Page 101 of Fate's Wicked Oath

“There’s a reward if I do.”

She had the decency to sound ashamed of that detail, and he had the decency to not begrudge her for it. He knew where her reward money went.

“What of your potions?”

“They don’t concern you.”

“Then why allow me to see them?”

She put her back to him, facing the rain-streaked window. “It was silly of me.”

Faren had the sense that she wasn’t just talking about the potions.

With nothing left to say, he abandoned the room, slamming the door behind him.

36

Time to Go

Faren

Early the next morning, Faren burst through the guest room door and dumped a satchel at the foot of the bed, its contents clinking.

Mariana sat up with a start. Her face was red and puffy, and Faren had to will himself not to care about the tears she’d shed after his exit last night. His body was stiff and chilled from sleeping in the barn, his skin itchy from the scratch of hay. The fire of last night’s fury had gone out, leaving a charred sensation in his stomach.

He still wanted her.

“What’s this?” Mariana asked, wiping the bleariness from her eyes. Her shirt was twisted around her torso, clinging to her breasts, and Faren had to look away, back to the precious commodities he’d brought.

“Your potions.”

Mariana folded her legs and sat forward, reaching for the satchel. She lifted the flap, exposing vials packed with straw. “How?”

“I told Hattie that I could not stand to linger in your presence, and she took pity on me,” Faren said. “We can go.”

Mariana rubbed her temples. She looked like she’d slept about as terribly as he had, which was insulting, as she’d at least had the luxury of a real bed. When she met his eyes, however, he saw a trace of befuddlement there, as if the night had melted some of her coldness. He had the sense that she was about to say something—apologize, perhaps, or admit something—but Faren didn’t want to hear it.

He still wanted her—but there was still a legion ofshouldsandshould notsstanding between them. The worst part of their argument last night was that Mariana had been right.

“I’ll meet you outside,” he said, taking his leave.

Downstairs, the other tenants of the inn were rousing. Hattie was behind the bar, brewing tea. Noble sat at a stool across from her, watching her as if nothing else existed. Idris sat before the hearth in the corner, with Anya curled in his lap and Wicker at his feet. Beyond the front window, rain was coming down in sheets.

“You sure you want to depart in this weather?” Anya asked, unfolding herself from Idris’s grasp; his palm slid down her hip, patting her rump as she left his vicinity and drifted over to Faren. “You are welcome to the room all week, if you need it.”

Mariana had a point about the Possum’s apparent availability; Faren hadn’t seen another guest since they’d arrived. With such fickle autumn weather in the southern Fenriran valleys, this wasn’t the time of year for casual travel. Faren had probably needlessly slept in the barn last night, but he hadn’t had the heart to bother the bride about extra rooms on her wedding night.

“Your hospitality is unmatched, Anya, but I’m afraid duty calls us back to Fenrir.” Faren turned to Hattie. “Have I expressed my gratitude yet?”

“Only about a thousand times before the sun came up,” Hattie replied with a cheeky grin. “I won’t say no to more, though.”

“You have my utmost gratitude.”

“What are your orders?” Idris asked, shuffling over to his wife and folding his arms across her chest, hugging her from behind.

The newlyweds appeared dazed, happy, and Faren felt a jolt of joy on their behalf. Their wedding had moved him, clearing away some of the despondency he’d experienced on the journey to Waldron by reminding him of what was most important. This morning, however, his mind was muddled, lost in a swamp of caveats and quandaries.

“My original orders were to investigate Yar, with Mariana as my escort,” Faren answered. “Oderin also charged me with uncovering what I could about…” His Oath twinged.