Page 24 of Blood & Claw

Talia studied her for a long moment before returning her attention to the oatcakes, flipping them with practiced ease. However, her expression was now unsettled.

Ailsa wondered then if she should have asked someone else about hiring a sellsword. The pie-seller was clearly a soft-hearted woman, and her warmth had made Ailsa feel comfortable with her. Safe. But her motherliness could also turn into a problem.

Silence settled in the roundhouse, broken only by the sizzle of the griddle and the crackle of the hearth fire. This space reminded her of home; of evenings in Kayla’s workshop when the day’s work was done, and supper bubbled over the fire.

Talia slid the oatcakes onto a wooden trencher and carried it to the small table where Ailsa sat. A clay pot of pottage—thick with barley and root vegetables, rich with mutton fat—already steamed between them.

“Do you know where I might find one?” Ailsa asked as the older woman settled onto the bench across from her.

“Aye,” Talia replied with a sigh. “But eat first.”

Swallowing her impatience, Ailsa dug a wooden spoon into her pottage. She then took a mouthful. It was good, savory and warming. For a few moments, she let herself focus on it, her muscles loosening for the first time all day.

Talia pushed the oatcakes closer, along with a wedge of hard cheese. “Get some of that into you too. You look half-starved.”

Ailsa cut her a grateful smile. Breaking off a piece of oatcake, she ate quickly, washing it down with some ale.

However, it wasn’t long before her mind kept circling back to those cloaked men she’d lost. Where were they keeping Kayla? Every moment Ailsa delayed felt like a betrayal. Her foot started to tap under the table.

She became aware then that Talia was watching her. “What’s this about then?” her host asked finally. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“No.” Ailsa’s throat tightened. “But someone I care about is.”

Talia frowned. “Maybe you should take this to the chieftain. He’s a good man. I’m sure he’d—”

“No,” Ailsa cut her off, pulse lurching. “I can’t draw that kind of attention.”

A pause followed, and then Talia set down her spoon. “You’ll likely find what you’re looking for at the Cutthroat Wynd ale-hall.”

Ailsa tensed at the ominous name. Cutthroat Wynd?

“Aye.” Talia grimaced. “It’s where the really rough sort drink.”

Ailsa frowned. She’d already had a brush with Farnoch’s underbelly. She wasn’t looking forward to doing business with them. What if she got herself into a difficult situation again? What if she got herself killed?

She started to sweat as she relived the attack, her full belly churning.

There had been moments in that wynd when she’d enjoyed herself. Driving her blade into that thug’s leg had thrilled her.

What kind of response was that?

It scared her.

The urge to tell Talia reared up then. Instead, she swallowed the words. How could she explain something she scarcely understood herself?

Ailsa drew in a deep, steadying breath. Hold fast. Now wasn’t the time to lose her nerve.

Kayla was counting on her.

She leaned forward. “How do I get there?”

“From here, you go down two levels, then take the wynd that runs past a lantern maker’s workshop. Follow it until it bends left … and you’ll see the ale-hall.” Talia reached for her cup and was about to take a sip when her gaze dropped to where Ailsa’s hands rested on the table.

She stilled, her eyes widening.

And when Ailsa followed her stare, her breathing caught. Her fingernails. Gods. She’d forgotten to check them. They’d grown long again—so fast now—curving into sharp points that gleamed in the firelight like tiny blades.

Quickly, she curled her fingers into her palms, hiding them. She’d need to file them tonight.