Page 18 of Fate's Wicked Oath

“I know,” Faren said, “but I got you something anyway.”

She snatched the bundle from his hand and unwrapped it. Biting into the flaky crust, her eyes fluttered briefly closed.

“My favorite bakery in the city,” Faren said, handing her a second bundle.

Mariana raised an eyebrow, her mouth full.

“Pastry,” he explained. “For dessert.”

She took it and tucked it between her pelvis and the front of her saddle.

Faren busied himself with his own hand pie, relishing the richness of the sausage, the balanced flavors of fennel and thyme, the fluffy chunks of potato. He scarfed it down in four bites. When he looked up again, Mariana was still only halfway through her breakfast—not eating but watching him.

He almost made a snide remark, but she had an odd look on her face, almost like…sincerity, mixed with suspicion. “You’re welcome,” he said.

“I didn’t thank you.”

“I could read it on your face.”

“Do not mistake disdain for gratitude,” she replied with a huff, then refocused on her meal with renewed gusto. She made quick work of the hand pie, then unwrapped the pastry, sighing when she discovered that it was filled with jam and cream.

All the while, Faren stole glances in her direction, wondering when she’d last indulged in…anything. It occurred to him that,perhaps in addition to her surprise at his kindness, she was also thrown by it. Much ashewas thrown by her presence in general.

“Stop watching me eat,” Mariana said over a huge bite.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” he teased.

“Why do you care?”

“Just want to hear you admit that breakfast was a good idea.”

“I won’t,” Mariana said, but her curt tone was undermined by the look of pure ecstasy as she licked a glob of cream off the side of her hand. “I don’t like owing people.”

“You don’t owe me,” Faren said, perplexed. “Why would you owe me?”

She shrugged. Their horses’ hooves made a clapping, sucking sound as they tromped through the mud, filling the silence left by Mariana’s non-answer.

Faren blinked back to the road ahead of them, staring off into the mist, where riders and wagons were mere silhouettes in the gloom. If Mariana was primarily accustomed to transactional relationships—her faction’s strict hierarchy, her Oath—then it made sense that she’d be suspicious of his generosity. Off balance, even.

A smile formed on Faren’s lips as he realized that his amiability and humorunsettledher. Fighting her fieriness with his own had only made their interactions more explosive, but this…This could be fun, he thought. Thanks to his sisters, he was adept at using teasing remarks and smothering affection to get under someone’s skin. Finally, he felt like he had an ounce of leverage against Mariana, and though it was an unorthodox tactic for uncovering her secrets, it wassomething.

8

All Talk

Mariana

The farther we traveled from the city, the more my shoulders relaxed. The High Road unspooled ahead of us like a silk sash, its muddy surface shining in the brief moments when the sun broke through the cloud cover. Rain fell and cleared. Wind gusted and calmed. I filled my lungs with fresh air and relished the way my cheeks prickled with the autumn chill. Simon’s stride was smooth and purposeful underneath me, swaying my body with a steady, familiar rhythm. There were even moments when I forgot about the persistent pinch of the wrap around my ribs, the worsening blisters.

The day would be almost pleasant if it weren’t for Faren’s incessant whistling.

“Keep doing that, and I’ll abandon you in the Western Wood, Oath be damned,” I snapped.

Faren’s pursed lips twisted into a smile, causing the note he was holding to pitch high and breathy until it faded. “Don’t like the Ballad of Marona? I can whistle something else.”

“You’ve been whistling court anthems for the past hour.”

“Ah, yes, I forgot you’re not much of a patriot,” he teased. “A folk song, perhaps?” He began whistling again, a jaunty tune that was better suited for a village pub filled with drunkards, the quick notes jumbling together.