Page 13 of Fragile Oath

The inn had once been an impressive establishment. No expense had been spared when the inn was first constructed. Between the large stone columns and the carved creatures that sat atop them, the quality of the floorboards, as well as the bedframes, it was clear that the building had been grand in its day.

The perfect blend of time and mismanagement had gracefully led to its current state, those charmingly rotting wooden planks and beams coated with the finest layers of dust, a masterpiece of disrepair.

My first stop was the body, which was still waiting in the back to be transported to the local mortuary. After slipping the man on guard a few coins, I looked under the tarp to confirm what I already knew. Purple veins contrasting against pale skin. Black foam at the corners of his lips.

It was the Viper’s poison.

Once I was inside, I similarly bribed the crotchety innkeeper to reluctantly show me the room where the man’s widow was staying. Not that it was entirely necessary. I could hear her sobbing from the hall. She answered on the second knock, the surprise of my presence stemming her flow of tears.

“My Laird.” Something about her was familiar — with her graying hair, kind brown eyes, and matronly way of speaking. It took me a moment to place her past her features that were swollen from grief.

She had been at the festival. Her husband ran the Skittles booth. Just a few days ago, he had smiled while he handed a victorious Galina her prize. And now he was dead.

“May I come in?” I asked quietly, darting a glance around to ensure no one was watching from the hall.

She nodded quickly, ushering me through the door and closing it behind me with a soft click.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here of all places, My Laird,” she sniffled, pouring two glasses of water from the pitcher on the table. She offered one to me with a shaking hand.

“I happened to be passing through and heard the unfortunate news about your husband,” I said, skirting around the reason for my visit to the town. “I am sorry for your loss.”

Her eyes glistened with more unshed tears, her brow furrowing as if in an effort to hold them back. Finally, she dipped her head in a nod, taking a seat on one of the small chairs and gesturing for me to do the same.

“It doesn’t make sense, My Laird. No one wanted to hurt my Roger. He was kind to everyone he saw. I told him the inn was dangerous, but he said I was too worried about it.”

My fists clenched before I could stop them. The village of Othach wasn’t under Lithlinglau’s purview, but it was still my family’s kingdom, and we couldn’t even keep the people safe from the rebels determined to terrorize them.

Assuming, of course, that her husband wasn’t working with them. It was impossible to tell these days. Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I addressed the woman calmly.

“I know you spoke with the local magistrate, but would you mind walking me through what you remember? Who he saw that day or spoke to? Anything that might have thrown him into the path of…an enemy?” I stopped short of sayingThe Viper, unsure what the woman knew or had heard.

“He spoke to everyone as we went. As I said, he was kind that way,” she said, her eyes pooling up with tears.

“Is there anyone specific? Perhaps in the last couple of days, or since you arrived at this inn?”

She shook her head, then stopped. “Just the young lady.”

My breath seized in my lungs. “What young lady?”

She took a sip from her glass, her gaze turning toward the window for a long moment before answering.

“He didn’t say her name. Said she had asked him to keep her being here a secret and that I’m too loose-lipped, but that I’d know when it was too late for me to go blabbing.” The edges of her mouth curled up before twisting in a pained grimace again, like it had been a joke they shared.

I hated to push her on this, to make her grief worse, but my heart was pounding in my chest, every instinct I had told me this was important. If Galina had been here…

“What did she look like?” I pressed.

“I only saw her from behind, out the window.” She gestured toward the small pane of glass. “She was with a large man, who looked to be her guard.”

One of our missing guards?

“But you said she was a lady? A noble lady?”

“Well, her cloak was very fine, and she had a poised way of standing,” she added quickly, almost defensively.

I considered her description, though impatience was growing inside me. A woman in a fine cloak with a guard could have easily been one of the courtesans next door, come to visit a client they were unsure of.

There had to be something else to go on.

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