They made it to the inn’s back entrance without any more encounters. Vee paused at the door, raised her hood and squared her shoulders as though she wasn’t ready to drop. Gods bless the woman. A fierce pride burned in his chest as she nodded for him to open the door.

They slipped past the innkeeper with a brief greeting. The woman bowed and went to check on the water the maid was preparing, as promised.

Vee shuddered, a soft breath falling from her lips as the innkeeper left.

He held out a hand to help her up the stairs. By the time they reached the top, he was carrying her.

“Nearly there”—he opened the door to his room—“and you can have a bath right away.”

Eyelids drifting, she nodded, cheek rubbing against his chest.

No. No. No. He wasn’t meant to be enjoying any part of this. Her touch was a matter of necessity, life and death. There was and could be no affection left between them. She was just exhausted and ill. Once she was back to herself, she’d want him far, far away.

As he shut the door, warmth brushed his ankles. Barnacle threaded around and between his feet. Damn cat—was she determined to trip him up?

Avoiding stepping on little paws, he made his way to the settee and lay Vee on it. “Rest here for a while. I’ll get food and hot water.”

She gave a tight smile and a nod, before pulling the cloak tighter and closing her eyes.

With a chirrup, Barnacle was on the settee, nose against her cheek.

Vee’s eyes flicked open. “Barnacle?” She ran her hands over the cat’s head, blinked. “It is … It’s …”

A choking sound heaved from her and Knigh started forward, heart racing. Gods, she was so ill, was this—

But then her eyes screwed shut, and she gathered the cat close and buried her face in her fur. Her shoulders shook, and her breaths came sharp and fast.

She was crying.

Full sobs, wracking her body.

Covering his mouth, Knigh backed away. All that toughness, all that glibness. All for show. Even so bluntly saying she’d killed Avice—it was all a way of … of …

He shook his head, stomach clenching. A way of keeping people at a safe distance. Of keeping those ‘soft’ emotions she’d spoken about in his cabin at bay.

“You’re really here,” she whispered into Barnacle’s fur as the cat nuzzled her way under her chin. “You’re safe. My little love. My little goblin-beast.”

Biting his lip, Knigh strode for the landing and down the stairs. It was too much.

He’d persuaded himself she was a monster. A murderer. And with how flippant she acted at times, how cool she could be, it had been so easy to persuade himself that she was unfeeling.