Page 25 of Fate's Wicked Oath
“I hope we are not intruding?” Faren asked.
The man cleared his throat. “Not at all, Sir,” he rasped. “Just rare we see a knight of your status in these parts.”
Faren’s eyes crinkled. “No need for formality.” The dogs were nosing at him now, and he bent to let them sniff his palms. One of them darted out a pink tongue to lick his fingers, and he scratched behind its ear. “We’re looking for a safe place to stall our horses,” he continued. “Would that be any trouble?”
“It would be an honor,” the man replied quickly. “Though I’m afraid I can’t guarantee…” He glanced over his shoulder at the destruction in the barnyard.
“Would you like some tea?” the woman blurted, as if remembering her manners. “I’d be delighted to—”
“No tea,” I interrupted. The homesteaders looked at me as if they were seeing me for the first time, having been too distracted by the grandeur of Faren’s presence. He glanced back at me, and I reiterated, “No tea.”
Faren ignored me. “We’d love some.”
Ten minutes later, we were seated around a tiny oak table inside the cottage. Simon and Sunny were stalled in the barn, which did indeed house some livestock: a single dairy cow and eight ewes, along with a handful of scrawny chickens.
The cottage was too warm. My damp trousers were humid against my skin, my armor uncomfortably stiff. Outdoors, the wool, leather, and metal felt protective against the elements; indoors, they were restrictive.
“We should not engage,” I whispered to Faren while our hosts—Orna and Pete—bustled about the kitchen, preparing our tea.
Both dogs had planted themselves at Faren’s feet, and he stroked their ears idly, taking turns between the two. “They’re doing us a favor. The least we can do is accept their hospitality.”
“I am the guide here,” I snarled, “and I say—”
“You might be the guide, but this mission is undermyauthority,” Faren stated. “We can spare half an hour for tea.”
“It’s not the wasted time I’m concerned about.”
He didn’t bother to respond as Orna set down a tray cluttered with cups, a teapot, half a loaf of bread, and a butter dish. Settling into the chair beside mine, she eyed the pommel of my sword, but didn’t remark on it. Pete sat between his wife and Faren and—after resting his cane across his lap—busied himself with serving our tea, his big hands working delicately.
“Can’t say we’ve ever hosted a Mighty Knight before,” Pete said with a nervous chuckle.
“It’s an honor,” Orna added quickly.
“Trust me, it’s not,” I muttered.
Orna laughed, assuming I was joking.
Pete set a steaming cup in front of me. “Lavender and honey,” he said, watching me closely.
Belatedly, I realized he expected me to take a sip. I did, and—Fates, it was pleasant.
Faren was already buttering a chunk of bread, his cloak cast over the back of his chair. “What a treat. Is this rosemary butter?”
Orna nodded demurely. “’Tis.”
“Scrumptious,” Faren said, mid-chew.
Orna took a quick sip of her own tea, her eyes again falling to my weapon. Pete noticed the direction of his wife’s attention, his gaze skipping over the daggers strapped to my hips and thighs. When he regarded Faren again, he seemed reluctant to speak.
“I apologize, Sir, for the rude question, but”—Pete swallowed—“how long do you anticipate you’ll need to use our barn? I do not wish to insult the honor of a Mighty Knight’s trust, but…” His fists tightened on the table. “We don’t have enough feed for the winter as is.”
Faren set his tea aside. “Ah, no, it isIwho is being rude.” He procured a small velvet pouch from his pocket and handed it to Pete. “For your trouble, of course.”
Color bloomed across Pete’s cheeks as he hefted the pouch. I did not have to see its contents to know that the coin Faren so freely gave was significant to these folks. Their uncomfortable, desperate gratitude was palpable. I felt it in my stomach, a familiar, grasping emotion that made me feel sorry for them.
“I…” Pete trailed off, started again. “This is…very generous, Sir.”
Faren clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re grateful for your help”—he looked at Orna, next—“and your hospitality.”
