Gilded Serpent Danielle Jensen (i can read with my eyes shut .TXT) 📖

up the pass, and she shivered with unease at how it seemed to be both still and moving, pushing east and yet moving west back into Derin, like two opposing rivers merged into one. A trail of footprints ran next to it, all of them headed into the mountains.

“Do you have a plan?” she asked, noting that Killian still held his sword in his gloved hand, eyes prowling over their surroundings.

“Not yet,” he answered. “First I need to see what we’re up against.”

Lydia continued to trudge up the pass, her breath growing increasingly labored as they climbed, her pack heavy. The air felt thin, her lungs as though she wasn’t getting enough in each breath. Glancing back, she saw that they were now far higher than the wall, Mudamora visible beyond.

As they reached the crest of the pass, Killian pulled her low, both of them staring into the valley below. The blight flowed into it, then split, each branch leading to one of eight virulently green mounds that seemed to pulse with life. Yet rather than being beautiful, there was something deeply unnatural about them. Something that reminded her of the way the corrupted glowed with such an excess of life as to be gluttonous and foul. A wrongness. Armed soldiers stood guard nearby, though they looked more bored than watchful.

“The source,” Killian muttered. “The corrupted tenders must be nearby.”

It was a struggle to look elsewhere, but Lydia shifted her attention to where the smoke rose—a town. And a large one at that. Even from this distance, she could make out countless figures moving between the rough wooden buildings, plumes rising from dozens of chimneys. Other than the road they were on, the only path leading into town came from a narrow ravine on the north side of the valley. As they watched, a laden cart pulled by a donkey appeared, trundling down the slope into town.

“Xenthier,” Killian muttered next to her. “It has to be.”

“What do we do now?” Lydia asked. “We can’t just walk into town.”

“Why not?” Killian gestured to the path in front of them, the snow trodden by dozens of footprints. “Let’s go.”

Terror pulsed through her veins, but next to her, Killian strode with total nonchalance. “Don’t look so worried,” he muttered as they approached the town. “You’ll give us away.”

Though it soon became clear that worried or not, no one in the town paid them much attention. Rough two-story buildings made out of wood lined the muddy streets, nearly half of them seeming to be taverns or tap houses, though with the scantily dressed men and women leaning out the upper windows calling out invitations to all who passed, Lydia guessed that just as many were brothels.

The people themselves had skins of every hue from as fair as Lydia’s own to skin as dark as any Maarin, though most wore the same style of clothing, the women in dark woolen dresses, the men in woolen trousers and coats, their cloaks trimmed with fur. The voices that filled the air used different languages and accents, and if not for the fact she knew they stood in the landlocked center of the continent, Lydia would have guessed they were in a trading port frequented by ships of a dozen different nations.

Two men rolled out of the front of one of the taverns, fists flying and mouths spewing curses, and Killian tugged her backward as a crowd formed, the watchers cheering the men on as they struggled. “Let’s see if we can find an inn of sorts.”

Turning down another street yielded rows of quieter buildings, and Killian led her toward one with a sign with gilded cursive writing that said, The Feisty Donkey. Pushing open the door revealed a smoky room with several long tables, the benches lining them filled with men and women. A handful glanced up, but then immediately turned back to the platters of food before them.

Approaching the bar, Killian said to the man filling cups of ale, “You have rooms?”

“Aye. It’s six coppers a night or a silver for the week. Paid up front.”

Killian dug into his pocket, and Lydia clenched her teeth, worried he’d pull out his usual handful of gold and silver, but when he opened his palm it held only a few copper coins. “How much for a meal?”

“Another copper.” The barkeep glanced at Lydia. “Each. Unless your lass there can sing or dance, then she can eat for free in exchange for an hour’s entertainment. Our other girl’s gotten too big with child.”

“She sounds like a cat being strangled when she sings and can barely walk two paces without tripping over her own cursed feet,” Killian answered. “You’d be paying me to shut her up.”

“Can she cook?”

“Nothing you want to eat. You’d lose half your patrons to the latrines from half-cooked meat if you put her in the kitchen.”

Both of them laughed, but instead of glaring, Lydia asked, “What about if he dances?” Leaning her elbow on the counter, she smiled up at Killian, whose face was filling with dismay. “If he loses the shirt, I assure you that you’ll have not an empty seat in the place.”

The barkeep looked him up and down. “Can he dance?”

“Oh yes. His mother made sure of it.”

“Then it’s the same deal. You can eat on the house in exchange.” He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Killian’s face. “I’ll throw in some ale as well.”

Killian’s cheeks had turned bright red, and without a word, he counted out the coins and pushed them toward the barkeep.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” the man said, then filled two cups and passed them over before retrieving a key with a number eight carved into it. “Second floor. You want water for washing, it’s another copper. You want it warm, another copper on that.”

“That’s bloody robbery.” Killian scowled, shoving the rest of his coins into his pocket.

“You want cheap, go next door and bed down with their fleas. Or take off your shirt and start dancing.”

Killian gave