Page 24 of Fate's Wicked Oath

Mariana

We traveled for the next three days in relative quietude. Faren still needled me with his shrill whistling and asinine stories about knights I didn’t know—but there were long stretches of silence, too. When he kept his mouth shut, I could almost forget my disdain. He hunted for game and shared camp tasks without question. He joined me for sparring and did not sulk when I bested him. He did not casually touch me again.

He did, however,watch me.

He watched the way I dried my socks and boots by the fire every night. He watched the specific way I laced theV-shaped collar of my shirt, looping the loose ends so they didn’t niggle at my collarbones. He watched the way I twisted my hair off my neck when the wind was high, and my senses were overstimulated. He watched as if he could glean something from my idiosyncrasies.

Late afternoon on our fourth day—just as the tall, jagged treetops of the Western Wood appeared on the horizon—thick clouds returned. My magic prickled with the shift in wind, the slight rise in temperature. By the time rain began pattering on the ground, Faren had already lifted his hood. Honey-colored eyes observed when I did not lift mine.

Mighty Knights were trained to be vigilant, and my affiliation with the Valiantdidbeget cautiousness—but his perceptiveness seemed to go deeper. As if he truly wanted to know why I preferred the rain on my face to a hood that rustled in my ears and ruined my peripheral vision. Not just for some kind of advantage, but because he was curious.Nosy.

Catching him staring, I said, “Stop trying to figure me out.”

His chuckle was low, amiable, and unashamed. “Never.”

Oderin had made it sound like he chose me to escort Faren because of my knowledge and skill, but I wasn’t stupid. The Mighty were suspicious of the Valiant’s factions, and I had no doubt that—in addition to investigating Yar-on-Gray—Faren had been tasked with learning as much as he could about the rebellion.

So, while he noted my mannerisms as if he were simply intrigued, his duty had to be at the heart of his motivation—and I wasn’t giving himanything.

“Is it a sensory thing?” Faren asked. “You never did say what your magic was. Does the hood impede your hearing? My friend Shae always complains about—”

“Have I given you the impression that the more you talk, the more inclined I’ll be to tell you all my secrets?”

“So you admit you have secrets.”

I rolled my eyes.

A flash of teeth within the shadow of his hood. “Have you truly not figured it out yet? Italk,” he drawled, “because it gets under your skin.”

“I think you overestimate your effect on me.”

“I think you underestimate my effect on you.”

I scoffed and faced forward again.

We were riding along a stone fence line that was overgrown with a thorny tangle of wild rose bushes. Raindrops collected on the rust-colored stems and fat red berries, making them sparkle. There was no livestock in the pasture beyond, only a cluster of ancient apple trees reaching up out of the ground like the gnarled claws of monsters. I could smell the sweet ferment of rotting fruit.

“There’s a homestead up ahead,” I remarked, jutting my chin at a stand of poplar trees materializing out of the mist. The air carried the faintest whiff of woodsmoke. “We should be able to leave the horses with them.”

“We’re not riding all the way to Yar-on-Gray?”

“Better to go on foot,” I said, patting Simon’s neck. “Less conspicuous.”

Faren gave a single nod, unquestioning.

The homestead was modest in size, made up of a small cottage and a newer-looking barn. A muddy yard off the side of the barn was surrounded by a wooden fence, the beams splintered and broken in numerous places. Odd.

“No livestock,” Faren murmured, voicing what I, too, had observed.

As we neared, a woman wearing a homespun dress and a fine shawl looked up from hoeing a trampled vegetable patch. Wiping her brow with the back of her arm, she hollered toward the house, wide-eyed at the sight of us. Moments later, the door opened, and two hounds burst out ahead of a large middle-aged man with a cane.

The dogs reached us first, whining and wiggling with nervous energy, heads low and tails wagging. Simon sidestepped,swishing his tail as the hounds sniffed his legs. I reined him to a halt, stroking his neck soothingly in hopes he wouldn’t kick.

Faren removed his hood. “Hello!”

The husband and wife stood close, their expressions a mix of wariness and awe. The woman openly stared at Faren, and I realized belatedly that it was his rank that made them speechless.

He swung off Sunny and handed me the reins. A gentle rain was falling, beading on his armor and catching in his hair. As he approached, the homesteaders lowered their heads in respectful bows.