A tall, lean man with stringy grey hair approached the party with a dish towel in one hand. “Pilgrims?”

“Yes,” replied Hari.

“I have two rooms available with ten beds in each. You’ll have to share. Many hill country citizens are starting to arrive for the viewing of Grand Lord Warin, so there’s limited space.”

Amara looked around. Between the party, both rooms would be filled. “How much for a bed?” one of the men asked.

“Ten copper coins.”

“Do you have separate rooms for the men and women?”

“No, I treat all pilgrims the same.”

A few of the women shifted uncomfortably as everyone reached for their pouches. She had no problem sharing a room with the men—not that she would be using the bed much. If any man stepped out of line, she had a dagger strapped to her side and another one in her boot. And there was always her sword.

The innkeeper’s eyes gleamed as the pilgrims placed the coins in his outstretched hand. Amara curled her lip as she waited to give him her own coins. It only took one glance to see the innkeeper cared nothing for the pilgrims, just for the money.

Typical.

After everyone had paid the innkeeper, he led them upstairs, the coins jingling in the pouch around his waist. There were multiple doors along the second floor. Within each room five beds lined the walls on either side, with a window at the end.

Compared to the beauty and splendor of the temple, these accommodations were plain. It almost seemed as if the dichotomy was purposeful, to remind the pilgrims of who they were compared to the temple. It rubbed Amara the wrong way.

“These are the empty rooms,” the innkeeper said, pointing at the two doors at the end of the corridor. “Choose whatever bed you like. Soup will be served this evening for another copper coin.”

After the innkeeper left, the pilgrims scattered between the two rooms. Amara chose a bed closest to the door, so as to have easy access to and from the room during her mission. The women took most of the other beds in the room, but she did spot Breven taking the bed across from her.

He saw her glance up and cleared his throat. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m used to sharing a room with my siblings and wanted to keep an eye on you. That is . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck as his cheeks darkened. “What I mean is that even in Lux Casta there are scoundrels.” He laughed nervously. “I hope you don’t mind.”

When was the last time she had met such a decent young man? Lord Raoul Friere, although a lord of a Great House, did not compare to the simple pilgrim across from her.

Remember who you are, and why you are here.

Amara shook her head and placed her pack on the bed. “I don’t mind,” she said without looking up.