Chapter 54

  After the brief, involuntary visit to the spirit realm, I savored the night to its fullest. My body sank deeper and deeper into the mattress, and for the first time in a long while, there was nothing dark tugging at me. No burning images, no demons lurking in the shadows of my mind. Just sleep. Deep, warm, healing. I could’ve stayed in that silence forever. But the morning had other plans—more specifically: the cold. The embers in the small stone fireplace had died out during the night, leaving only ashes that slowly crumbled in the faint light. I pulled the blanket tighter around me, in vain. The air in the room was biting. Shivering, I sat up, pushed the blanket aside, and began my morning ritual.

  As always, I reached first for my underarmor. The rawhide shirt was cold against my skin, the breastplate felt like a sheet of ice. The straps clicked as I fastened them—a familiar sound. The helmet came last, as always, hung at my side. I yawned, ran a hand through my disheveled hair, and stepped toward the door. My hand was already on the handle when I felt a faint sense of foreboding—a tingling at the back of my neck that I’d learned to take seriously. Still, I opened it. And there he was, kneeling.

  Arik. The Ashblood. In the hallway light, he looked like a statue made of dust. His forehead nearly touched the floor, one knee rested on the old wooden boards, both hands on his thighs. His chest rose and fell so slightly it was barely noticeable. No glance, no words. As if he had stayed there all night, unmoving, with nothing but guilt as company. I frowned. Then it hit me like a bucket of cold water.

  The emblem. The eagle symbol, framed in gold on my sword, had flashed during yesterday’s fight—uncovered by Gravor’s veil. If one had seen it, then they all had. The entire city probably knew by now: I was a Paladin. A real one. Not just a mercenary or a soldier—but a marked warrior of a forgotten order.

  I sighed quietly, leaning against the door. Not because of Arik himself, but because of what his kneeling meant. He was surely about to beg for mercy. Afraid I’d punish him. Maybe he thought I was some judge, an executioner in golden armor. Maybe… But Arik slowly raised his head, and what I saw in his eyes was not fear. It was determination—almost reverence. And his words shattered every one of my expectations.

  “Holy knight, warrior of the Lord of Shadow and Storm, Paladin of the Order of the Eagle… I beg your forgiveness.”

  I blinked. The words sounded like they’d come from some ancient fairytale. As if he’d picked them from a tattered, half-burned book. I slowly raised an eyebrow, confused and still not fully awake.

  “First: what are you apologizing for?” I asked dryly. “Second: how long have you been kneeling here?”

  Arik looked at me as if I had just asked a god whether the sky was truly blue. The indignation in his expression was almost comical. Then he stammered.

  “For… for the fact that you… had to pay for this room, of course.”

  I stared at him in silence for a moment. A holy knight, offended because I paid for my room? Wait—I hadn’t even done that!

  I suppressed an annoyed sigh, ran a hand through my hair, and said calmly, “If it’s about the payment, speak to Vin. She paid for both nights.”

  Arik immediately bowed his head, reverent in a way only true believers could be—certain that even a glance upward might blind them.

  “Of course, holy warrior. And regarding your second question: I have awaited your presence ever since I learned of your identity.”

  Wonderful. I might as well have strapped a sign to my back reading: PALADIN. PLEASE DO NOT ENGAGE. Without another word, I gave a curt gesture down the hall. “Come,” I muttered. I had planned on waking Vin and Maira anyway—or rather, having them accompany me to the marketplace. That I now had to embark on a pilgrim’s march with a kneeling Ashblood in tow had definitely not been part of my morning plans.

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  The hallway was cold, but not unpleasant. At least it was pleasantly empty. The light of the early morning sun filtered softly through the windows at the corridor’s end, casting long shadows across the old wooden floorboards. Every now and then, one could hear the faint snoring behind a door or the creaking of floorboards as someone stepped outside, bundled in coats and boots—out into the biting, clear morning air of Thulegard.

  Eventually, we stopped in front of the women’s room. I raised my hand and knocked. Once. Twice. Three times. By the fourth knock, it was firmer. At the fifth, I finally heard footsteps—slow and reluctant.

  The door opened just a crack, revealing a disheveled, half-asleep face. Maira. Her black hair stuck out in every direction, tousled and wild like a cat torn from a dream too short. Her eyes—normally sharp and alert like a dagger—were tired, half-closed, heavy-lidded. She wore only a long white shirt that reached her thighs, and one of the blankets still clung to her arm, as if she’d tried to drag it to the door with her.

  “What is it?” she mumbled, rubbing her forehead sleepily. Her voice was hoarse from sleep, and a yawn was just beginning to form on her lips.

  She didn’t seem to notice Arik at all. As if he were air, or a piece of background in a painting. He stepped forward without raising his gaze, his hands still folded over his chest.

  “I must forgive Vin for her noble sacrifice. That she paid for your room... that was unjust.”

  I watched as Maira’s eyes narrowed. She blinked, straightened ever so slightly—and looked at Arik for the first time properly. Her furrowed brow spoke volumes. Without a word, she opened the door fully and stepped aside, letting him in.

  I followed her into the room—but Vin wasn’t there. No blanket thrown aside, no boot on the floor, no rumpled pillow, no book of Herbal ingredients on the nightstand.

  The bed was neatly made. Perfectly made. A chill crept across the back of my neck.

  Oh no.

  “Arik,” I began, my voice suddenly colder than the hallway we had just walked through. I took a step closer, examining his face with a calm but focused expression. “You spoke with Vin for quite a while last night. While you were handing out drinks, correct?”

  The Ashblood immediately looked up, surprised to be addressed so directly. “Uh, yes. Yes, I did. We… we actually talked a lot.” He seemed to think for a moment, his brow furrowing. Then his face brightened slightly. “Though, there was someone else. Another guest. A young elf. Quite handsome, if you ask me. Blonde, refined features, that aristocratic air. Also… I think she was flirting with him.”

  His voice faltered at the end, as if he suddenly realized the weight of his words. I froze.

  Everything made sense. Too much sense. The way Vin had dodged our questions about money. That sheepish smile, her line: “I have my ways.”

  Damn it. She’d lied to us. Or at the very least, she hadn’t told the whole truth.

  I turned my head slowly—looking at Maira. Her eyes were already on me, silent, surprised, but not shocked. Her dark gaze mirrored the same realization, the same conclusion.

  Arik, on the other hand, needed a few seconds. Then his mouth opened, and his voice lowered, almost reverent. “The elf… he has a room at the end of the hallway.”

  He hesitated, then reached into his tunic and handed us a small, cold key with a number engraved on it—wordlessly.

  I took it. We ran. Maybe it was excessive. Maybe we should’ve just walked over and knocked. But I didn’t want to risk that something worse had happened.

  Maira ran beside me, barefoot, the blanket left behind. Her white shirt fluttered lightly as she stormed down the hall with me.

  “Do you really think… she’s been hiding this from us the whole time?” she asked, her voice not angry. Just… disappointed.

  I was breathing heavily.

  “I don’t see any other explanation,” I said. My voice was deeper than usual, tense, a hint of anger in it—but also understanding. “Then again… wouldn’t anyone in her place have kept it secret? In this world?”

  Maira was silent, then gave a slow nod. “Probably.”

  At the end of the hall, she came to a halt, took a deep breath, and gently took the key from my hand. Her fingers were trembling slightly. She slipped it into the lock.

  A quiet click. Slowly, she opened the door. And what we saw made us both fall silent.

  The bed was messy. A single boot lay on the floor. An empty glass stood on the nightstand beside a half-eaten piece of bread. The blanket had been thrown aside.

  And Vin was nowhere to be seen.

  But the air held a faint scent of perfume and candles. Floral, but mixed with something… heavier.

  Maira stepped in first. She glanced down at the clothes on the floor, then slowly furrowed her brows. “This isn’t just Vin’s…”

  I followed her in slowly. My eyes drifted to the back of the door.

  A piece of parchment was hanging there. A message in Vin’s handwriting.

  “Please don’t look for me. I’ll be back. Trust me.”

  Below it:

  A hand-drawn butterfly and a winking face.

  Maira’s voice sounded horrified. “Is she serious…?”

  I couldn’t answer. Not yet. I just stared at the symbol beneath the message.

  A butterfly.

  Then I screamed. I couldn’t help it.

  “Fuck!”