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

Lydia a baleful glare, but then he drank deeply from his filthy glass and said, “A bit of dirt never hurt anyone. Let’s go, love.”

Lydia followed him through the common room toward the narrow stairs, which creaked as they climbed. The hallway upstairs was lit by a single smoking lamp, but it was enough to make out the eight carved into the door they’d been assigned. Unlocking it, Killian stepped inside and glanced around before nodding at her to follow.

As she’d expected, it was small and sparsely furnished, the tiny window devoid of both glass and shutter, leaving a clear view for any in the building across the street. The single bed had a lumpy mattress stuffed with straw, but the blankets were surprisingly clean, as was the floor.

Which was good news for Killian, because she fully intended to make him sleep on it. “This useless lass is claiming the bed,” she said, tossing her pack on the blankets and then sitting down.

Killian only laughed, sliding off his own pack. “I’d say you got your revenge already.”

She scowled. “What is the plan, Killian?”

“You keep asking me that.”

“And you keep not answering.”

Shrugging, he pulled out the chair, twisting it backward, then sitting down to face her, chin resting on his forearms along the back of it. “I prefer to figure things out as I go.”

She knew that. Knew that he was reactionary, relying on his instincts and his mark to steer him down the right path. But that didn’t work for her. “For one, you need an alias. You’re too famous, and half the soldiers in this city will have fought against you. That … awfulness on your face isn’t going to fool anyone if you don’t go by something different.”

“I think it’s coming in rather nicely,” he answered, rubbing his scruffy chin. “And I’m curious to see just how long it will grow. Does it make me look wise?”

“It makes you look … look…” With his dark eyes regarding her like that, all clever retorts abandoned her lips. He was so good looking, it hurt. “No. You don’t look even a little bit wise.”

He sighed. “Fair enough. But I think it only fair to point out that your name is uncommon and your actions on the battlefield saving my life well known, so you also need a new name.” He reached over and pushed her fringe up to reveal her tattoo before dropping it again. “Gertrude. No … no, Gertie.”

“Absolutely not. You will not call me Gertie.”

Killian grinned, and the skin of her chest burned, the heat rising up her neck to her face until her cheeks were an inferno. And knowing that he’d only come up with something worse, she said, “Fine, but that means I get to pick yours.”

He shrugged. “Take your pick.”

Think of a name. Think of something awful that he’ll hate. “Bertie.”

Killian burst out laughing, the rich sound of it filling the room as she struggled not to sink to the floor in embarrassment. “Gertie and Bertie? You’re not very good at this, are you? How about … Tom?”

“Fine,” she mumbled. “Tom is fine. Who are we?”

“Married, obviously,” he said. “That should serve to deflect any unwanted advances from the ladies, especially if you keep glowering like that. As far as what our story is, I think I need to hear what the story is for all these other people before we come up with one of our own.”

Rising, Lydia went to the window and looked out, watching the comings and goings of all the people. This place was a little rough around the edges, but it was also decidedly … normal. Women with baskets full of laundry or goods walked through the streets. Men gossiped on the corners. Children wielding sticks ran through the puddles, shouting and laughing.

“It’s not what I expected.”

She jumped, having not heard Killian come up next to her. He rested a hand against the windowsill, leaning out, but his shoulder brushed against hers and she shivered. “Nor I,” she admitted, not sure precisely what she’d thought they’d encounter. “I thought all those living in Derin worshipped the Seventh.”

“So it is said.” Killian’s gaze remained on the people below. “Derin isn’t easily reached. The mountains defend its eastern borders from Mudamora. The deadlands of the south from Anukastre. The twisted seas and swamps make its western coast unassailable. And the north is frozen year-round, so that border is equally secure. In truth, no one knows what goes on within its borders. And yet…”

“There are people here from every nation.”

He gave a slow nod, his elbow grazing her upper arm.

“Why are they here?” she mused, watching a laughing pair of drunks walk arm in arm. “How are they here?”

“Good questions. But not our priority. We need to learn more about the corrupted tenders who created those mounds. Who they are and, more importantly, where they are.”

“And if Malahi’s with them.”

He gave a slight nod. “Ideally, we’d destroy those mounds, but getting Malahi out is our priority. They’ll pursue, and with their deimos tracking us overhead, it will take an act of the Six to reach Serlania alive. But first we need to find out where she is.”

They made their way back downstairs, finding the common room had filled as the dinner hour approached. Without hesitation, Killian led her to a table, squeezing into a spot between two men. Lydia sat in the narrow gap across from him, the elbows of the women to either side brushing against her. At Killian’s raised hand, one of the servingwomen approached, and he ordered, giving her a coin and a wink that made the woman smile and flush, despite being old enough to be his mother.

She returned moments later with two bowls of thick stew and a platter containing slices of still-warm bread smeared with golden butter, along with two glasses of ale. Lydia began spooning stew into her mouth, the bowl quickly disappearing, and then she used a slice of bread to mop up the last few drops. Using her