Page 27 of Fate's Wicked Oath

Engaging further with these people…it was far messier than dismissing them with a firm word and a snarl. Kindness did not contain rumors; compassion only made one vulnerable to heartbreak. This was why I never said yes to tea.

I squeezed Orna’s arm tighter, willing her pay attention. “If anyone asks you what happened, you tell them rabid wolves. Do you understand?”

Her nod loosed a sprinkling of tears. One landed on the back of my hand. Her attention caught on it instantly, then traveled to where my vambrace had rubbed red marks into my wrist bone. I let go.

“They weren’t rabid wolves,” Pete argued, still defensive.

But Orna nodded with resolve. “Rabid wolves,” she repeated quietly.

“Dearest—” Pete began.

“I think we should take their word for it,” Orna urged him. “I think it’s safer if we do.” Her tone was loaded.

Finally, her husband seemed to understand. He looked to me. “Do you anticipate they’ll return?”

I leaned back in my chair. “Have they returned since the original incident?”

Pete shook his head. “Haven’t seen them since we locked up our livestock.”

“They’ve likely moved on,” I said. “But keep a careful eye. Look for tracks, scratching at the door, any evidence of activity. Diseased predators tend to be more persistent. Keep your animals contained until we return for our horses. We shouldn’t be more than two nights.”

Pete nodded. Faren was still watching me, his frown deepening.

I shoved another piece of bread into my mouth—the butter washeavenly—and washed it all down with the rest of my tea. Then I placed my palms on the table and stood.

“We should go,” I told Faren.

He must’ve heard the finality in my voice, because he pushed away from the table, rising to his full and formidable height. With his armor and weapons, he seemed to take up half the room. Pete and Orna grew watchful again, ogling Faren as they followed us to the door, their hounds in tow.

“Thank you for this favor you’ve done us,” Faren said, reaching down to scratch behind one of the dogs’ ears.

“You honor us,” Pete replied, not looking at me. It was clear he had not appreciated the way I dismissed his wife’s claim and had accepted my lie only because Orna had.

I could not blame him, and didn’t want his false respect, unearned and predicated only by the armor I wore. I just wanted them to take care of Simon while I was gone.

I reached for the door, ready to escape the heat of the cottage and the twist of guilt in my gut. The cold and punishing wilds were a far more appropriate place for someone like me.

“Wait,” Orna said, halting me.

She hurried over to the loom and rifled through a nearby basket. When she returned, she held out a pair of fingerless gloves. The weave was neat and tight, made from wool yarn that had been expertly spun. The colors were rich, a pleasing blend of browns and deep reds that reminded me of a forest floor in autumn.

I stared at her offering, my cold fingers curling at my sides.

“Your armor,” Orna said, gesturing at my vambraces. “It pinches, no?”

How was it that those who possessed the least were always the most generous?

“These will help,” she insisted, holding them out.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. It was too much.

“How kind,” Faren cut in smoothly, nudging me with his elbow.

“Too kind,” I managed.

Orna kept her arm outstretched, waiting.

Belatedly, I snatched the gloves from her hand. The wool was so soft. My heart broke for the sheep she’d lost. They’d probably had names. She probably knew exactly which individuals had contributed to the making of this yarn. The sorrow of it made me sick and angry.