Kaida
This inn was not like the others. There were rugs on the floors, paintings on the walls, and fine furniture. Lord Vance had ordered a meal, and it had been delivered promptly and set on the side table. Fresh fruit, poached eggs, fried ham steaks, soft bread with fresh butter and brambleberry jam. A bottle of sweet wine.
The bed had a real mattress.
Not hay, not a pallet, not the lumpy suggestion of comfort that most inns offered — an actual mattress, stuffed with goosedown that gave slightly under my weight and held the shape of me. The sheets smelled of lavender rather than the body odour of the previous occupant.
I lay in it for a long moment, happy to be horizontal after so many hours in the carriage. I stared up at the plastered ceiling and let myself feel how tired I was.
H
