“What do you mean, you’re leaving?” Cara shouldered another leather sack belonging to Pasty Ass—Dayton, she quickly reminded herself. His name is Dayton Helfand, and if he’s the marque for this quest, I’d best remember his name at the very least. Even if his skin looked like he hadn’t seen sunlight since birth. The sack was heavier than she expected, for being filled with clothing and other “soft goods,” as Dayton had called them back in the room. She readjusted the strap for a more comfortable fit. “Cara?” She raised her head, fingers still tucked beneath the sack’s strap. She couldn’t quite meet Jeffrey’s eyes, choosing instead to focus on a point above his left shoulder. (The mantelpiece was getting dusty there.) “Yes, I’m leaving with Acolyte Helfand.” “You’re not…” Jeffrey took a step toward her. “You’re not in trouble, are you? I mean, running away with him like this…” “I’m not running away with him,” she said, perhaps more sharply than she intended. She winced when she saw Jeffrey flinch back, and tried to make amends. “He’s hired me to do a bit of work for him, seeing as…” She paused, considering her next words. She hadn’t told Jeffrey about the previous night’s incursion by the professional thief, and she didn’t intend to. After all, with Dayton and his “box”—whatever it was—out and away from the inn, there should be no reason for him to fret. “Seeing as Cadens is further away from the monastery than he thought,” she finally finished. She shrugged, and the pack bounced against her shoulder blades. “He thought a local like me could make sure he got to the capital in one piece, and who’m I to say no?” “So you’ll be, what, his guide?” Jeffrey picked up a dirty pot and set it in the washing basin. His arms disappeared to the elbows in suds. “Something like that. I’m to keep his head and all the important bits attached to his body.” And his precious box safe, she added mentally, but decided not to mention it. Something about that dratted thing had her attention—a mystery that nagged at her even as she chafed at the bit to be gone. “You’re handy with a sling, for sure,” Jeffrey said slowly. He rubbed a cloth over the inside of the pot, not bothering to actually scrub it as he considered her. “I’m not sure what we’d’ve done if you hadn’t taken care of that rat nest in the cellar last winter. But guarding? Guiding? That’s Hero’s work, that is.” Cara kept her face smooth as she answered, “Sure, but are there any Heroes about?” Besides me. “The acolyte says he means to leave within the hour, and that’s with or without protection. The road leads through the mashes, Master Jeffrey,” she said, almost pleading with the man who’d helped her back on her feet. “I couldn’t just let him go without help.” “Sure you could.” Jeffrey sighed. “But you wouldn’t, or you wouldn’t be you. He’ll be paying you, yes? And for room and board?” Cara grinned. “You think I’d have taken the job without getting that cleared up?” “Yes.” She stuck her tongue out at her former master. “Yes, he’s paying for all that, and a fair wage besides.” “Define ‘fair.’” “A brass feather for every day we’re on the road, and a silver egg as a bonus when we get to the city safely—along with a reference.” “Reference? What do you need a reference for?” Drat. She hadn’t meant to mention the fact that Dayton had promised a letter of recommendation to the Heroes Guild, to permit her to take the Trials and recertify with the guild—this time, as an independent Hero. “I—” But Jeffrey waved a hand, saving her the need to come up with a reasonable excuse. “No, don’t bother explaining—it’s nothing that’s any of my business. It’s obvious you weren’t going to stick around here very long, anyway, once you found your sense again. Much as we’ll miss you around here—yes, we will, don’t argue—it never quite seemed right, picturing you wasting away here.” He sighed. “Much as it would’ve been nice for the company, you were made for other things.” Cara didn’t know what to say, exactly. She chewed her lip, trying to find a way to say thank you and sorry and all the other bits that bubbled to her lips. But Jeffrey forestalled any sort of sappy sentimental scene by finishing his scrub of the pot, briskly drying his hands, and striding to the pantry. “The least I can do is see that my best barmaid is properly prepared for her whirlwind, big city adventure, no? What supplies will you be needing?”