Page 73 of Last Rites

“There’s a damn hole in it,” he told the other guards. “Some kind of vermin must’ve gotten to it back in Ashpoint. We’ll have to get more.”

Rosie popped one eye open from where she’d been pretending to sleep. She pumped her arm in blatant glee, and I settled in to sleep myself, curled up next to Kit who would loath to have been left out of all this.

Actually, that may have been better. We were breaking his rules, after all. Scheming and plotting and causing problems he would take it upon himself to fix.

I felt at peace with it, though—with so many things—and I snuggled in and didn’t wake until morning.

Voices roused me, and I found Kit upright and alert, watching our escorts with his dark eyes sharp and narrow.

I must have slept through getting back on the road, because when I sat up, too, we were stopped outside of a sprawling town at least twice the size of Eastcliff. One of the guards was lounging on the driver’s bench while another stood beside the horses and stretched. The other two were conferring at the side of the road.

“We weren’t supposed to stop till Forstford,” Kit muttered, suspicious while I bubbled with excitement.

We had a chance. To do something more than be driven into the destruction of so many lives.

“We can’t both go,” one of the guards by the road was saying to the other. “We can’t leave our men that outnumbered. Best for three of us to wait with the initiates.”

His thumb jerked in our direction, and I took that as my invitation to speak.

“Need help carrying anything?” I chirped, earning the same narrow glare Kit had been turning on our captors.

Scooting toward the side of the wagon, I vaulted over it and landed in the dirt, practically throwing myself into action.

“I’m a lumberman, you know,” I said, taking a page from Anders’s book as I curled one arm to make the lean muscles bulge. “I’ve felled many trees, and I have quite a strong back. Comes from growing up on a farm.”

Rosie snickered, and I bit my cheeks again. It didn’t help that the guards looked incredulous. And that was worsened when Kit offloaded to insert himself between me and the guards.

“If it’s a pack mule you need, take me.” His body bumped into mine, and his dismissal made me bristle.

They couldn’t choose him. He wasn’t privy to the plan, and our opportunity would be wasted. I didn’t even have time to explain as it seemed they were in a hurry to resupply and get back on the road. I’d never seen people so eager to cause destruction.

Considering the way the guards backpedaled when Kit entered their proximity, it was little surprise they shook their heads at his offer.

“I’ll take him.” One of them indicated me. “Seems harmless enough.”

So much for all that lumbering…

Kit braced, readying further protest, but I wormed around him, all but looping my arm around the guard’s in my haste to get on into town. The earlier I made contact with someone able to send a missive to Forstford, the better.

Fending off tendrils of guilt was as simple as keeping my back to Kit as I walked away, and trying very hard not to envision the confusion and worry that must have been written all over his face.

The walk into town was nice for stretching my legs. My backside was sore from being bumped around in the cart for hours, and my brain was due for a reprieve from the same trees and fields rolling by for hours on end. I thought about making small talk with my grouchy escort, but the plan was more important.

Find a messenger. Send a missive. Save Kit’s town.

I couldn’t very well do one—or any—of those things with Merrick’s hired help breathing down my neck. So, I had to rid myself of him. Somehow.

There weren’t many excuses I could think of for time alone. Being a terrible liar was often a terrible inconvenience. I was sure he would see the deception all over my face the second I started making requests to get a drink that wasn’t from the barrel of water in the cart, or a fearsome hunger that wouldn’t wait till we returned to the others.

It needed to be more urgent than that.

Or perhaps, rather than making an excuse to get away from him, I could give him an excuse to get away from me.

We’d barely breached the edge of town when I slowed my stride, falling back and doubling over to grip at my stomach. A low, miserable groan petered out of me, and I dared a glance to make sure my escort had taken notice.

“Hurry up,” the other man grunted, still walking.

I took another step, then moaned louder, wondering if I could force a belch noisy enough to prick his ears. Maybe if I gulped down enough air…