Empire of Storms (Throne of Glass #5) by Sarah J. Maas

“And what am I to be, then?”

“Whatever we need you to be when the time comes. But … don’t glower.”

He opened the door, and by the time her eyes adjusted to the glow of the wrought-iron chandeliers, Lorcan’s face had changed. His eyes might never be warm, but a bland smile was on his face, his shoulders relaxed—as if he were slightly inconvenienced by the wait but eager for a good meal.

He almost looked human.

The tavern was packed, the noise so deafening that she could barely speak loudly enough to the nearest barmaid to order lunch. They squeezed between crammed tables, and Elide noticed that more than a few pairs of eyes went to her chest, then her face. And lingered.

She pushed against the crawling feeling and kept her steps unhurried as she aimed for a table tucked against the back wall that a weary-looking couple had just vacated.

A boisterous party of eight was crammed around the table a few feet away, a middle-aged woman with a booming laugh instantly singling herself out as their leader. The others at the table—a beautiful, raven-haired woman; a barrel-chested bearded man whose hands were as large as dinner plates; and a few rough-looking people—all kept looking to the older woman, gauging her responses and listening carefully to what she had to say.

Elide slid into the worn wooden chair, Lorcan claiming the one across from her—his size earning him a look from the bearded man and the middle-aged woman at the table.

Elide weighed that look.

Assessment. Not for a fight; not for a threat. But in appreciation and calculation.

Elide wondered for a heartbeat if Anneith herself had nudged that other couple to move away—to free up this one table for them. For that very look.

Elide laid her hand out on the table, palm up, and gave Lorcan a sleepy smile she’d once seen a kitchen maid give a Morath cook. “Husband,” she said sweetly, wriggling her fingers.

Lorcan’s mouth tightened, but he took her hand—her fingers dwarfed in his.

His calluses scraped against her own. He noticed it at the same moment she did, sliding his hand to cup hers so he might inspect her palm. She closed her hand, rotating it to grip his again.

“Brother,” Lorcan murmured so no one else could hear. “I am your brother.”

“You are my husband,” she said with equal quiet. “We have been married three months. Follow my lead.”

He glanced around, not having noticed the assessing stare they’d been given. Doubt still danced in his eyes, along with a silent question.

She said simply, “Men will not fear the threat of a brother. I would still be unclaimed—still be open for … invitations. I have seen how little respect men have for anything they think they are entitled to. So you are my husband,” she hissed, “until I say otherwise.”

A shadow flickered in Lorcan’s eyes, along with another question. One she didn’t want to and couldn’t answer. His hand tightened on hers, demanding she look at him. She refused.

Their food arrived, mercifully, before Lorcan could ask it.

Stew—root vegetables and rabbit. She dug in, nearly melting the roof of her mouth at the first bite.

The group behind them began talking again, and she listened as she ate, selecting bits and pieces as if they were shells on a shore.

“Maybe we’ll offer them a performance and they’ll cut the toll fee in half.” From the blond, bearded man.

“Unlikely,” the leader said. “Those pricks would charge us to perform. Worse, they enjoy our performance and demand we stay awhile. We can’t afford that wait. Not when other companies are already on the move. We don’t want to hit all the plains towns after everyone else.”

Elide almost choked on her stew. Anneith must have freed this table, then. Her plan had been to find a troupe or carnival to fall into, disguise themselves as workers, and this…

“We pay full price on that toll,” the beautiful woman said, “and we might get to that first town half starved and barely able to perform at all.”

Elide lifted her eyes to Lorcan’s—he gave a nod.

She took a sip of her stew, steeling herself, thinking of Asterin Blackbeak. Charming, confident, fearless. She’d always had her head at a jaunty angle, a looseness to her limbs, a hint of a smile on her lips. Elide took a breath, letting those memories sink into muscle and flesh and bone.

Then she pivoted in her chair, an arm draped around the back as she leaned toward their table and said with a grin, “Sorry to interrupt your meal, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.” They all turned toward her, brows high, the eyes of the leader going right to Elide’s face. She saw the assessment: young, pretty, unblemished by a hard life. Elide kept her own expression pleasant, willed her eyes to brighten. “Are you some sort of performing troupe?” She motioned to Lorcan with a tilt of her head. “My husband and I have been looking to fall in with one for weeks with no luck—everyone’s full.”

“So are we,” their leader said.

“Right,” Elide replied merrily. “But that toll is steep—for anyone. And if we were to be in business together, perhaps on a temporary basis…” Lorcan’s knee brushed hers in warning. She ignored him. “We’d be glad to chip in on the fee—make up any difference owed.”

The woman’s assessment turned wary. “We are a carnival indeed. But we have no need of new members.”