Page 66 of Heartbreak Prince

The woman’s eyes widen, pity in her gaze. “Of course. Bring him in. I’ll show you the room, and then we can discuss payment.”

“Come on, Laramie,” I call loudly to Vawn. “The kind lady is letting us stay here.”

I know he heard everything I said to her. To his credit, he plays along, shuffling into the house with a faint grunt or two. He remains hunched in his cloak as the woman leads us through the main living area of the house.

I spot at least five children in addition to the toddler. Perhaps the woman’s husband is dead or gone, and she’s struggling to feed her family. That would explain why she doesn’t ask more questions. She doesn’t want to risk losing a couple of lodgers by being too inquisitive.

The room is on the first floor at the rear of the house, near a back door, which pleases me. It will be easy to get out that way if anyone comes for us.

“It’s a little drafty,” says the woman apologetically. “But we’ll get a fire going and you’ll be warm as toast. There are plenty of blankets on the bed as well. I hope you and your brother don’t mind sharing it?”

I survey the cramped bed, which looks barely large enough for two children, let alone two adults. The beds at Barclay’s Tavern were probably much wider.

“We’ll make do,” I tell her. “Laramie, stay here while I speak with the lady. Do you understand?”

Vawn grunts from beneath his hood. I take the carpet case and his satchel, along with mine, and follow the woman back to the main room.

“Zeph,” she says to a thin boy of eight or nine years. “Go to the guest room and make up the fire.”

The boy scurries off. I don’t like anyone being in the room with Vawn while I’m not there to control the situation, but I have no choice. I need to make this deal, and I must learn to trust the prince to take care of himself.

When the woman states the price of the room and tomorrow’s breakfast, I’m relieved. There’s enough money in my coin purse to cover the cost, along with another night’s lodging if we need it, with a little left over.

“Show me your carpet.” The woman snaps her fingers to a couple of the children, and they hurry to clear off the large table in the center of the room.

I unlatch the carpet case and unroll Severin on the table’s surface. His glow is muted, and some of his fibers flicker.

“Severin, this is our new friend—” I pause, looking up at the woman.

“I’m Gwin,” she says. “You named your carpet?”

“Yes,” I reply simply. “Severin, Gwin is letting me and my brother Laramie stay here tonight, and she is also going to mend you.”

Severin’s tassels flutter weakly. “I am much obliged, Gwin. I hope you will not take offense if I request some information about your experience and credentials?”

Gwin glances at me. “He’s an odd one, isn’t he?”

“Wonderfully so.” It’s both an admission and a defense. I splay my hand on the carpet, stroking him lightly, and the unicorn hairs flare brighter in response. “Please indulge him by telling us both about the experience you have with carpets.”

“Before I bore children, I worked at the local weaving labs for six years,” she says. “I still have my training seals and my original license. But my first pregnancy was difficult, and I was forced to stay in bed. By the time I could return to work, my bench had already been filled. I became pregnant again, and again… and over time, my license lapsed. When my husband died, I tried to renew the license, but I’ve been absent from the bench for too many years, and the Weaver’s Guild won’t give me a new one unless I repeat the two-year training program, which costs more than my husband used to make in a year. Without a current license, I’m not supposed to weave carpets or conduct repairs on them.”

“So this repair could get you into trouble,” I conclude.

“If the Weaver’s Guild found out about it.” Her tone is crisp, defensive, edged with a plea. “No one has to know.”

“Of course not. No one has to know about this, either, except for the person to whom you sell it.” I take out the vial of glyph paint and set it on top of the carpet.

The Rauveron Guild symbol is engraved into the stopper, along with the symbol of the current year. There’s no mistaking what it is.

“A sample from the Zeletas paint drop?” Gwin exclaims. “How did you get this?”

If wanted posters for the prince have made it here, the news of what happened at the Guild’s paint drop may have traveled this far as well. She might already know that all the new samples were confiscated by the Redemptive Authority, which means a version of the truth will have to do.

“I stole it,” I confess.

Her gaze drops to my glyphs, but she doesn’t comment on them.

I lower my voice, leaning toward her across the carpet. “I’m sure you understand need and despair. You know what lengths a woman will go to for the love of family.”