Devlin's Justice Read Online Free PDF

and spreading their spare clothing to dry.
    Devlin checked each of his weapons, ensuring that their wrappings had held true and that they had taken no damage from the rain. He then did the same for Didrik’s gear. And though Saskia could see no flaw in the lieutenant’s blades, Devlin was not satisfied. He oiled and sharpened each of them in turn.
    Mistress Kasja came in, and her eyebrows rose at the sight of the weaponry spread across the tables of her common room. Then she took one look at the linens hanging by the fire and promptly gathered them up for the washing they so desperately needed.
    Saskia wondered what the inn-wife thought of her strange guests, and how long it would be before she guessed the truth. Caerfolk were rare in this land, and she and Devlin would be remarked upon wherever they went. To the inn-wife they had told the same tale they had used since crossing into Jorsk: Stephen was Lord Kollinar’s understeward and had been granted leave to return home after three years of service with Lord Kollinar in Duncaer. Didrik was likewise in the governor’s employ, bearing messages between the governor and his native estates in Jorsk. Devlin and Saskia were mercenaries, hired to escort Stephen and Didrik on their journey.
    It was a plausible tale, but it would not hold up in close quarters. Not for long. Neither Stephen nor Didrik was an actor, and any who watched them would note that they deferred to Devlin, even when they appeared to be ignoring him. And while there was sufficient unrest in Jorsk to warrant an armed escort, even an inexperienced eye could see the difference between an escort and a war party. Devlin did not travel as if he thought there might be trouble. He traveled as if he knew that there would be trouble and he had armed himself and his followers accordingly.
    The longer they stayed, the greater the chance that they would be discovered. All it would take was a few careless words. Devlin might be a common name in Duncaer, but in Jorsk there was only one Devlin of Duncaer—the Chosen One. Discovery would mean all their efforts had been for naught.
    If Devlin shared her concerns, he gave no sign of it. She observed him carefully but he did not appear unduly worried. Nor did he appear to be a man laboring under a sorcerous compulsion, and she comforted herself with the thought that Stephen must have exaggerated the effects of the spell.
    When he had finished caring for their blades, Devlin repacked their gear and stored it in the second of the two rooms that had been allotted to them. Then he put his cloak back on and went out, saying he wanted to check on the condition of their horses and inspect their tack.
    Stephen left soon thereafter, to visit the local shopkeepers and replenish their supplies. He continued to behave as if they might need to resume their journey at a moment’s notice. But there was no harm in his errand, and he promised to buy tea for her if there was any to be found.
    She put on her now dry cloak and went out to the stables to help Devlin; but he waved her off, seemingly content to care for the horses by himself. Saskia knew better than to wander around the village and call attention to herself, so she returned to the inn and accepted a mug of citrine from the inn-wife before going to see Didrik.
    He was sleeping, propped up on pillows to ease the strain on his lungs. She could hear a faint wheeze with each exhalation, and the hair on his temples was soaked with sweat. He looked worse now than he had before the healer’s treatments. She reached out to check on his fever.
    Her hand had barely brushed his cheek before her wrist was caught in a crushing grip. She did not try to pull away, instead waiting as Didrik opened his eyes and blinked away the confusion of his drugged sleep. She could tell the moment he recognized her, for his grip relaxed.
    “Saskia,” he said.
    She nodded and gently disentangled her hand from his. “I did not mean to disturb you.”
    “It is