I don't like it.

The Sway has a mutually beneficial relationship with the people, despite how crooked it is. They would never overlook disappearances. It would shake the collective faith and sow dissension. But I can't ask Charlene about it. I can't trust her to tell me the truth. When the door opens in front of me, it creaks loudly. "Stalt," she calls out to me before I even step from the privy. "You didn't need to hold back on my account, I had offered-"

A siren. You're a siren, Charlene, and would eat me alive if I let you. "Piss off," I look to the barkeep, who's gaze is vacant as he stares far beyond me, through me. "While we're in, I'll have an ale."

"One ale," he says as he begins filling up the mug he'd been polishing intently.

Charlene stares at me, eyes glossy. How many drinks had she had? "Thayne, woman, I wasn't a quarter bell. Are you a lush?" She takes a sip of her sweetwine and continues to watch me over the rim of the glass. The way she looks at me has always been so intimate. I feel chills whenever I meet her gaze.

"You told her you'd save her," she slurred her words, but that did nothing to stop my heart from skipping a beat. No one was there when I told Erica those words. No one but the two of us. "You promised that she'd see freedom before the end."

I can't stop myself from staring at her now. There's no hiding anything on my face, nothing to stop her from knowing my mind. There's no small degree of satisfaction in her smile now. "You weren't there," I hiss. My hands are on her throat now, I can see the sudden terror in her eyes, the way she tenses up when she can't breathe- and the man isn't even bothered by us. He doesn't even look our way. "How do you know that?" I question her. For the first time, I can feel her fear. It's no different from when I was murdering for the Sway. Everything is as it was back then for just a moment.

Her fingers coil around my wrists. She resists, finally, nails biting into flesh and blood pooling until it overflows down the backs of my hands. She only just manages to wrest a breath away from me. It was enough. "Have you always had that temper?" she manages to smile.

One of us won't survive this journey. I think that's what she's hoping for, too. I take back my hands, still bleeding, and take hold of my ale. The froth is disproportionate and the smell is nearly intolerable. "Must be all they had to spare," I mutter as the amber fluid slides down my gullet. It tastes fouler than piss, if that's even possible. My face betrays nothing of my disgust as I look back at the woman.

Charlene smiles sweetly.

"You told her you loved her," she said, closing her eyes. Fuck you, Charlene. Fuck you to the deepest hell. "Did you want to take her far away from Salvar?"

"I don't see how that has anything to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me, Stalt." She is burning me with that gaze again. Was she truly so jealous of her sister? Which of her words has truth? Do any of them? "You can at least tell me. She's dead now. Were you lying to her? Did you say it just to make yourself feel better?"

"I fucking hate you." I could have responded honestly, or ignored her, but the rage blinded me. My feelings took over in that instant, for the very first time in... as long as I can remember. "I would rather watch you hang from the Cathedral of Saint Denebriel than ride in that carriage with you for one more second. Is that what you want me to say?"

"I want to know how you really felt." If my rage surprised her, I can't tell. She doesn't change her expression at all. As she leans closer, I'm forced a step back, off my stool. She follows, and I can't make any distance at all. "All you have is bitter anger, and when faced with the consequences of your actions, all you know how to do is throw a fit and run away. I'm glad she's dead, because she would be so disappointed at what you really are."

"You don't know a fucking thing about me." The urge to draw any one of my blades and drive it through her throat burns. I've felt as though I was on fire all this time. She hasn't let me cool off at all.

"You think being strong and silent makes you difficult to read? Everything you do is a story, Stalt." Those words are the first she's said to give me pause. For an instant, I see wisdom in those eyes, not hate. "If you want to write a good one, you'll have to do better."

"I'm going back to the carriage," I'm already out the door before she can protest. Surprisingly, she was not far behind. "You're not going to finish your wine?" I ask.

"We've got to try to keep a schedule," she chides. She's acting as though she didn't follow me and indulge the same as I did. "I'm so glad you've come to your senses."

I stare long at the barren woods, stumps as far as I can see. Curiously, there's no sign of the woodsmen working. I glance back toward the inn, and I wonder about the old man. When I'd gone in, there were people working at the wood. Less than half of an hour had passed. "I wonder if they've all gone home?" I ask absently.

"Into the carriage now," Charlene hurries me. "We've got a lot more ground to cover."