10. Lying to Good People
Lying to Good People
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 the V-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 Valiant did beget 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 him anything.
“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? I talk,” 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.
“I hope we are not intruding?” Faren asked.
The man cleared his throat. “Not at all, Sir,” he rasped. “Just rare we see a knight of your status in these parts.”
Faren’s eyes crinkled. “No need for formality.” The dogs were nosing at him now, and he bent to let them sniff his palms. One of them darted out a pink tongue to lick his fingers, and he scratched behind its ear.
“We’re looking for a safe place to stall our horses,” he continued. “Would that be any trouble?”
“It would be an honor,” the man replied quickly. “Though I’m afraid I can’t guarantee…” He glanced over his shoulder at the destruction in the barnyard.
“Would you like some tea?” the woman blurted, as if remembering her manners. “I’d be delighted to—”
“No tea,” I interrupted. The homesteaders looked at me as if they were seeing me for the first time, having been too distracted by the grandeur of Faren’s presence. He glanced back at me, and I reiterated, “No tea.”
Faren ignored me. “We’d love some.”
Ten minutes later, we were seated around a tiny oak table inside the cottage. Simon and Sunny were stalled in the barn, which did indeed house some livestock: a single dairy cow and eight ewes, along with a handful of scrawny chickens.
The cottage was too warm. My damp trousers were humid against my skin, my armor uncomfortably stiff. Outdoors, the wool, leather, and metal felt protective against the elements; indoors, they were restrictive.
“We should not engage,” I whispered to Faren while our hosts—Orna and Pete—bustled about the kitchen, preparing our tea.
Both dogs had planted themselves at Faren’s feet, and he stroked their ears idly, taking turns between the two. “They’re doing us a favor. The least we can do is accept their hospitality.”
“I am the guide here,” I snarled, “and I say—”
“You might be the guide, but this mission is under my authority,” Faren stated. “We can spare half an hour for tea.”
“It’s not the wasted time I’m concerned about.”
He didn’t bother to respond as Orna set down a tray cluttered with cups, a teapot, half a loaf of bread, and a butter dish.
Settling into the chair beside mine, she eyed the pommel of my sword, but didn’t remark on it.
Pete sat between his wife and Faren and—after resting his cane across his lap—busied himself with serving our tea, his big hands working delicately.
“Can’t say we’ve ever hosted a Mighty Knight before,” Pete said with a nervous chuckle.
“It’s an honor,” Orna added quickly.
“Trust me, it’s not,” I muttered.
Orna laughed, assuming I was joking.
Pete set a steaming cup in front of me. “Lavender and honey,” he said, watching me closely.
Belatedly, I realized he expected me to take a sip. I did, and—Fates, it was pleasant.
Faren was already buttering a chunk of bread, his cloak cast over the back of his chair. “What a treat. Is this rosemary butter?”
Orna nodded demurely. “’Tis.”
“Scrumptious,” Faren said, mid-chew.
Orna took a quick sip of her own tea, her eyes again falling to my weapon. Pete noticed the direction of his wife’s attention, his gaze skipping over the daggers strapped to my hips and thighs. When he regarded Faren again, he seemed reluctant to speak.
“I apologize, Sir, for the rude question, but”—Pete swallowed—“how long do you anticipate you’ll need to use our barn? I do not wish to insult the honor of a Mighty Knight’s trust, but…” His fists tightened on the table. “We don’t have enough feed for the winter as is.”
Faren set his tea aside. “Ah, no, it is I who is being rude.” He procured a small velvet pouch from his pocket and handed it to Pete. “For your trouble, of course.”
Color bloomed across Pete’s cheeks as he hefted the pouch.
I did not have to see its contents to know that the coin Faren so freely gave was significant to these folks.
Their uncomfortable, desperate gratitude was palpable.
I felt it in my stomach, a familiar, grasping emotion that made me feel sorry for them.
“I…” Pete trailed off, started again. “This is…very generous, Sir.”
Faren clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re grateful for your help”—he looked at Orna, next—“and your hospitality.”
Pete stared at the pouch in his hands, his prominent brow creasing.
He had a scruff of silver and brown stubble on his jaw, and he absentmindedly reached up to scratch his cheek.
Beside her husband, Orna was staring into her tea; the skin around her nose was red and her eyes were ringed with dark circles.
“I’m afraid the feed isn’t my only concern, Sir,” Pete said at last.
“Faren, please,” Faren insisted.
“We’ve had a…troubling incident,” Pete continued, “and I’m afraid I can’t assure your horses’ safety.”
The broken fence. The trampled garden. The livestock contained inside the barn despite the daylight. I already knew what Pete would say next.
He leaned forward, speaking low. “Two nights’ past, creatures came from the Western Wood and attacked our flock. We—”