Page 65 of Fate's Wicked Oath

The mayor bobbed his head, his fuzz of gray hair shaking with the movement. “Of course,” he said, coming to his feet. “Of course. I’m honored and comforted to have you here and am committed to doing what must be done for my citizens.” Percival slinked past Mariana, gesturing for Faren to walk with him back down the length of the hall. “I will bid the town keep quiet about what they’ve seen. However, as mayor, will you not entrust me with the knowledge? MayInot ask what is afoot?”

Faren clenched his jaw so tight, his molars ached. “Apologies, Mayor Penning,” he said, patting the man’s shoulder, “I’m afraid you may not.”

24

On Love

Mariana

Hot cider for the lady,” Faren said, sliding a mug across our table toward my clasped hands. His knees knocked mine as he folded himself onto the corner bench, sitting perpendicular to me. “Stew’s on its way.”

I blew on the surface of my cider, then took a slurping sip. It was just shy of scalding and overly sweet—exactly what I needed. “Can’t recall the last time I was referred to as alady.”

Faren smiled over the lip of his own tankard.

I’d found us a table in a dimly lit corner of the Lark, Brine’s inn and pub. We were here mostly on Mayor Penning’s insisting; the innkeeper, Fiona, had already set rooms aside for us. Our plan: eat an early supper, get some rest, then rise before dawn to catch the Morta as it emerged from wherever it hid within the Western Wood—and intercept it before it could do more damage.

What I couldn’t decide was what I’d do when we caught up to the monster: kill it or heal it. Administering the potion would further Heris’s plot and my path to freedom; it was also simplymore humane to cure the cursed thing. But Faren was already privy to the potion. If he caught me using it…what then?

Two weeks ago, I would’ve been certain that he’d betray my secret dealings to the Lord. Even now, his Oath could still force him to divulge everything he’d seen once he returned to Fenrir City. Yet after all we’d been through, I had the growing suspicion that our experiences had shaken Faren’s worldview. Altered his thinking.

Now, I wasn’t sure what Faren would do.

“Something on your mind?” he asked.

Above the table, he appeared a confident knight: head tipped inquisitively, hair flopping over his forehead, a hand curled loosely around his tankard. But underneath, his knee bounced, jostling the bench we shared, his nervousness traveling up into my own tense joints.

Before this mission, I couldn’t’ve cared less about Faren’s misplaced loyalty, but now…now, I wanted him to know the truth. Hedeservedto know the truth.

If I told him, would he believe me?

Would hehelpme?

“Mariana?” Faren prompted.

“Hmm?”

“What’s on your mind?”

I swallowed thickly. Sipped my cider. Wiped my mouth with the back of my wrist. All the while, Faren watched—he was alwayswatching, and his attention made me squirm. “You’re nervous,” I deflected, placing my palm on his knee. “Why?”

His leg stilled.

I had meant the touch to be brief, but now my hand felt heavy. Through the fabric of his pants, the muscle of his thigh was firm and strong. I thought back to this afternoon when the crowd had mobbed Faren. Women had raked their fingers down this same thigh. Grabbed at him, desperate and demanding. The sight ofit had made my own touch magic writhe—a protective, covetous creature.

I removed my hand and clenched my fist in my lap. Faren watched my fingers curl, a strange look on his face. His throat worked. His lips pressed into a crooked sort of grimace. Then he ran his palms over the tops of his legs, as if to clear away my touch.

“I wouldn’t say I’m nervous,” Faren said at last. “Unmoored might be more accurate.”

“Oh?” I forced my face into a neutral expression. “How so?”

He shrugged his big shoulders. Smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

I would, actually, I thought—but then Fiona appeared with our stews and half a loaf of sourdough to share. We tucked into our suppers, tearing bread and relishing in the rich broth. Potatoes, carrots, mutton—it was just what my weary bones needed. I only hoped the bread would soak up the confusion churning in my stomach.

Beyond our table, the pub was crowded with regulars and—it seemed—townsfolk who wanted to glimpse the Mighty Knight. Unlike this afternoon in the square, however, they respected our space. Their stares were curious, their smiles kind, but aside from a few nods and waves, no one interrupted our meal.

“So,” Faren stated, mid-chew. “I have yet to tease you properly about your family.”