Morgain's Revenge - Laura Anne Gilman [41]
“And how much you hate them.” Ailis said, daring greatly, speaking for the first time of the one thing that everyone knew. “The way you hate the king.”
Morgain’s hands stilled at her task.
“Yes,” she said quietly. “How very much I hate.”
THIRTEEN
The air smelled of warm horseflesh and dry straw, with an undertone of mold and rot. It was familiar and comforting and disgusting, all at once. Somewhere off to the right side of Gerard’s head, a bug was making a soft chirping noise.
“You awake?”
“No.” Gerard kept his eyes closed, hoping that Newt would take the hint.
“This is a nice inn.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Supper was really good.”
“Yes, it was.” Gerard wished that Newt would get to the point already and let him sleep.
“We should remember to tell Sir Caedor that in the morning—that it’s a good inn, I mean. Since he chose it.”
Gerard rolled over on his side and stared at Newt across the stall they were sleeping in. The hay crinkled underneath, bits of it poking through the blanket and scratching his skin—a small price to pay for the smell and sounds of the horses kept in the stalls on either side of them. But the hay was clean and dry, and there was a roof overhead.
“Out of the only two we saw all day, yes. We should tell him. Newt, what are you up to?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” He was beginning to remember why his first act upon meeting Newt had been to blacken the other boy’s eye.
Newt flopped onto his back, exhaling heavily. “Nothing. Really. I just thought it would soften him up a little.”
“And?” Gerard didn’t know if it was Arthur’s wisdom or Merlin’s cunning, or just his own knowledge of the fact that Newt didn’t care a whit about Sir Caedor, but he could tell there was a logic at work that had nothing to do with the knight’s mood, softened or otherwise.
“And if things were better between the two of us, you could sleep in the inn itself, the way you should. And not spend the night in a stable like—”
“Like a stable boy?”
“Yes.”
“Newt…” Gerard tried to figure out how to get his point across without using the wrong words or making things worse somehow. “If I had wanted to sleep in the inn, I would have. But they only had one room, even with our script from the king authorizing whatever we needed, and only one bed in that room. I would rather sleep in the stable. Without straw.”
Gerard lay back down and stared at the wooden ceiling. “Besides. He snores.”
“Fair enough. So do you.”
“I do not!”
“Sure you don’t,” Newt said soothingly.
Gerard snorted and pulled his blanket up over his shoulder, indicating that the conversation was at an end, and he was, by God, going to sleep.
“I heard what you said,” Newt said softly, almost to himself. “To Sir Caedor, before supper. Thank you.”
There really wasn’t anything to say to that. So Gerard was silent.
In the small but comfortable room in the Oak Tree Inn, Sir Caedor lay on a narrow bed and stared at the whitewashed wood-beam ceiling. He had wanted nothing to do with this journey. He was supposed to be preparing for the Quest to find the Grail—the greatest undertaking in the history of Britain, the crowning achievement of Arthur’s reign. Instead, he was playing nursemaid to two boys who clearly saw him as nothing more than a hindrance to their own headstrong ways.
Arthur had warned him of this. “They are young yet, and while tested and proven in courage and skills, their experiences are limited. Be their wise right arm, their protector. Do this, and you shall be rewarded.”
In his quieter moments, Caedor could see that it made sense. He was to be young Gerard’s protector, his teacher. And the best way to teach was often not to lead, but to allow the student to lead, and correct him when he went wrong.
But Gerard did not take well to being corrected. This afternoon had been a perfect example of that.
“We will have your best rooms. And supper, a full supper. Newt, take the horses to the stable, and ensure that