance with Kelti or nuns. We’ll learn together.”
Her breath caught. “Now?”
“While that takes effect,” he said, nodding to the tincture.
She hesitated, then smiled despite herself. “You’ll regret it.”
“I already regret most things,” he said, holding out his hand. “Might as well enjoy one.”
She lifted the bottle, swallowed down the bitter mint, and let him draw her to her hooves.
The room was small, the music inviting, a lilting tune. He rested a hand lightly at her back. “Just follow,” he said.
She tried. At first, her hoof landed on his boot, then she missed a turn entirely, and he laughed, a real laugh, warm and surprised. “You’re hopeless,” he murmured.
“Then you’ll have to make up for me.”
He did, guiding her through each slow motion, one hand steady at her waist, the other holding her palm lightly as they turned in the firelight. The scent of smoke clung to his shirt; his breath brushed her temple as he leaned in to whisper. “See? Not so hard.”
She wished she could pull her cowl back, to release her ears and let her antlers catch the glow of the light. “You’re good at this.”
“I’ve had practice,” he said softly. “Not like this, though.”
The warmth between them solidified. The other dancers blurred into shadow. Her steps were slow and careful, each shift of his hand drawing a shiver from her spine.
The song gave way to laughter and clinking mugs, the fiddle trailing into a last bright chord. When the music faded, they didn’t stop. Their bodies swayed in time to something only they could hear. Mallow’s hand slid a fraction higher on her back, the roughness of his palm catching on the fabric of her cloak. For a moment the whole world was a promise of closeness, a dizzying mix of tenderness and want. Her Heat burned still, but it was shaped by the warmth between them.
Mallow’s smile had softened, his usual sharpness tempered by something fond.
“Not bad for a pair of two-left-hooves,” he said.
She laughed, breathless. “You were leading.”
“Exactly my point.”
They stood there, hands loosely joined. Around them, the inn had settled into hazy comfort in the glow of the fire. A sweet trace of cider filled the air. The world outside might have been frost-laden and windy, but here it was all comfort.
The tincture’s dull calm gave way to a molten ache beneath her ribs. She wanted to stay in that comfort a little longer, just to keep feeling alive. Mallow must have read it in her Tuning, because his thumb brushed her knuckles once before he spoke. “Come on,” he said. “Before we fall asleep down here.”
She nodded. Her voice wouldn’t have held steady if she tried to answer.
They crossed the room together, the heat of their bodies trailing between them. At the stairs, he paused to let her go first, and she caught the faintest smile ghosting his lips.
Upstairs, the hall was dim and narrow. Behind them, the music started again, a softer tune now, carrying faintly through the floorboards as they reached their door. Lain hesitated, her pulse unsteady, and when Mallow turned the key and held the door for her, she felt the air between them shift into charged and fragile glass. Neither of them spoke as they stepped inside.