Page 25 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

“There was a caravan, heading for the capital,” Blackthorn said simply.

Not a lie, even if it didn’t have anything to do with the actual answer.

“I didn’t hear of any caravan coming to Lockwood,” Farrow’s mother said.

“It wasn’t supposed to stop here,” Farrow said. “I flagged them down. It’s lucky they had it.”

Her mother looked suspiciously at Blackthorn.

“This is Mister… Thorn,” she explained. “He was following the caravan to the capital, seeking an internship there. But when he heard what was happening, he offered me a ride on his horse.”

“Very kind of you, I’m sure,” Farrow’s father said, not meeting his eye, as if he found it hard to look at him, too. Or perhaps he was hoping not to be asked for payment for the trip.

At that moment, Jericho tried to stand, and had to sit again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I need to get to work.”

“Nonsense,” Farrow told him. “You rest today. I can handle things myself.”

“But you’re trying to get ready for the King’s competition,” Jericho said. “You have to work on your entry.”

“The king’s competition?” Blackthorn asked.

“The King is holding a baking competition in just two days’ time,” Farrow’s mother told him excitedly. “It is a great honor to have been offered the chance to compete before the King.”

“It is indeed,” Blackthorn said. “And the king himself judges the entries?”

“Every one,” Farrow’s mother simpered. “It’s wonderful.”

It would be a lot more wonderful if Farrow had any idea what to make in order to impress him. But she’d managed to impress a Queen already, so she was feeling a bit more hopeful than before.

“Astonishing,” Blackthorn said softly. “I thought I was doing a good deed for a girl with kind eyes, and nothing more. But it seems I have stumbled into one of the most important bakeries in the kingdom.”

Farrow blinked at him, trying to figure out what his game was. They had already covered for the antidote, however weakly. He didn’t need to lay it on so thick.

“Oh, we’re just one of many,” Farrow’s mother said modestly.

“But now I have no need to travel all the way to the capital to seek work as a baker’s apprentice,” he confided. “And now I see your shop can use an extra pair of hands.”

They all glanced at Jericho, whose eyes moved suspiciously between Blackthorn and Farrow.

Farrow shut her wide-open mouth, feeling more surprised than before.

“Maybe you would be willing to give me a trial period of a few days while your boy regains his strength?” Blackthorn offered. “No pay, of course, while you try me out.”

“I see no harm in it, Mr. Thorn,” Farrow’s father allowed, extending his hand. “Albert Barton.”

“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Blackthorn said, taking his hand and shaking it. “Please, call me Thorn.”

“You don’t have a place to stay yet, do you, Thorn?” her mother asked.

“I’ve come from green fields,” Blackthorn said, somehow telling the truth and also making it sound like he’d meant nearby Greenfields, one of the richest villages in Fairweather.

For someone who couldn’t lie, he was very good at avoiding the truth. Farrow thought she would do well to remember that.

Her father’s eyebrows lifted at the mention of Greenfields, as if he were only just now recognizing something. He glanced over at Farrow appraisingly, as if he were cataloging her value like a hog going to market. But of course he was probably thinking more of the marriage market. A rich husband would certainly ease her family’s burden.

“We’ll make you up a place in the barn,” Farrow’s mother said excitedly.

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