Page 75 of Last Rites

His brow furrowed as I scrambled for something steadier to hold on to.

“But perhaps some other… bad people… might be on their way to Forstford.” My voice cracked at the end, and I hated the way it sounded, too fragile, too unsure.

“What makes you think that?”

“They told me.” My palms were damp. The early morning air pressed close, cool against the back of my neck.

“Oh.” Just that, simple and flat, but it left a hollow space between us.

“Can you… or Josiah…” My words tangled together, and I had to stop, swallow, start again. “Will he go? Will he tell them?”

“About the bad people?”

“To leave.” The plea rasped out. And as an afterthought, I rushed to add, “Tell them the warning came from Kit. They’ll understand.”

His frown deepened, and the silence stretched, interrupted only by my heartbeat thundering in my ears and the low murmur of the market behind us.

He had more questions; I could see them, but I couldn’t answer them.

Instead, I fumbled to the small of my back where I’d hidden my knife beneath my shirt. When I pulled it out and brought it around in front of me, I caught the flash of panic in the stable hand’s eyes.

I raised my free hand in surrender and tried again to reassure him. “I’m not…”

Not menacing. Not strong. Not bad.

Protest clogged my throat, and I forced out a breath before finishing, “I’m trying to help.”

My fingers curled around the hilt of the knife as I spared it a mournful look. It was the weapon Kit made me, his way of making sure I always had something sharp between me and danger. I had another use for it now. A cause even more worthy.

“I don’t have any coin,” I explained, the words hushed but steady. “But I have this. Perhaps it could be payment for the task?”

The stable hand eyed the knife as I turned it around, then offered it to him, handle first. He leaned forward, just beginning to reach, when the guard came around the corner into view with a sack of grain slung over his shoulder.

The guard’s head swiveled, and since I hadn’t gone far, he spotted me at once. His gaze dropped to the weapon in my hand, and storm clouds rolled across his face.

The stable hand flinched back, leaving me standing there, holding the knife and looking horribly guilty.

“What’s going on out here?” the guard demanded.

“He was just… showing me this knife. My intended is a blacksmith, you know, so I have an eye for fine craftsmanship. Has a nice heft to it.” I bounced the dagger on two fingers to demonstrate the balance.

The guard cast a scowl from me to the stable hand and back again.

I didn’t want to give the knife away. It was a gift. Kit loved to give me things, and I appreciated all of it, but I forced myself to offer it again to the stable hand, this time with every scrap of determination I could muster.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll take good care of it.”

It sounded strange even to me. It must have looked stranger still: me offering a weapon to pay for a service that hadn’t even been agreed upon. But all I could do was trust he would take it.

The stable hand hesitated another moment before he finally closed his fingers around the hilt. The weight of the weapon left my palm, and relief loosened the knot in my chest. I exhaled, shaky but grateful.

The guard’s eyes drew down to slits. “Feeling better?” he grumbled, suspicion roughening his voice.

I didn’t try to dodge it this time. I could finally be honest. “Yes,” I replied. “A bit. The boy got me some water, and that helped settle my stomach.”

He studied me, then gave a short nod.

“Good,” he said. “Because I recall you offering your strong back.”