Thread of Ash and Fire

Ch. 18: The Chicken Coop

"This," Anna muttered, "is the worst idea you've ever had."

Ryne looked up. He was perched on a hay bale, a black boot propped up on an overturned barrel. Morning sunlight filtered through the slatted wooden roof, illuminating the dust motes swirling in the air. Several chickens pecked at the grain scattered across the straw-dusted floor. She watched as Ryne worked a needle, pulling a glittering golden thread through a black jacket spread out on his lap.

"I don't know," Ryne said mildly. "I rather like sewing. I find the motion of it soothing."

Anna glowered. "That's not what I meant."

He held up the jacket. "You see? Good as new."

"Seriously, Delafort." Anna crossed her arms. "Who holds a meeting in a chicken coop?"

She sat halfway up a ladder, her legs dangling towards the floor. Ryne stuffed the jacket into a satchel. "Someone that has serious concerns about the security of his castle. In case you hadn't noticed, we have seventy-two guests of unidentifiable origins staying at Stillwater."

"They're refugees," Anna said. "Not Lucernian spies."

Ryne raised an eyebrow. "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

That infuriating eyebrow inched higher. "How?"

Ryne leaned forward. The light caught his mouth, and Anna looked away, trying hard not to think about the last time they were alone in a room together. She most definitely wasn't imagining the wild look in his eyes as he'd shoved her against the infirmary wall, or the frenzied way his hands had seized her. And she certainly wasn't imagining the way Ryne had kissed her, as if he was drowning and she was oxygen.

No.

Not thinking about it.

Anna swallowed. "Penny would have been able to sense if one of them was lying."

Ryne shook his head. "There are ways to mask emotions. I do it all the time." He rummaged in his bag, producing a sandwich. "For example, whenever I want to hide my thoughts from Penny, I think of a warm apple pie with ice cream."

"Ah," a female voice said. "I was wondering why you were so hungry all the time. I assumed it was a medical condition."

Penny emerged into the chicken coop. She was dressed in a green smock this morning, her hands stained black with ink. Grayson — who was a step behind her — swore as he smacked his head against the top of the door. Penny made a noise that was half-sympathy and half-laugh, tugging his head down so she could kiss his temple.

Ryne wrinkled his nose. "Do you mind? Some of us are trying to eat."

Penny flipped her brother off. "Why are we meeting in a chicken coop?"

"Technically," Grayson said, "it's a chicken run." They all turned to stare, and he shrugged. "What? It is."

Anna sighed. "Ryne's worried that the castle is filled with Lucernian assassins."

"Spies," Ryne corrected her around a mouthful of sandwich. "Not assassins."

Penny shook her head. "You have serious trust issues."

"Thank you," Ryne said. "I try."

Heavy footsteps approached the chicken coop. They all paused, but it was just Isaac emerging into the chicken coop, stamping frozen earth from his boots. Dark circles smudged his eyes. He yawned and rubbed at his face, and Anna raised an eyebrow at Ryne, who shook his head. The message was clear: none of our business.