“How did you know?” I don’t bother denying it.
Her eyes drop, then she looks back up at me. “Your nightgown is on backward and covered in dirt. And if it was an innocent walk, you’d have come through the front.”
“It was Brevan,” I whisper. “I can’t give him up.”
“Do you want to know what Roselyn told me about you?” she asks.
“You talked with her about the future? How did you not tell me this sooner?”
The sound of footsteps silences us both and neither of us pretends to sleep. Instead we both bolt upright, as if we rehearsed our response.
“Caiden, oh gods, you scared us to death,” I say.
Anya makes a show of setting down the blade in her hand. I didn’t even know she had it near her. I should have expected it, though.
“Sorry to disturb you. We had an incident and I just wanted to check on you both,” he says.
“What kind of incident?” I pull the furs up around my neck, hoping it makes me look frightened.
“Don’t worry about it, we took care of it,” he assures me. “Try to get some rest.”
“Are you alright?” The question comes out involuntarily, and I’m surprised to find that I mean it.
“I will be.” He nods. “Goodnight, ladies.”
I settle back on the pallet. There’s no way I’m sleeping now.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Anya asks.
“Tomorrow. In the carriage. There’s some things I’d rather not have anyone hear.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything about Roselyn,” Anya whispers. “She told me most people don’t want to know the future, even when they say they do.”
I think about the conversation I just heard, then shake my head. “I think she’s right. I don’t think I want to know.”
A rustling sound at our entryway draws my attention and I leave the pallet. Anya follows and I know she’s armed.
Carefully, I pull aside the tent flap to peek. There’s nobody there. Something moves near my ankle. I release the fabric and look down. Standing at my feet, head tilted to the side, is a raven.
I crouch in front of the bird. “Hello.”
It snaps its beak at me, then nods. I’m fairly certain that means it understands me.
“Is that…Juliette?” Anya asks.
“I don’t think so.” I lean closer. “Are you here about the poison?”
The bird tilts its head the opposite direction and locks its beady black eyes on me.
“I thought so. I need a favor,” I say.
“Can you understand it?” Anya asks.
“In a way,” I tell her, then return my attention to the bird. “I want the person who’s responsible. The one you brought me the finger from. Can you find them and bring them to me?”
The bird snaps its beak again, then skitters toward the tent flap. I pull it aside just enough for it to pass through, then drop it.
“You think it’ll work?” Anya asks.
