Haunted Past

Chapter 31

The scent of a burning fire woke Orin. Thick blankets wrapped around him and hair tickled at his nose. Ailin was wrapped around him, the skinny man's body familiar against Orin's. Orin's shoulder ached but didn't hurt. His magic was depleted. The aftermath of healing magic pulsed through him but the taste of it was off. It wasn't Rismak who had healed him. Orin tightened his hold on Ailin for a moment before opening his eyes. He needed to access what situation he was in now.

"You're safe, Orin. Devon is too," promised Adma, the sword's mental caress comforting against the harsh bite of fear haunting Orin's mind.

At first glance, it was the same room Orin and Devon had been staying in the past week. Something felt off. A gnawing sensation that something was different, even if he couldn't quite work out what. The room was peaceful, a fireplace sparkling to the side. Neither Orin nor Devon had used the thing but it was burning now with a warm crackling light. Some of Orin's and Devon's clothes were hanging by it to dry, as were their boots. Devon slept on the other bed, still but breathing steady. Everything was safe on the face of it. Only that shoulder injury let him know it hadn't all be a strange dream. It had happened.

He studied the room, not sitting up, reluctant to wake the sleeping weight of Ailin. He spotted what was different. The door to the room was gone. The window on the other side remained but Orin was willing to bet it was trapped or could no longer open. Next to the fireplace, a new door was there. People were arguing behind it.

Orin grimaced and buried his nose in Ailin's hair. Scythe and Gazion for sure, but who else was here? Cedit, possibly as the local head of the guard. Was Modric here yet? His sword didn't answer, only whispered words of reassurance. It didn't help as much as the sword wanted it to.

"Orin?" Ailin murmured, the hum of his voice rumbling against Orin's skin. Hands tightened around him, gripping his shirt tight. "You're awake?"

Orin kissed the top of Ailin's head. "Why are you here, Ai?"

"When they brought you into the inn, I got involved," Ailin shifted, Orin tried not to flinch as Ailin's cold feet brushed against his. "They tried to keep me away but I pointed out the fact I know you a hell of a lot better than people who didn't even know your face until very recently."

Orin smiled and held Ailin tight. He could imagine how that conversation went. "I'm sure they were impressed."

"They didn't know you had a sister, forget her name," Ailin chuckled.

"Thanks for informing them of this fact."

"It's not like they wouldn't have found out soon."

"I suppose," Orin smiled at Ailin's offhand tone. The man did not think it was an issue and Orin could understand why. "I should go face them." There were no clothes folded up anywhere near. Not dry ones anyway. He was in a sleeping top that Orin knew did not belong to him. He ran his hands over the material. It was soft against his fingers, nothing like the normal materials in the valleys. Scythe had put it one him. His own top ruined from blood and the fact his sword had impaled him.

"They seemed angry," Ailin noted, yawning wide before rolling away. "The mage was polite. The weaver wasn't."