Thread of Ash and Fire

Ch. 25: Nobody's Making Sandwiches

They arrived at the inn around midnight.

Isaac slid from his horse. His knee was killing him — a reminder of his months in prison — and he shook it out impatiently. The Fox and Hare was shaped like an oversized rabbit hutch; straw dangled down from the slanted roof, and carrottops poked through the soil like green fans. The inn was also, Isaac observed, completely devoid of life other than a single candle burning in a window. No wonder Camille had chosen it as their meeting location.

"That must be them," Camille said, nodding towards the candle.

She slid down from the horse. She was shivering, her blonde hair damp from their ride in the rain. Isaac secured their horses, bending down to tie his shoe. By the time he stood, Camille was already hallway to the inn. Of course she was, Isaac thought warily, doubling his pace; she'd become annoyingly fearless as of late. It would almost certainly get them killed.

Camille pushed open the door.

They crept past the dusty bar, feeling their way through the darkness. Isaac stepped on something soft. He hoped it wasn't a dead rat.

Camille nodded towards a light flickering down the corridor. "Through here?"

"I guess so," Isaac muttered.

They moved further down the corridor. The candlelight grew brighter, although no noise spilled from the room. Isaac's heart sped up. Surely he should be able to hear the others. He shouldered past Camille, pushing the door open. Surely he should—

Something jumped.

Isaac cried out, scrambling for his sword. Someone cackled.

"Easy," Anna said. "It's just me."

The light flared. Someone was igniting more candles, Isaac deduced. His eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, and he realized that they were standing in a small library. He took in the dusty books, the parchment spilling out over the table, the discarded quills. And Anna, holding a knife and wearing a shit-eating grin on her face.

Isaac scowled. "Stars, Cidarius."

"Sorry," Anna said, not looking particularly sorry at all. "You can't be too careful."

She retreated into the room, passing the knife to Ryne, who sheathed it. Penny was tracing a finger across the parchment scroll, while Grayson rubbed her back. Anna bent to pick up a waterskin, revealing an angry-looking cut on her cheek. A constellation of bruises punctuated her neck.

Isaac stilled. "What happened to you?"

Anna took a pull. "Brothel fight."

She raised an eyebrow, as if inviting him to ask for details. Which he didn't. Firstly, Isaac thought, because he was being used as an undercover agent by a group of maniacal immortal beings. And secondly because Anna would use the opportunity to jump on the table and stage a three-act play. It was hard to say which was worse.

"Any luck with Dartmouth?" Ryne asked.

"He'll fight for us," Camille said.

She stripped off her damp gloves, throwing them on the sideboard. Ryne frowned.

"No strings?"

He sounded suspicious, which was unsurprising. Everything came with strings in Ryne Delafort's world. Camille shook her head. "No. He's loyal to the..." She raised a hand to her throat. "To my family."

"Anything else?" Ryne asked.

"That was all," Camille said.

Isaac looked at her sharply. Her face was blank, and a shiver went down his spine. Camille had always been a terrible liar. No longer, apparently.