She sees me and grins like the sun itself. “Evie! You’re back!”
“I am,” I say, matching her grin. “You look better.”
“Better?” she scoffs. “Please. I’ve had worse from men I actually enjoyed.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re mad, Sparrow.”
“Mad?” She presses a hand to her heart, mock offended. “Coming from our favourite executioner?”
I cackle softly. “You’ve got me there.”
“Come on,” she says, nodding towards the small door behind her. “Let’s talk.”
Her little office is half bedroom, half storage room. A single lantern burns low, the air thick with whiskey and dust. I take the chair across from her, set my bag between my boots, and pull out what I came to deliver—a pouch heavy with coins, and a handful of jewellery that still glitters with someone else’s memory.
“Payment,” I tell her. “From His Lordship.”
Sparrow’s breath catches. “Evie… this is?—”
“Yours,” I interrupt. “Do what you like with it.”
She stands suddenly and wraps her good arm around me. “Thank you,” she whispers into my shoulder. “You’ve no idea what this means. I could leave. Start over somewhere new.”
I squeeze her back. “Then do it, little bird. You’ve earnt it.”
She pulls away, blinking fast, and laughs weakly. “You and your damned surprises.”
“Me and my damned everything,” I say, smiling.
Sparrow reaches for a bottle—not one I’ve seen before, dark glass, dust along its shoulders—and pours two small glasses and hands me one. “Family brew. I’ve been saving it for a good reason.”
I take a sip. It hits like fire and smoke, the taste of oak and honey buried underneath. “That’s mighty fine,” I say, coughing once.
She laughs softly. “My family run a brewery back home. I came here looking for adventure, ended up with this.” Her gesture takes in the room—the bar, the bruises, the loneliness. “I might go back, if I can.”
“Do you miss it?”
“All the time,” she admits. “The smell of yeast, the sound of my father singing. I thought I’d find something here worth the pain, but I was wrong.”
For a moment, we’re both silent. “Then go. Take what’s yours and go before the city turns worse than it already is.”
She frowns. “Worse?”
“Witch hunts,” I tell her. “I saw one this morning. Women dragged away for nothing more than words. No proof. No trial. It’s spreading.”
The air goes still, like even the lantern’s flame is listening. Sparrow swallows. “That’s… awful. Should I warn the others?”
“Yes. Warn everyone.”
She nods, then pushes the jewellery back towards me. “Give this to De. She’ll know what to do.”
I look at her for a long time. “You’re a good woman, Sparrow.”
“Don’t ruin my reputation,” she says with a trembling smile.
I stand. “You’ll leave soon?”
“Soon as I can.”
