Free Heir of Thunder (Stormbourne Chronicles Book 1) by Karissa Laurel

different shades of mad before he relented and sank onto the
bed. The sudden, unguarded movement must have wrenched something. He groaned
and fell back on the pillow. “You certainly did choose an inconvenient time to
develop a spine, Evie.”
    Moira and I smiled at each other, and I suppressed a giggle.
    “And do you think I could get a shirt that doesn’t require
me raising my arms to get it over my head?” he asked.
    Moira laughed uproariously at that and tugged me out of the
room behind her. “Men are such grumps when they have to show weakness. If John
has to take to his bed, he’s a holy terror, ordering me about and having a fit
when I don’t do things his way.”
    “Really?” I asked. “You two look like you always get along
so well.” The way they worked together last night, I assumed they were always
like that.
    “Most of the time we do, but anyone spends as many years
together as we have is bound to have squabbles from time to time, especially if
one of you is feeling poorly.” Moira and I descended the stairs, and she
stopped us in a little foyer leading to the dining room. “I would like to ask
you, miss.... Why did you defend me up there? How do you know you can trust me?”
    It was a good question—one I couldn’t answer in a sensible way.
Mostly, I had reached my limit for enduring Gideon’s tirades. “I just do.”
    She considered my simple explanation for a moment. Then smiled
crookedly. “I appreciate that. I do. But you can’t always be so trusting, m’lady.
From now on it would be best for you to assume the people you come across are
more likely to want to do you harm than good.” She turned and started toward
the back of the inn. Before she disappeared from sight, she called over her
shoulder, “Tell your brother I’ll bring him a shirt he can button in a
little while.”
    She left me standing alone in the foyer with no further
instructions. I felt lost. The thought of contending with Gideon’s cross mood
again made me hesitant to return to our room, but what else was I to do? At
home I would go to Father’s library or nag Stephen into playing a game of queen’s
court with me. Sometimes the ladies on staff would bear my presence in the
kitchen and show me how they made whatever we were eating for the meal that
day, or Father would take time to coach me with my crossbow. On nice days, I
wandered the woods with Nonnie, having imaginary adventures, and wouldn’t come
home until nearly dark.
    Thinking of my sweet mare inspired me to walk down to the
livery stables to check on her. She seemed glad to see me. So glad, in fact,
that I decided to take her out and tour the large town of Thropshire. She
nuzzled me, sniffing at my skirt pockets, expecting I had brought her a treat.
I didn’t disappoint. Holding out my flat palm toward her, I revealed the sugar
cubes I had lifted from the tea tray. Her velvet lips plucked the treats from
my hand, and she crushed the sugar between her big flat teeth like a mortar and
pestle. Then she nuzzled my ear, asking for more, and her breath puffed at the loose
hairs around my neck.
    “Ooh, stop that,” I said, giggling. “It tickles.”
    Once I finished arranging Nonnie’s tack, I hitched up my
skirts and flipped a leg over her saddle. The gown was made for household
chores, not riding horses, and I struggled to arrange my skirts in a way that
preserved my modesty. What would Gerda say? She’d probably thank the god’s that
I wear tall riding boots.
    The village was busy with carts, carriages, and a few other
horseback riders, most of whom were men. A few ladies scurried past, bearing
packages and groceries. One woman with wispy blond hair tucked under a white
kerchief gave me a sour look after she took in my bunched dress and muddy boots.
She shook her head and marched on without a second glance.
    Nonnie and I passed a few interesting shops I would have
loved to stop and explore, especially one belonging to a bookmaker, but I had
no money,