Plots, Schemes, and Scandalous Means (World of Weyvar Book 1) by Becca Fogg

Author:Becca Fogg [Fogg, Becca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-06-13T05:00:00+00:00

Thunder claps while Andra, Quintin, and the carriage driver pack the remnants of the lunch.

“I knew this would happen!” Vynse exclaims, as if it hadn’t simply been an excuse.

“The clouds will pass,” Quintin says.

Lightning crashes in the distance.

“Perhaps we should hustle all the same,” I suggest.

Everyone piles into the carriage, but not before the first drops of rain patter on the wood.

We race against the storm, but the sky ahead is as chaotic as the one behind us. It’s clear we can’t escape it.

The driver pulls the carriage up to a thatched-roof building on the side of the empty stretch of road. We dash inside. The driver follows us in, but informs us that he and the guards will stay in the hayloft.

Everyone in the carriage is soaked to the bone and shivering.

A mountain of a man with wiry blond hair and unfocused eyes greets us. The innkeeper is at least half a head taller and wider than I am. Granted, if you’re taking people in on an abandoned road, you had best be able to defend yourself.

His equally giant wife comes out of a back room with warm blankets and warmer hard cider.

“There’s a lot of you,” the innkeeper notes. Real genius, this one.

“How many rooms do you have available?” Quintin asks. “I understand it’s short notice. You’ll be well compensated.”

“We only have four rooms. You’ll have to share.”

Quintin nods, then looks anxiously to the rest of us.

“Anyone willing to sleep in the hayloft?” he asks.

Finn glances at Dalia and opens his mouth, but Vynse cuts him off.

“We can share,” Vynse says with a thumb pointed at Finn. “Do you have a room with double beds?”

The innkeeper grunts.

“No doubles here. I’ll see about a bedroll.”

Finn and Vynse both grimace, and I don’t bother to hide my smile. Neither of them will want to sleep on the floor. Vynse’s attempt to prevent Finn from saying something offensive has doomed them to sharing a bed.

The innkeeper passes keys to the women and Vynse.

When he hands the key to Dalia, her eyes pass to mine. She taps the metal object in her palm, the nervous gesture giving away her emotions.

“We’ll need an hour to light the fireplaces and fluff the sheets,” the innkeeper tells us. “Please make yourselves at home. I’ll ask the missus to bring you soup.”

He bumbles toward the stairs and disappears. Andra stands beside her queen.

“We can share, Majesty,” she offers.

“Looks like we’re rooming,” Quintin adds as he claps a hand on my shoulder.

Dalia and I exchange a glance again, but she doesn’t correct them.

Everyone huddles around the huge fireplace to dry off. This was only a day excursion; no one brought a change of clothes. The innkeeper returns to tell us he’ll leave spare sets from him and his wife.

Stiff thatch in the dusty couch sticks at my back. The cider is warming, and the soup filling but bland. I want to retire to my room and pass out, even if that room has to be shared with Quintin.

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