Free The Crowded Shadows by Celine Kiernan

Wynter’s back as he looked up at the serving-girl.
    “What is it?” he snapped.
    “That dark fella paid me earlier to heat a bath. It’s ready now. Which of you wants to use it first?”
    Wynter felt Christopher lean in close. “Sweetheart?” His low murmur, warm in her ear, made her want to curl into him and go to sleep. “Would you still like to take your bath?” He slipped his arm around her waist, and Wynter realised that, more than anything, she wanted to stay here, in the comfort of his presence.
    “Let Ra… let my brother go first,” she said, raising her head and wiping her face all in one motion.
    “All right. I’ll be back in a moment.” And to her disappointment, Christopher slipped out from behind the table and left her alone while he went to find Razi.
    The room was full of men now. Laughing and hurling themselves into chairs, calling out orders and inquiring after news. Wynter watched them as though they were a badly written play, unreal, distant and of no interest to her. She was filled with smoky numbness and empty of thought. She found herself staring at the man beside the fireplace again, not really seeing him. He was looking up. His missing friend had returned. The new man sat down. He swigged at his cider and fished a morsel of meat from his trencher-bread.
    His face was so badly bruised that Wynter didn’t recognise him at first. But then his companion laughed and said loudly, “I’m amazed she still gives you the time of day, looking the way you do, Tosh.”
    Wynter’s stomach went cold. Tosh. She turned her eyes to the new man,
really
looking at him now, really
listening
to him.
    “What’s my looks got to do with it?” he sneered. “T’aint like she’s doing me no favours.”
    The first man grinned and said something, his words lost in the surrounding noise. The bandit wasn’t really listening and his eyes roamed the crowd as his friend spoke. He found Wynter quick enough and she stared at him, unable to move. At first he grinned, showing the gaps where Ozkar had kicked his teeth out—just a man greeting the sight of a new woman in a world of all too familiar women. Then he faltered, frowned, and Wynter saw murder rise up in his eyes as he realised who she was.
    Christopher chose that moment to sidle through the crowd and lean across the table to speak to her. He saw her expression and turned immediately to follow her gaze. Wynter did not look up at him. She was utterly incapable of tearing her eyes from the bandit. It was as though her whole body had been dipped into a winter river and taken out again, a frozen statue of her former self.
    The bandit ran his tongue across his broken teeth, his eyes hard. He knew Christopher was there, but he took his time looking up at him. When he did finally raise his eyes, he held Christopher’s glare insolently with his own. Then he sneered, dropped his eyes once more to Wynter and winked.
    Then Wynter couldn’t see him anymore because someone was blocking her view. The someone sat down opposite her and it was Christopher. He positioned himself so that she could no longer see the fireplace.
    “Hey,” he said.
    He reached across the table and took both Wynter’s clenched fists in his. Wynter looked down at their joined hands. She might as well have been a hawk flying high above the inn for all the contact she felt between them. Then Christopher tightened his grip. On his left hand, the twisted stump of his middle finger was bent to the side, folding in slightly beneath his ring finger, and as he squeezed, Wynter felt it push itself into the back of her hand. At this unique pressure, she suddenly came to the surface of her shock and broke through it. Everything snapped into focus. The noise of the crowd intruded.
    She blinked, took a deep breath, concentrated on Christopher’s narrow face. He was paler than she’d ever seen him, his eyes intent.
    “Is that him?” he asked softly.
    He seemed no more angry now than he had been the