Page 31 of Hollow Court

Davin went on like she hadn’t paused, telling her how many rooms and meals we needed in a deceptively casual tone. His congenial smile was intact, but there was a glint of authority in his eyes, a set to his jaw that said he wouldn’t tolerate commentary on the matter.

“Yes, mi’laird,” she said, her tone more subdued.

In the time Davin had been talking, the other patrons had gradually started to notice my presence. What my olive-toned skin didn’t give away, my embroidered, high-necked gown certainly did.

The looks I garnered ranged from suspicious to outright hostile. I squared my shoulders, pretending not to notice.

“Thank you, Ms. Agatha,” he told her, a hand on his chest. “This is why we love to stay in your fine establishment.”

My lips parted in surprise. Though I knew, logically, that women here were allowed to work, owning an entire inn was another story. Did she have men who worked for her?

Gallagher’s teasing voice broke into my thoughts. “That and your apple turnovers, of course.”

Ms. Agatha shook her head but was smiling as she left to take care of ordering the baths.

Davin glanced around the room, then to me like he was weighing something.

“We’ll head up, and you can bring dinner,” Gwyn told Davin and her brother with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why it would be better for me to go upstairs. Davin had told me already that there would be rebels who wanted to kill me just for the sin of being born on the wrong side of the mountain.

I had no desire to argue with going up to our rooms. The people could get used to me gradually, but there was no sense in turning this room into a powder keg—not for any of our sakes.

Gwyn grabbed an apple from the counter, calling over her shoulder to have it added to her tab before gesturing for me to follow her up the stairs. I did, trying to ignore the weight of the glares that accompanied us until we were out of sight.

When we got to the room, Gwyn sprawled out on the bed. It was small for two people, but I couldn’t bring myself to be concerned about Gwyn’s blanket thievery or her snoring when it meant I didn’t have to snuggle up next to Davin.

My mind returned to the woman downstairs, the one who apparently owned the inn. Was that common? How had she come by it to begin with?

“Did Ms. Agatha’s husband leave this inn to her?” I asked, trying to parse out the circumstances that led her here.

Gwyn eyed me, likely because engaging in idle conversation was not something we did. In all our nights on the road, we had never actually spoken one-on-one.

“Not that I know of,” she finally said, rubbing her apple against her dress before taking a large bite. “But I’m sure Davin has her life story memorized.”

Of course he did.

Because that’s what he did, got people to talk to him, to give him information he needed. I had no doubt that was what he was doing now, working the room downstairs to figure out what had transpired here in his absence.

It was a skill I might have admired, had I not been on the receiving end of it before.

The duchess's voice startled me out of my thoughts. “For whatever it’s worth, not everyone here is a prejudiced arsehat. There are tensions, obviously, but you won’t have to deal with as much of that closer to Lithlinglau. It’s harder up here, where they lost people to the war.”

I blinked at her once, trying not to bristle at the comment.

The war had taken place over twenty years ago, back when Lochlann was still two kingdoms and Socair was ruled by a tyrant. My clan had been forced to fight in it.

“I could argue that your family was far more responsible for that war than mine, but they’re treating you just fine,” I said smoothly, meeting her assessing hazel gaze.

She surveyed me, leaning back against the wall. For a moment, she looked markedly older than her twenty-two years, all traces of her usual flippancy gone.

“Don’t worry,” she sighed. “There are plenty of people who haven’t gotten over our family’s role in the war. I’m sure you’ll meet them soon enough.”

I contemplated the fairness of that.

Gwyn’s mother had wanted to get out of a betrothal agreement, so she had married someone else, breaking the contract. It had always seemed impossibly selfish when I heard the story, but I was starting to understand it now.

I wondered if I could make myself go back to Alexei, if the alternative was starting a war.