Page 221 of Of Masks and Fury

Trew jingled the coin purse tied to his belt. “We’ll gladly pay a fair price for good food.”

“Sit yourselves down, then. I’ll see what I can manage.”

We took a table near the back, positioning ourselves where we could watch both the door and the rest of the room. The other patrons had returned to their conversations, but I caught more than one sideways glance in our direction.

“They’re nervous,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“Can you blame them?” Trew’s fingers drummed on the scarred wooden table. “Unsettled times make people suspicious of strangers.”

I caught fragments of their conversations, mentioning supply shortages, concerns about safety on the roads, and whispered mentions of “what was soon coming.”

They were either talking about the Day of Mercy or an army about to march past their town.

The innkeeper returned with a canvas sack, setting it on our table. “That’s the best I can do. Bread, smoked meat, cheese, and apples.” She named a reasonable price.

Trew counted out coins in his palm. “Thank you kindly. You’ve been most helpful.”

The woman pocketed the money but didn’t move away from our table. “Might I ask what business takes you north? The roads aren’t safe for anyone these days.”

“Trade negotiations,” I said. “Mundane but necessary.”

“Safe travels then.”

We left the inn, the sack of supplies slung over Trew’s shoulder. Stares burned into my back as we walked away, and I didn’t look over my shoulder until we’d cleared the village square.

When I finally did, the woman stood in the inn’s doorway, watching our retreat with too much attention for traveling merchants buying food.

“We need to get back quickly,” I said once we’d rounded a bend in the road.

“She’s suspicious, but that’s not unusual. I doubt they see a stranger here more than once a year. The question is whether she’ll talk about it to anyone important.”

“At least the odds are good no one important will pass through this town soon.”

We walked faster, urgency driving us back toward the hidden valley and the others. The delay had cost us precious sleep and time we couldn’t afford, but the thought of twenty-three prisoners counting down their final days made every step feel inadequate.

Behind us, a whooshing sound cut through the morning air.

I’d started to turn when something struck the back of my head.

My vision exploded into stars and darkness.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

TREW

Iwoke to darkness, a pounding head, and the realization I’d made a terrible mistake in going to the village. They’d jumped us, knocking both of us out, perhaps with some kind of magical weapon.

The air smelled like rust and earth, and when I tried to sit up, my shoulder collided with metal.

My disguise pendant was gone.

I reached out, my fingers finding cold walls on all sides. A shed. I was inside a fucking shed.

“Isi.” The word came out hoarse. I reached beside me in the darkness, my heart bruising itself against my ribs until my hand found fabric, then skin. “Isi.”

She didn’t respond.

I ran my fingers along her arm to her neck, finding her pulse. Strong. Steady. Relief nearly buckled me before panic surged back. Blood matted her hair, sticky and wet beneath my touch.