Page 20 of Fate's Wicked Oath

Faren chuckled, a chesty rumble. While most knights blustered at my insults, the words seemed to roll off Faren like water off a duck’s feathers—unruffled. I would have to try harder.

When he glanced at me again, it was with a shrewd expression. “I don’t think you dislike conversation,” he said. “I think you dislikedullconversation.”

My glare was icy. “How unfortunate, because I find yousovery dull.”

“Do you, now?” he taunted. “Our last few run-ins didn’t seem dull.”

“That’s true,” I said. “You getting in the way and creating a mess of matters does have a way of making things more interesting.”

“Creating a mess?” Faren repeated. “You mean performing my duty to protect the realm?”

“Ah, yes, your belovedrealm.” My eyes lifted to the clouds, which were heavy with the threat of more rain. “Mighty Knights love to talk about their hard-ons for the realm, but in myexperience, it’s just another form of tedious posturing. Your Order isalltalk.”

Faren appeared genuinely hurt by the accusation. “You don’t believe that.”

“I do.”

“Well, what of your Order?” Faren sniped. “Rotten criminals, the lot of them.”

“Those criminals are the only thing standing between the realm andruin.”

“Not doing a very good job of it, are you? Given the intent of this mission.” Before I could point out that what happened in Yar-on-Gray was not a failure of my Order but Faren’s corrupt Lord, he continued. “You talk about the realm as if we do not serve the same purpose: to keep it safe.”

“Mypurposein this Order,” I seethed, “is to suffer.”

“The purpose of your Order is atonement.”

“Two sides of the same coin.”

“Are you truly so unpatriotic?” Faren swept a hand out, gesturing at the hunkered cottages with smoke curling out of their chimneys and the gentle swell of distant hills. “Look around and tell me you do not love this land.”

“Of the two of us, who puts their life at risk on a daily basis to defend this land?”

“Don’t act like you hunt Morta out of the goodness of your heart.”

“You think me unpatriotic for questioning injustice,” I said, “but I believe turning a blind eye to it is far worse than its criticism. Your mindless loyalty will be your undoing.”

“Mindless loyalty—” Reining in his temper, Faren broke off and shook his head.

Before us, dark clouds contrasted the gold and green fringe of swaying trees. A gust of wind ruffled my hair, smelling of river water. The air felt charged.

“Neither of us are pleased to be paired on this mission,” Faren said tightly. “But it would behoove you to remember that we are on the same side.”

Brushing a strand of hair off my forehead, I pinned my travel companion with a hard stare. “We might serve the same realm, but we arenoton the same side.”

Our argument silenced him, as did the downpour, and—in spite of my lingering irritability and damp clothes—I was grateful for both. We traveled the rest of the day in silence, breaking off from the High Road around midday to head west in the direction of Yar-on-Gray. It would take another four days to reach the edge of the Western Wood, where the ruins of the small town were located.

At sundown, we came upon a cluster of ash trees, their leaves shimmering like golden scale mail in the orange hues of the dying day. The weather had cleared as we rode toward the setting sun, and without the insulation of clouds, the temperature had developed a bite. Cold seeped into my boots, my bones, making my joints ache. The night would be bitter.

“We’ll make camp here,” I informed Faren curtly.

“Spectacular,” he replied, tone flat.

I swung off Simon and landed in the grass with a juddering thunk. Spears of pain shot up through the chilled muscles of my ankles and shins—a shock to stand, after so long in the saddle—but I was relieved to find that the ache in my ribs had lessened.

Faren’s armor clacked when he dismounted. “Should I hunt for dinner while you make camp?”

I pulled on a strap, loosening the cinch of my saddle. “Why don’t we look after our own needs.”