At least there are two beds, I keep telling myself. If all the rooms had been singles, I’d probably have found myself paying Jonas a good sum of money so that he would bunk with me and I could avoid going through the awkwardness of sharing a small tavern bed with either Flynt or Meg.

That said, neither of us want to admit just how awkward this is, and we even make the point of changing in the same room facing away from each other, then blow out the candles before we climb in our respective beds.

“I hope Meg is enjoying herself,” he mutters in the dark, which surprises me for how much it makes me laugh. There’s a pause, then he chuckles too.

“It’s really not that big a deal.” I roll onto my side to look over toward him. There’s maybe six feet between the beds, bigger than a room at the Westin Peachtree, though the beds are considerably smaller—not even full size. But, the beds are long enough that not even Flynt’s feet seem to hang off the end. He has his back to me at first, then seems to sigh and rolls over, peering through the dim lighting that sneaks in through the gauzy draperies. “We’ve been sleeping next to each other on the road.”

“That’s true,” he agrees. “That feels a little different, though. All of us together.”

“I suppose.”

“They’re going to give us a hard time for this.”

“So what?” I ask. “You know what we should have done. We should have put everyone together in a pot and drawn names. That’s what would've made it fair.”

“That’s true.”

“And if they got separate bunks, that’s their problem. Not our faults they decided to hook up.”

“Hook up?”

“Get intimate. Whatever.”

“Honestly? I’m just imagining trying to bunk with Meg,” Flynt says with a sigh, which also makes me laugh. “She snores very loudly.”

“Yes, but you sleep like the dead.”

“That’s fair.”

“But it’s probably for the best, honestly. You and I will both sleep better this way.”

“Will we? Better than having a room to ourselves?”

“Better than bunking with her.”

“Okay. That’s also fair.” He chuckles again. “Is it what you expected?”

“Is what what I expected?”

“This,” he says. “Adventuring. Is this what you thought you’d be doing when you made it to Qeth?”

“I never imagined making it to Qeth,” I reply, honestly. “This was all a bit of an accident for me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“You just hopped on the next boat out.”

“Something like that.”

“I wish I had the courage for something like that.”

“I think you do,” I say. “Look at what you’re doing now.”

“Yes. But I still have access to my old life. Da’s still there, the Emporium. We still have our own comfortable beds. I’m not really risking anything, am I?”

“Your existence? This isn’t a safe little trip we’re making.”

“Hm. Fair enough.”

I draw a slow breath through my nose and pull my pillow up into a ball underneath me. “Why are you doing this?”

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“What do you mean?”

“Why are you adventuring? It doesn’t make sense to me. Like you said, you have a comfortable, normal life. Your father loves you. You have access to education and money, and a lot of things that people like Tyrus and Jonas wish they did. Why are you risking your life for this?”

“I’ve told you,” he says, sounding almost hurt. “It’s not that different from what you said. I want to make a difference, I want… to be more than the wealthy ork.”

“You are, though.”

“I want them to see it.” He clears his throat. “I want to put assumptions to rest.”

“Has it really been that bad?” He doesn’t say anything, which is an answer in itself, and I shake my head. “I know it’s an easy thing to say, but fuck all them.”

“That would be time consuming.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

He sighs again. “Maybe I’m just trying to prove it to myself. I want to do something. And I… I enjoy this.”

“I do too,” I admit. “I actually feel alive.”

“Exactly.”

I frown through the darkness. “What was in your letter? From Z. What did they offer you?”

“Nothing. I’ve told you.”

“Flynt.”

“No, I mean it. They’ve offered me nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Okay, it’s not nothing,” he admits. “They offered me a chance.”

“I don’t understand, a chance at what?”

“At this. My mother was a well-known adventurer. Mirda Stoutbrooke. She died when I was very young saving a mountain village from giants. Hill giants, actually. But she mattered. And that’s what I want, Keira, I want to live up to her. I want to matter like she did. I’m proud to be her son, and I want to think that she’d be proud to be my mother.”

His voice is low as he says it: low, and so damn earnest. Part of me almost hates him for it, for the way that my throat kind of tightens with the emotion behind his words. Of course he just wants to live up to his hero mother—doesn’t that just fit with everything I do know about the guy?

“So it all goes back to your savior complex, is what you’re saying.”

He scoffs. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Yes, you do.”

He makes a face, which is illuminated in the faint moonlight, and he mirrors my pose, balling his pillow up underneath him. “It’s not about being a savior. It’s not about the credit.”

“It is a little bit though, isn’t it?”

He’s quiet a moment, turning over onto his back. “Maybe in some ways,” he says to the ceiling. “Does that lessen it?”

“I don’t think so. Most of the time, I think the good work stands on its own. The motivation doesn’t usually change the results, you know? Good doesn’t have to be altruistic to still benefit. I imagine she got something out of most of what she did, too. Even if it was just the joy or pride of helping others, that’s still an emotional payoff. Right? Just don’t go sacrificing yourself, okay?”

“No promises.”

“Don’t even joke.”

It’s my turn to sigh and I also turn over onto my back, staring up at the dark ceiling, suddenly feeling sad. I draw a slow, deep breath, and softly let it out.

“Is it why you helped me?” I ask.

“Partly.”

“Just partly?” I glance at him.

A grin breaks his profile. “Well,” he says, “you are kind of cute.”

“Cute?” I ask. “Gee, Flynt, thanks.”

“What?” He laughs. “You didn’t see yourself that day.”

“Yet you continued to help me. How do you explain that?”

“Oh, that? That was pure and simple obligation. Caring for a lost puppy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, lost kitten, then.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Suit yourself.” He looks back over, meets my eyes, still smiling. “It’s true.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I notice we’re not questioning your motivations.”

“I know my motivations.”

“Do you?”

I look away, back to the ceiling. “I do.”

“And it’s just to get home?”

“It’s not just anything. I’m more complicated than that.”

“Of course you are.”

“I am! I’m selfish with good intentions. We’re not that different.”

“No, we’re not,” he agrees. Then silence settles over us for a while. I almost think that he fell asleep before he says, lowly, “You and Meg are close.”

“We’re getting there. She doesn’t let people in easily. I don’t know if she’ll ever really trust me.”

“We all trust you. We may not always believe you, but we trust you.”

“What is there to disbelieve?” I ask, as if the answer isn’t practically everything.

“Nothing in particular. Sometimes you just don’t always add up.”

“Well. Not all of us can. It’s what makes me exciting.”

“You can be that.”

“Can be?”

“You can also be infuriating.”

“I’ll take it. Speaking of infuriating.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Are we ever going to talk about that Terravin coin?”

“Later,” he says. “I want to do some research first.”

“What kind of research?”

“Family research.” He pauses. “You haven’t told Meg about my family, have you?”

“Of course not. Same as I haven’t told you anything she’s confided. It’s not my place. That’s why you all trust me.”

He nods. “I promise we’ll talk about it. I just want to make sure I know what I’m talking about, and I don’t yet. I only have a couple of half-remembered stories.”

“Okay.” I can live with that. “We should probably go to sleep. You know who will be knocking our door down at sunrise.”

“I have no doubt at all. Good night, Keira.”

“Good night, Flynt.”

I think we both lay awake for a while, staring at the ceiling or the walls next to us, listening to the breathing of the other. He nods off first, though, his breathing slowly becoming heavy on the other side of the room, a light snore eventually carrying on the underside of each exhale. I don’t think I’m far behind. My dreams are… confusing.

I wake up in my own bed, though, to a soft knock at the door, the early morning sun shining through the window. Flynt is already up, pulling on a clean shirt as he opens the door. It’s time to start the day.