*
Dawn was a weak overlay of gray through the window when Vetch woke. For all the walking in the markets, the strong drink, dancing with Lily at the wedding, and remaining up with her into the very late hours, he was still a soldier through and through. When dawn came, tired or not, his body came awake. As had become his habit of late, he reached down beside the bed to ensure that his sword still leaned against the wall where he had left it. It necessitated reaching across Lily’s sleeping form. The warmth of her bare shoulder where his forearm brushed it brought a smile to his face. She stirred, tensed briefly, then relaxed. With a sigh, she peered up at him with sleepy eyes and drew the blankets up closer about her neck.
“Good morning,” he said, and dipped down to kiss her.
She kissed him back, smiled, and murmured a muzzy “Morning.”
He stared avidly down at her. She was so beautiful. As she had been in her swirling skirt at the wedding, so she was after that in nothing at all, and even more now.
“What?” she asked, the faintest smile of amusement on her lips.
Vetch shook his head and grinned. “You were right. I never did say it properly.”
“Say what properly?”
“I love you.” Color came to her cheeks at the words. Impulsively, Vetch found her hand with his and drew it to his lips to place a kiss there. “I believe you specifically requested ‘all romantic and such’.” In his most courtly voice, he began, “My fairest maiden, I—”
“Ah!” she cut him off before he could go on. Tight-lipped, wide-eyed, she extended her index finger and tapped the tip of his nose with it. “Uh-uh, don’t you even, mister. Too late for that now. You had your chance.” Vetch laughed a joyous laugh, and while Lily tried to keep her face firm, she couldn’t prevent the wry smile from appearing there. “Could you just build up the fire again, please?”
Slipping from underneath the blankets, he went unabashedly naked to the fire, feeding it some small logs and poking it up to life again. When he turned back to her, he found that she had drawn the covers over her head and burrowed deeper into them.
“And go down and get us some breakfast?” Her voice came muffled from underneath the blankets. “I wish to get dressed.”
“Then dress. Are you being shy now?” he wondered. “Last night ...”
“It’s no longer last night,” came her reply. “Please, Vetch.”
“As you wish,” he said, more soberly. He found it confusing, but he acceded, grabbing up his clothes from where they had been discarded on the floor. They were cold, yet still so much nicer than what he had worn through the forest. Despite Lily still being ensconced underneath the blankets by the time he was dressed, he swept her an intricate bow. “As thou dost wish, my lady, fairest of the fair, I will—”
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“Shut. Up!” she said, though he could hear the suppressed laughter in her voice. “Just go!”
Grinning, Vetch found some coins and left the room. As he closed the door behind him, he couldn’t miss her mumbled “Fairest maiden, my ass” from under the blankets.
He chuckled. Descending the creaking stairs to the common room of the inn, the blissfulness he felt as an aftereffect of the previous night coursed through him. Nothing could unseat him. Not even how the dancing and carousing had awakened the burning sword wounds in his torso, nor the fatigue that went bone-deep. Not even the blisters on his feet. He felt a confidence that he had not felt in a long time, certainly not since before the battle at Moonfane Forge that had claimed so many of his friends. Whatever stood to defy he and Lily now, he was confident they could face it. They would unearth the location of the black-stoned castle this very day, then make a plan of attack and reclaim Marigold. He was certain.
Few patrons were up and about in the common room. Even the innkeeper appeared as if he was still shaking off the cobwebs of sleep. Unsurprising, given the prior day’s festivities. The man raised his eyes to Vetch, a wordless question: did they wish their breakfasts made ready? Vetch gave the man a nod and received one in return. That taken care of, he continued out the front door and made his way to the stables. He would check on Revenge and Fae.
In the half-light, the lantern-glow streaming out the stable’s open door cast an odd rectangular shape across the inn’s yard. Standing in that rectangular light was a tall man with stooped shoulders and his neck pushed forward by the obvious hunch in his back. He wore clothes of good quality, strangely offset by the sagging, ratty hat on his head. In his fists he held the reins of two fine horses who stood tossing their heads restlessly behind him.
“—got the space. So, what of it?” It was one of the stable lads who spoke. Vetch had seen him around the day before.
The tall, hunched man made an exaggerated roll of his eyes toward the sky, lifting both hands in a shrug that made his annoyance physical. “So, allow me to stable them. It’s an easy concept to grasp, is it not?” He slowed his speech, as if to imply he was speaking to a simpleton. “We’ve got no room in our stables. They’re full. So ... we put these horses in your stables for a few days. Right? It’s decided.” He tried to walk forward through the open door, leading the two animals with him.
The stable boy stepped neatly in front of him, arms crossed. “No. Now, that’s the third time I’ve had to say it, and I know you’ve been warned about this very thing by my master in the past. This ain’t one of the those ‘do me a little favor’ situations. You can stable the horses here if you pay the fees for them, same as ever’body else.”
“Look here, boy—”
“I know your mistress gave you the money, Claude,” the lad cut him off sharply, raising his voice. He was young, true, but Vetch quickly got the impression he was not one to be fooled easily. “Especially for animals this fine,” he went on. “Probably owned by some noble, ain’t they? Don’t think you can pawn ‘em off on us for nothing so you can pocket whatever your mistress gave you. I won’t be catching a whipping from the stable master, as you go whistling off to the brothels.”
Vetch stood just out of the lantern light, watching impassively. He had already decided that if it came to blows, he was going to turn around and head back inside. Stepping in between rival stable hands was not high on his list of priorities this day.
For a moment, they stared each other down. Then, “Fine,” the tall man groaned, dragging his hands over his face. Still holding the reins of his charges, he shoved one fist into his pocket and pulled out a stack of coins that he clinked into the lad’s open palm. “And I hope you slip in a pile o’ manure,” he added as, now permitted to pass, he led the two fine horses inside.