Even though this quest was exhausting and stressful, and she’d probably have nightmares about peeing in the woods for months, it wasn’t every day you went to Avalon.

Her gran had occasionally spoken of the Isle of the Blessed, and how she’d been a priestess there as a young girl. Emry could almost picture the wildflowers that bloomed year-round, the ancient stone caves, and the pale cloisters where the young priestesses lived, tending to the sacred waters and making soap.

The soap part had always made Emry laugh. “Making soap?” she’d repeated, stifling giggles.

And Gran would sigh, her patience lost, the story ending before it had even begun.

Emry sat gingerly in her chair, aching from a long day in the saddle.

“You’ll get used to riding,” Arthur said, looking far too amused at her discomfort.

“Or I’ll figure out a way to magic the horse,” she threatened.

Arthur shot her a dark look. He was about to say something back, but Emry never found out what, because a peal of coquettish laughter sounded from the bar.

“That would be Lance,” Arthur said, nodding.

Emry glanced over, and sure enough. She watched, bemused, as Lance flirted shamelessly with a sour-faced woman of fifty who had to be the innkeeper’s wife. By the time the woman took his coins, she was giggling girlishly and patting him on the shoulder.

Arthur shook his head, and even Emry bit back a smile at the woman’s transformation.

“What?” Lance asked innocently, joining them.

“He always does this,” Arthur told Emry.

“Because it always works,” said Lance. He dangled a single brass key. “See? We’ve got the last room.”

One room. For the five of them.

Everyone collectively groaned, and Emry slid down in her seat, wishing she could disappear under the table, or perhaps sleep there. She’d thought riding was bad, but at least she hadn’t had to share the horse.

It’ll be fine, she reassured herself as she dug into her stew. It wasn’t as though they were stripping naked to bathe in a river. All she had to do was curl up on the floor with her coat as a blanket and her pack as a pillow. Still, as they hauled their things up the rickety staircase, Emry’s stomach churned with dread over the close quarters.

The room was small and spare, with two narrow beds and a chair. The floor was covered with rushes, and a tiny window sat high on the far wall. There was a lone chamber pot beneath, and zero privacy with which to use it.

“Guess we’re all usin’ the jakes,” said Dakin.

Lance snorted at the crass term for the outdoor privy. Arthur paled a little, but put on a brave face.

“Better than camping,” he pronounced.

“Equivalent to camping,” Emry corrected.

“I’m gonna agree with the wizard,” said Lance.