As soon as the raft came to a stop by the marshy bank, the Witch immediately jumped off and doubled over, retching into the reeds.

  “Ugh, fuck, that made me seasick!”

  Still clinging to the edge of the raft, Estel let out a queasy moan as she tried to stop the dizziness from overpowering her. “I-I don’t feel so good either…everything is still spinning…”

  The green-cloaked man stepped off behind them, arms crossed, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “I can excuse Her Ladyship,” he said dryly, “but you too, Alice? You’ve gotten soft since the st time we traveled together.”

  She shot him a gre as she straightened up, clutching her head. “And you’ve gotten worse at steering. Anyone would get sick being spun in circles like that, you insufferable asshole.”

  Sir Robin snorted. “It’s a raft, not a royal galley. Be grateful it didn’t capsize.”

  “I’d rather have capsized and drowned than suffer through that again,” she retorted, staggering forward with as much dignity as she could muster. “Let’s just get to the vilge before I vomit on your boots.”

  “Please don’t,” Sir Robin said, offering Estel a steadying hand. “They’re new.”

  The path from the river to the vilge was little more than a narrow trail carved through the reeds and tangled underbrush, slick with mud and bristling with low-hanging branches that snapped back into their faces with each careless step.

  “What would Adrianne say once she sees my ruined dress?” Estel muttered, clutching the soaked fabric around her knees as she trudged behind the Witch, her feet squelching miserably into the mud.

  The Witch shivered, her feathered colr now resembling a sad, soggy bird. “I want to go home…”

  “You don’t say,” Sir Robin grumbled from up ahead, the only one who seemed mildly unfazed despite his boots being caked with river mud. “I’m aching for a nice warm shower in the inn and some good ale to end off the night. You two should start searching for suitable barns to crash in.”

  “Wait—” the Witch widened her eyes “—don’t tell me you’re pnning to just ditch us like this?”

  “Look,” he said pointedly. “If I were rich enough to afford anything more than a single bed and bath, I wouldn’t be robbing nobles for a living, would I?”

  “And you dare call yourself a gentleman thief?!”

  “I have never used that ridiculous title to introduce myself.”

  “Oh yeah? Then what are you, a communist?”

  “What in tarnation is a ‘communist’??”

  As they began to squabble, the vilge lights finally flickered into view through the trees—warm and golden, spilling from cottage windows and ntern posts like the promise of salvation. Estel sighed in relief at the sight, her breath fogging in the night air, before gring at the bickering pair.

  “Stop it before I hex both of your mouths shut!”

  The two froze mid-argument, blinking at Estel as if she was an apparition.

  “Honestly, I’ve had enough explosions, tunnels, and river spins for one night. I’m cold, soaked, and my feet feel like raw potatoes,” she snapped. “If I don’t get a bed soon, I’ll start screaming next.”

  Sir Robin hastily raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Message received, Your Ladyship.” He turned on his heel and started down the muddy path. “Inn’s this way. Keep up, or you’ll freeze before we reach the first mplight.”

  “Would you look at that?” The Witch blew out a whistle of surprise. “You just cowed the infamous outw of Muscadet with a single threat! Congrats, Estel, you are one step closer to becoming a viliness.”

  “I don’t know what’s more terrifying,” Sir Robin grumbled from ahead, “being chased by the Temprs, or traveling with two unhinged women.”

  The soft glow of nterns bnketed them with a gentle warmth as they finally stepped onto the cobbled path of the vilge proper. The inn stood just a few feet away, and as Sir Robin pushed open the heavy oak door, the scent of roasted meat, woodsmoke, and stale ale enveloped Estel all at once—bringing a tear to her eyes.

  “Welcome, how many rooms are you…”

  Behind the counter, the innkeeper—a round-faced man with a balding crown and the look of someone who had seen everything—dropped his jaw at the sorry sight of them.

  “Heavens, you lot look like you lost a fight with the river and came crawling back for a rematch!”

  “We won,” Sir Robin muttered, wringing water from his cloak onto the floor. “Barely.”

  “Can’t say the river looks worse off,” the innkeeper replied dryly, grabbing a ring of keys from beneath the counter. “Rooms are upstairs. Towels and hot water’ll cost extra—unless you don’t mind smelling like swamp for the rest of your stay.”

  “I’ll take the towels. And a hot bath.” Estel staggered to the counter and pced down a gold coin. “This should suffice to cover our stay, right?”

  “Are you completely out of your mind?” Sir Robin cried. “Who pays for a night’s stay with a gold lumen?!”

  “Eh?”

  Launching himself forward, he snatched her coin away from the counter and repced it with three silver coins.

  “I’ll have the strongest drink you have to offer as well,” he decred, looking at the innkeeper dead in the eye.

  “…sure thing,” the innkeeper said slowly, handing over the keys. “Your rooms are the first three doors to the left of the stairs. Don’t let the floorboards upstairs scare you—pce only creaks when it dislikes you.”

  “Great,” the Witch muttered. “I didn’t know inns are so judgemental.”

  The stairs groaned beneath their weight as they climbed. The Witch made a face at one particurly loud squeal from the floorboards beneath her heel.

  “I think this pce doesn’t like any of us.”

  “Don’t take it personally, some inns just have high standards.” Sir Robin came to a stop at the end of the stairs and presented a key to Estel with a flourish.

  “Ladies first.”

  “Oh…thank you.”

  She took it with a grateful smile and unlocked the first door. The room inside, though small, was clean and warm, with a feather bed tucked beneath the snted ceiling and a small firepce giving off a cozy glow. And to her relief, a folded towel and a basin of warm water sat waiting on a table by the window.

  “Wow, this ain’t half bad for a no-name vilge inn,” the Witch remarked, peeking through the ajar door. “Robin, where’s my key?”

  “Here, catch—” he unceremoniously tossed the second key to her and smmed the door to the third room shut “—and don’t disturb me till the morrow.”

  -

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.” The innkeeper’s wife set down two bowls of steaming stew and a pte of crusty bread on the table where Estel and the Witch sat. “We’ve already run out of most of the ingredients from the morning, so you’ll have to make do with this.”

  “Oh, no, it’s alright,” Estel hurriedly said, her eyes already fixed on the hearty stew. Her stomach growled in agreement. “Thank you for lending us your spare robes to change into too.”

  “You’re welcome, Missus. Enjoy your meal.” The wife fshed a warm smile before disappearing back into the kitchen.

  Meanwhile, the Witch didn’t waste a second—she picked up her spoon the moment the bowl touched the table and scooped a generous mouthful of stew, sighing in satisfaction as the savory broth hit her tongue.

  Estel followed suit, dipping a piece of bread into the thick brown stew before devouring it. The fvors were simple—carrot, onion, a hint of garlic, and just enough salt to bring it together—but after a day of chaos, it tasted like a royal feast.

  “I didn’t realise I was starving this badly,” she mumbled, already halfway through her bowl.

  “I did,” the Witch said smugly, tearing off a hunk of bread. “You looked two seconds away from passing out when we walked into the inn.”

  Estel shot her a look over the rim of her spoon. “Says the one retching her dinner into the river.”

  “Hardly my fault,” she sniffed. “I’m never letting that asshole steer a boat next time.”

  Estel giggled, shaking her head. For the first time in what felt like days, the tension in her chest eased.

  “So, what will happen to the Viscount after tonight?”

  The Witch chewed thoughtfully. “Not only did the Viscount fail to catch the thief that has been terrorising the lower nobility, his riches are being redistributed by the Merry Gang to the peasantry as we speak. I would imagine he’s pissed to hell and back.”

  “The Merry Gang?” Estel asked curiously.

  “A band of outws who does the dirty work while that guy is in charge of the pnning and preparations.” Pausing for a moment, she added, “and on that note, Estel, you can drop the ‘Sir’ honorific—I was just being sarcastic back then.”

  “I-is it fine if I just call him by his name?”

  “He’s an outw, not a knight.”

  “Then…” Estel swallowed the st of her stew and hesitated. “Is it alright if I call you Alice too?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure. Please go ahead.” Alice gave her a puzzled look. “Wait, then what have you been calling me thus far?”

  “Well…just ‘the Witch’,” she admitted. “You never told me your name directly, after all.”

  “I—” Alice seemed lost for words at that point. “…you could’ve just asked me, you know.”