Ire Taverness's Arc

Chapter 13 of 19

Ire lay on her side and watched Kael pack in the dark. He moved by the window, folding a shirt against his chest. He did not light the lamp. He never did the night before a job. "Come back to bed," she said. "In a minute." "Now." He set the shirt down and came. The mattress dipped under him. She put her hand flat on his chest and felt his heart. Steady. Slower than hers. "One job," she said. "One job." "Near Mosswood. You promised." "Near Mosswood." She pushed up on her elbow. His orange eyes caught what little light came through the shutter. The lynx ears twitched toward the sound of a cart passing on the road below. "Say what it is," she said. "A courier run. Two nights. Nothing you'd worry about." She did not ask again. She never argued with him before a job. She had learned that the year she set his shoulder herself, hands shaking so hard she almost missed the joint. She folded her hands now against his ribs instead. "After this," he said, "I'm at the tavern. Every night. I'll pour ale. I'll haul crates. I'll be checking you out." 😉 "Good." She giggled. "I'll be all yours." She leaned down and kissed him. He kissed her back slowly, the way he did when he wanted her to remember it. His hand came up and cupped the back of her neck. Her tail curled once against the blanket. She stayed there a long moment, her forehead on his. "Come home," she said. "I will." "Say it again." "I will come home." She lay back down. He pulled the blanket over her shoulder and kept his arm there. She listened to him breathe until the breath evened out. Then she closed her eyes. She woke to grey light and an empty bed. The shirt he had folded was gone. A note sat on the pillow beside her, three words in his blocky hand. Back by Thursday. She dressed. She went downstairs. The second cook was already at the stove. The floor girl was wiping tables. The widow's boy was writing the day's tally on the slate. None of them asked where Kael was. They had seen him leave at dawn before. She opened the tavern for the midday rush. She poured. She counted. She smiled at a trader who wanted to talk about the standing order, and she signed the terms on the bar in front of him. The coin box grew heavier by the hour. Thursday came. The sun crossed the roof and dropped behind the trees. She kept a plate warm on the back of the stove. She wiped the same stretch of bar three times. Then he finally came through the doors, and she ran into his arms.