Morning light filtered through the inn’s small windows, pale and gold, laying thin bars across the rough wooden floor.
The common room smelled of woodsmoke, porridge, damp wool, and fresh bread. A fire crackled low in the hearth, more ember than flame, and the innkeeper moved between tables with the tired grace of a man who had seen too many travelers and asked too few questions.
Kit sat at a corner table with her back to the wall.
Her hair was still damp from last night’s bath, loose dark strands clinging to the side of her neck. She wore a simple linen shift beneath a dark traveling cloak, the black lace choker at her throat the only delicate thing that had survived the road unchanged.
Across from her, Thorn tore a piece of bread in half.
She caught his eye over the steam rising from their bowls.
That quiet, knowing look passed between them. Part challenge. Part invitation. Part unfinished business.
Thorn leaned in slightly.
“Sleep well?”
Kit smiled into her bread.
“I slept like the dead. That bath, your hands on my back… I was gone before my head hit the pillow.”
Thorn’s mouth curved.
“And now?”
“Now I’m awake,” she said, lowering her voice, “and the way you’re looking at me across this table makes me wonder if we’re going to make it out of this inn today.”
She arched one brow.
“You keep staring like that,” Kit added, tearing the bread slow and deliberate, “and the innkeeper’s going to start charging us for the view.”
Thorn laughed softly.
“So,” she said, “what is the plan for today?”
Thorn was about to answer.
Then the door burst open.
Cold air rushed into the room.
A figure staggered through the doorway, one hand pressed against his side. Blood soaked through his tunic and ran between his fingers in dark lines. He took one more step, eyes rolling back, then collapsed hard onto the floorboards.
The inn fell silent.
Kit was already moving.
Her cloak whipped behind her as she crossed the room and dropped to her knees beside him. Thorn shoved the table aside, porridge sloshing over the rim of his bowl, bread scattering across the floor.
The wounded stranger was young. Maybe twenty. Pale under the grime, with a face not yet hardened by the world, though the world had clearly made a serious attempt at it.
Kit pressed her hand to the wound.
Warm blood spilled over her fingers.
“He’s breathing,” she said sharply. “Help me get him up. Now.”
Thorn lifted the boy as if he weighed nothing, though the blood made everything slippery. Together, they hauled him onto the nearest table. Crockery crashed to the floor. The innkeeper looked once at the spreading mess, then gave a curt nod and hurried away.
No complaint. No delay.
Clean rags. Hot water. That was what mattered.
Kit tore the boy’s tunic open.
The wound beneath was deep and ugly.
“Arrow,” she said. “Broken off or pulled out badly. He’s losing too much.”
The innkeeper returned with steaming water and strips of linen.
Kit looked at Thorn.
“Hold him down. This is going to hurt.”
Thorn planted both hands across the boy’s chest and shoulders, pinning him to the table.
“Stay with us,” he murmured near the boy’s ear. “You’re not done yet.”
The boy’s eyes fluttered.
Kit hovered her hands over the wound. Violet light shimmered faintly between her fingers, weak at first, then brighter, threading through the blood like moonlight in wine.
Thorn looked at her.
“Can you do anything with your magic?”
“I can try,” Kit said.
Her voice had changed. The teasing edge was gone, replaced by focus so sharp it could have cut leather.
“It’s not clean magic, love. I can slow the bleeding. Maybe knit the worst of it. But it drains me fast.” She glanced up at him. “If I push too hard, I’ll be useless for whatever comes next.”
Thorn didn’t hesitate.
“Save him. We were going to spend the day in bed anyway.”
A faint smile flickered across her face despite the blood.
“Charming priorities.”
“Useful ones.”
Kit nodded once.
Then she pressed both hands over the wound.
The violet shimmer deepened.
The boy arched under Thorn’s grip, a ragged cry tearing from his throat. Thorn held him firm, jaw tight, arms locked. The light crawled into the torn flesh, drawing the ragged edges together with slow, stubborn force.
Kit’s breathing grew harsh.
Her arms began to tremble.
“Hold him,” she gritted out.
“I’ve got him.”
Blood still seeped between her fingers, but less now. The terrible flow slowed. The wound tightened, raw and red, no longer open enough to pour his life onto the table.
Kit pushed one last thread of violet light into him.
Then the magic snapped out.
She pulled back hard, as if burned.
For a moment, she stayed standing.
Then her knees nearly gave.
Thorn caught her by the arm.
“Enough,” he said. “Enough. Rest can heal the rest.”
Kit braced one hand against the table, breath ragged, face pale beneath the fall of dark hair.
“He’s stable,” she managed. “Raw, but stable.”
The innkeeper pressed a cup into her hands.
“Sweet mead,” he said. “Drink.”
Kit took it with both hands, the cup trembling slightly. She drank slowly, the honeyed warmth bringing a little color back to her face.
The boy stirred.
His eyelids cracked open.
“Easy,” Kit said softly. “You’re safe.”
The boy swallowed hard. His gaze moved from Kit to Thorn, then to the blood on the table.
“Ambush,” he whispered. “North road. Bandits. Three of them.”
His breath shuddered.
“Took my coin. My horse. Left me for dead.”
Thorn leaned closer.
“How did this happen to you?”
The boy’s eyes glistened with pain.
“Didn’t think I’d make it this far.” His voice broke. “You… you saved me?”
Thorn glanced at Kit, then the innkeeper.
“She did. Innkeeper helped too.”
Kit gave a tired, faint smile.
“The innkeeper’s the one who’ll be scrubbing blood out of his floorboards. I just slowed the worst of it.”
The innkeeper snorted.
“Floorboards have seen worse.”
Kit looked back at the boy.
“Rest now. Questions can wait.”
But her eyes said otherwise.
Thorn knew that look.
A wounded stranger. Bandits on the road. A half-told story with blood still drying around it.
Kit would not let it lie.
Not even if she could barely stand.
Thorn sighed.
“You’re such a bleeding heart.”
She looked up at him through heavy lashes.
“And yet you’re the one holding him down so he doesn’t die.”
“That’s different.”
“Of course it is.”
The innkeeper looked between them, then toward the stairs.
“I’ve no spare rooms,” he said. “But you can put him in yours. No extra charge.”
Thorn nodded.
“Our room, then.”
Kit pushed herself straighter.
“He can have the bed,” she said. “We’ll manage.”
Then her mouth tilted.
“Though I expect you’ll be carrying me up those stairs.”
Thorn gave her a look.
“You first or him?”
“Him,” she said. “I can sit upright for another minute without becoming furniture.”
Thorn helped the boy from the table, taking most of the young man’s weight across his shoulder. The boy groaned but did not wake fully. Step by careful step, Thorn hauled him up the narrow stairs.
Kit stayed below.
The common room slowly remembered how to breathe.
The fire popped. The innkeeper muttered to himself as he wiped blood from the table. Kit sat with the cup of mead in both hands, staring at nothing while the last threads of violet light faded from her veins.
When Thorn came back down, she was half asleep in the chair.
Not gone entirely. Just adrift.
He tossed a few coins to the innkeeper.
“For the table. The food. The floor. And your help.”
The innkeeper caught them, weighed them in his palm, then nodded.
“Fair.”
Thorn crossed to Kit and slid one arm beneath her knees, the other behind her back.
She stirred as he lifted her.
“Took you long enough,” she mumbled, voice thick with exhaustion.
“Someone had to clean up your heroics.”
Her head lolled against his shoulder, damp hair brushing his neck. Her fingers curled weakly into his shirt.
The stairs creaked beneath them.
By the time they reached the landing, her breathing had slowed against his collarbone.
Inside the room, the boy slept on the bed, pale but alive.
Thorn lowered himself onto the floor with Kit in his lap, his back against the wall. She melted into him without protest, head tucked beneath his chin, one hand resting over his heart.
“You know,” she whispered, barely awake, “we have to get those bandits.”
Thorn looked down at her.
“Sleep now.”
Her lips moved again, softer this time.
“We have to…”
Then sleep took her.
Thorn stayed awake a while longer, listening to the boy breathe.
Then, somewhere between one crackle of the hearth below and the next, he slept too.
When Kit woke, the room was dark.
A thin blade of moonlight cut through the shutters. The air had cooled. The inn had gone quiet around them, settling into its bones.
Her cheek rested against Thorn’s chest.
His breathing rose and fell beneath her, steady and warm. Every so often, a gentle snore escaped him, low and harmless as distant thunder pretending to be polite.
Across the room, the boy slept in the bed.
His breathing was even.
Kit lifted her head slowly, violet eyes adjusting to the dark. For a moment, she simply watched Thorn sleep. Then her fingers traced a lazy circle over his shirt.
“How long was I out?” she murmured.
Thorn stirred beneath her.
“I don’t know,” he said, voice rough from sleep. “But my back’s stiff from sitting here holding you.”
Kit sat up in his lap, guilt flickering across her face.
“All day?”
“Feels like several winters.”
She touched the base of his neck, fingers finding the knot there.
“You should’ve woken me.”
“You were worth it.”
He groaned softly as her thumbs worked into the tight muscle.
Kit smiled, slow and warm.
“Flatterer.”
Her fingers kept moving, easing the stiffness from his shoulders.
“Keep making sounds like that,” she murmured near his ear, “and I might forget the boy’s in the room.”
Thorn opened one eye.
“You want to go downstairs and see what time it is, or should I?”
Kit slid from his lap and stood, stretching the sleep from her limbs. The linen shift clung in the cool air.
“I’ll go,” she said. “You stay off that back.”
Thorn’s gaze flicked over her.
“You might want to put something on over that.”
She glanced down.
Moonlight caught the thin fabric.
“It’s a little transparent,” he added.
“Barely.”
Kit arched a brow.
She huffed a quiet laugh and reached for the dark traveling cloak draped over the chair, swinging it around her shoulders and fastening it loose at the throat.
“Better?”
“Debatable.”
Kit rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her.
“I’ll be quick. Don’t get any ideas while I’m gone.”
“Too late.”
She slipped out, bare feet soft on the stairs.
Downstairs, the common room was nearly empty. A single lamp burned low near the bar. The innkeeper looked up from wiping a mug, eyebrows lifting.
“Evening, miss. Or morning, I suppose.”
Kit paused.
“How long?”
“Past midnight. You slept the whole day through.”
She exhaled.
“The boy?”
“Still sleeping.”
The innkeeper nodded. “Aye. Rest’s the best medicine now.”
Kit leaned one hand against the bar.
“We’ll need food for the road. Early morning breakfast. Something wrapped.”
The innkeeper studied her.
“You two heading out?”
“Soon.”
Another nod. No judgment. Maybe a little knowing.
He turned to the larder and began gathering provisions into a cloth.
“Bread. Hard cheese. Dried meat.”
“A small pot of honey, if you have it.”
He glanced back.
“Honey?”
“Bread gets gloomy without it.”
That earned the ghost of a smile.
“A fair accusation.”
He added a small clay pot to the bundle, then tied it tight.
“Watered wine?”
“Light,” Kit said. “Enough for the road.”
He set a skin beside the food.
As she took the bundle, Kit paused.
“The boy upstairs. Do you know him?”
The innkeeper shook his head.
“Can’t say I do. Not from the village, far as I know. Could be one of the outlying farms. Could be passing through. Hard to tell with all that blood on him.”
Kit’s expression sharpened.
“Bandits on the north road?”
His face darkened.
“Rumors. Nothing proven.”
“Rumors are just facts that haven’t put boots on yet.”
“Aye,” he said quietly. “Then mind your step.”
Kit returned upstairs.
The room was dim, but Thorn was awake now. Fully awake. Water still beaded on his face from a quick standing wash, and his armor was already strapped into place.
Kit set the provisions on the small table.
“Past midnight,” she said. “The boy’s not from the village. Innkeeper’s never seen him.”
Thorn checked the fastening on one bracer.
“Then we go now.”
Kit tilted her head.
“Now?”
“If we ride while it’s dark, we reach them when they’re tired. Three or four in the morning, any watch they set will be half asleep and thinking about breakfast.”
She smiled faintly.
“There’s the cheerful strategy I adore.”
“You up for it?”
Kit straightened, though the effort cost her.
“Give me time to change.”
Thorn stepped between her and the bed, shielding her from the sleeping boy.
Kit gave him a look.
She let the cloak slip from her shoulders. The shift followed, pooling softly at her feet. In the moonlight, she moved with practiced speed, pulling on dark undergarments, then supple leather armor that hugged close and allowed movement.
Laces tightened. Buckles fastened. Belt. Pouches. Blade. The silver-chained amulet settled against her collarbone, its violet stone faintly catching the dark.
Thorn made a low sound in his throat.
Not quite a word.
Kit glanced over her shoulder, smirking.
“Satisfied?”
“No.”
She laughed under her breath and swung the cloak back over her shoulders.
“Good answer.”
She stepped close to him, the leather of her armor brushing his. Her violet eyes lifted to meet his.
For one suspended moment, the room held still.
Her lips hovered just shy of his.
“If you kiss me now,” she murmured, “we might not make it out the door.”
Thorn leaned in until his mouth was inches from hers.
“You’re right,” he said.
Her fingers curled into the front of his armor.
“But I haven’t forgotten,” he added. “I still haven’t had my real prize from yesterday.”
Kit’s eyes flashed.
“Then you’d better keep us both alive long enough to claim it.”
He pulled away first.
Barely.
The wanting stayed between them like a lit fuse.
They moved quietly after that. Down the stairs. Past the low-burning lamp. Out through the inn door and into the cold.
Outside, the horses shifted in the dark, breath steaming silver in the night air.
Kit fastened the bundle of provisions to her saddle and swung up onto her sleek black horse. Thorn mounted his sturdy bay, settling into the saddle with the easy balance of someone born suspicious of roads.
Kit looked north.
The road disappeared into a tunnel of black trees.
Somewhere ahead, three bandits were sleeping beside stolen coin and a stolen horse, believing the boy they had left in the dirt was dead.
Thorn adjusted his grip on the reins.
“North road.”
Kit’s smile was small and dangerous.
“Let’s go collect.”
They rode into the darkness, hooves muted against the cold earth, the inn shrinking behind them until its warm windows were nothing more than two tired stars.
Ahead, the trees waited.
And somewhere beyond them, so did trouble.