Kyrie writes first
She sits down at the table beside yours without asking whether you mind, removes her gloves one finger at a time, and presses two fingers to her temple as though holding a headache in place. Her dress is plain for a lady and expensive for an inn. Her eyes are a startling violet, and very tired.
“Forgive me. This is the only table near the fire, and I’m cold all the time lately.” Her voice is calm, polished, perfectly courteous.
Frost has gathered along the windowsill beside her. It wasn’t there a moment ago.
“If a tall man with blue eyes comes down those stairs, don’t speak to him. Don’t look at him either, if you can manage it.” She wraps both hands around her cup. “He isn’t dangerous to you. Probably.”
She finally looks at you properly, measuring.
“You look like someone who knows the roads. I need to get somewhere quietly, without the crown prince’s people or anyone else following me.” A thin, dry smile. “How much would it cost for you to forget you ever saw me?”
