Or at least, she thought she was alone.
An oil lamp burned on a table just inside the stable, sending flickering shadows against the walls. In the near dark, she saw a dozen sheep gathered inside. They watched her with distrust but made no move toward or away from her as she settled herself against a bale of straw. The arrow wound was painful, but she was too tired to stand any longer.
The stable was stuffy and pungent with the musky, earthysmell of the animals, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Soon, the sheep seemed to lose interest in her and retreated to the corners to sleep.
It was only by watching the progress of the moon that Rae had any concept of time passing. Night had only begun to fall when she’d first set out for town, and now the moon had traveled halfway across the sky.
She tried not to think of her father.
She thought of her father.
Eventually, she must have nodded off. One moment, she was in the stable, and the next she was back in the brewery.
The dagger in her hand—
The blade slicing through skin and muscle and viscera—
The warm gush running over her fingers—
The surprise in the brewer’s eyes—
It was so vivid, so real, that when she woke, she couldn’t remember where she was or how she’d gotten there.
Disoriented, her breathing heavy, she sat up and tried to regain her bearings. The flame on the oil lamp was guttering wildly, casting bizarre shadows across the walls. One appeared to be the silhouette of what looked like a ram with four heads, each one pointed in a different direction. But as she blinked the last dregs of dreaming from her eyes, she saw it was simply the shadows of four sheep standing close together, keeping watch for predators.
Stumbling to her feet, Rae walked to the trough and splashed cold water on her face, trying to get her thoughts under control. She hadn’t killed the brewer merely to avenge the men who’d died in the attack, but to protect herself and the ones she loved. But had she actually done that? Or had she made the situation worse?
She was drying herself on her robes when she heard footsteps approaching. Quickly, she retreated to the shadows, pressing her back to the wall beside the stable door. A moment later, the door opened slowly. She held her breath.
“Rae?” Omari whispered.
She exhaled and moved back into the light. “I’m here.”
Omari came in and closed the door behind him. He moved gingerly—she could tell his injured shoulder had been bandaged beneath his tunic. His expression was grave.
“I relieved Baki so he can attend to his family,” Omari said, his eyes downcast.
Rae’s body went stiff. “Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”
Omari frowned.
“What is it, Omari? Tell me.”
Still, Omari said nothing.
A surge of anger welled inside her. “Tell me, damn you!” Rae cried, shoving him back, “What happened? What did they do?”
It was then that she smelled the smoke wafting in through the window.
“The nomarch’s men burned your farm,” Omari said hoarsely. “The land, the house… everything. Most of the zebu got away when the fence burned, and some of the men are trying to gather them, but—”
Rae cried out and made for the door, but Omari grabbed her by the waist and held her back.
“There’s nothing to be done!” he grunted. “If you go out there now, the Medjay will catch you—and what good would that do?”
“No!” she cried and fought against his grip. “Let me go!”
But Omari held firm.
