Page 37 of Tusk Love

She told him anyway. She named an amount that made his eyes water. But he schooled his features into an impassive expression and sank into a stony silence.

The corner of Selene’s tusked mouth twitched in annoyance. “Youdoknow what’s in the trunk, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Oskar said without missing a beat. He wasn’t curious enough about the trunk’s contents to give the mercenary the upper hand in this conversation. He was getting really good at this lying thing.

“Then you are aware of how valuable it is, and you realize that we will not stop until we acquire it. The spider’s web snares all, from Bysaes Tyl to the Wuyun Gates.” Selene straightened as she warmed to her topic. “We know that your name is Oskar and that you killed the bandits who attacked the wagon. You left only Lashak alive, although barely. We have been on your trail since Druvenlode, and we will hound you all the way to the Menagerie Coast. It would be so much easier for you to just take the money and give us what we want.”

“You mean that it would be so much easier foryou,” Oskar countered. He was, in all honesty, a bit ticked off that she’d assumed such a crude attempt at intimidation would work on him. “Let’s discuss what really happened, shall we? You were looking for a girl in a wagon that had set out from Rexxentrum. You found Lashak, probably in the same forest where I left him, and he gave you my description.”And he must have croaked before he could tell you that I wasn’t the one who killed his men.“The nearest settlement was Druvenlode, so you went there and asked around until you learned my name and confirmed that I was traveling with the girl. You then caught up with us, but we all know how that turned out.” He shot Selene a look of cool triumph.“You did not track us to Zadash. This is the next big city on the Amber Road—it’scommon sensethat we would stop here. So spare me the bullshit. Maybe you thought it would work on me because you heard I’m just a laborer. But you’re going to have to try much harder than that.”

The uniya’s emerald eyes flashed. He could see it on her face—she was deciding whether to strike now and remove him from the equation permanently. He cleared his throat, darting a meaningful glance beyond the alley. At the six members of the Crownsguard patrolling up and down the street.

Selene glowered at him. “You’re making some very powerful enemies, Oskar.”

He snorted. “You couldn’t even defeat myhorse.”

And he shoved off from the wall and stalked away. If there was one thing he hated more than treehuggers, it was mercenaries. Give a bunch of people some matching armor and a random emblem to rally around, and they started thinking they were better than everyone else.

As luck would have it, there was a kiosk selling sandwiches not too far from the inn, manned by a disinterested-looking gnome. Oskar ordered the venison and crumbled cheese for Guinevere and the much cheaper salted pork and onion for himself.

“These are apparently the best sandwiches in Wildemount,” he informed the proprietor while the latter hacked off slices of venison from the spit.

The gnome’s bushy brows drew together in surprise. “Who in the Platinum Dragon’s name told youthat?”

Oskar smirked. “Just some guy.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Guinevere

There was an awful, burning sensation in Guinevere’s chest. Not the blaze of wildfire, but the sharp sting of ice. She drew the moldy curtains shut and stepped back from the room’s lone window, through which she had watched Oskar disappear into an alley with the beautiful woman in the red dress.

Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. Maybe she’s just an old friend of his.

But that didn’t clear up why he’d been so eager to stash Guinevere away behind a locked door…unless he didn’t want his friend to get the wrong idea, which ripped open the possibility that he considered the seafoam-skinned brunette woman more than a friend.

Of course, there was another, perhaps more logical explanation. Oskar had needs, like any other man. That much had been made obvious by the waterfall terrace. But the fact of Guinevere’s betrothal had prevented him from fulfilling them all the way with her, so he’d turned to one of Zadash’s night doves as soon as he could.

Or maybe she wasn’t a night dove—just a pretty lady who’d happened to catch his eye. Whatever the case, he’d lied to Guinevere about going to buy sandwiches and had gone off withherinstead.

Doesn’t that just grind your gears?crooned Teinidh, her flames licking at every jagged insecurity lodged in Guinevere’s soul, trying to twist each one to fullest advantage.Don’t you just want to march out there and claim what’s yours?

You are a terrible influence,Guinevere informed her, managing a trace of haughtiness that was all she had to give before she slumped under the weight of crushing futility. The humble room’s peeling walls felt as though they were closing in, the blazing hearth too bright. Oskar wasn’t hers and would never be hers. Not only because she had to marry someone else, but also because of what was inside her.

Oskar was a good man, and every moment that Guinevere stayed with him was another moment he could perish in the uncontrollable wrath of wildfire, or at the hands of the mercenaries who wanted her and the trunk. She had been too incredibly selfish—too shamefully scared—to let him go.

That had to end today.

She had no right to be angry at him for lying to her. He’d made her his responsibility, but that didn’t mean she was any less of a nuisance. He’d be better off turning around and heading for Boroftkrah, like he’d originally planned—like he’d promised his mother—and dallying with all the old friends and night doves he encountered along the way without having to worry about a useless, naïve girl who was hiding a horrible secret from him despite everything he’d already done for her.

It was past time for Guinevere to take matters into her own hands and do what was best for him.

For them both. Because every moment that she stayed with Oskar was another moment wherein it became more and more difficult for her not to imagine staying forever.

The innkeeper had proudly announced that, although the Song and Supper was an older establishment, they still provided little complementary luxuries such as enough writing materials to pen and postone letter (“with our inn’s seal!”). Guinevere rummaged through the desk drawers, and soon enough she was scribbling a note to Oskar. Her tutors would have despaired at the inelegance of her hurried strokes, but what mattered to her was that she meant every word that she jotted down from the stream of scattered thoughts racing wildly through her mind.

Dearest Oskar,

I’m afraid that I haven’t been very honest with you. Although, is it really lying if you don’t reveal what wasn’t asked in the first place? That’s where the term “lying by omission” comes from, I suppose…

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