Anger builds inside me as I help her to her feet and offer her my cloak to cover herself. She accepts it, wrapping it tightly around her shuddering body.
There’s only one recourse for the man who did this to her. He must pay for his sins. I cannot allow him to get away with this or, Olah forbid, allow him to hurt someone else.
My mind whirls as I lead Kahlia to my crumbling cottage, wishing I had something to offer her—food, wine, a proper bath to wash away all that should not have been. Instead, I guide her to the lumpy mattress and cover her in a worn blanket.
I reassure her that everything will be all right, and I will be back soon. She nods and sinks against the bed, her puffy eyelids heavy with exhaustion.
Near the door, her soft voice carries to me as she whispers prayers to Olah. I grip the doorframe and scowl. Olah will not save her. Nor will he avenge her.
Imust avenge her!
After I leave the cottage, I focus on finding the man responsible for attacking Kahlia. It gives me a purpose beyond trying to find Everly. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I walk with quick, determined steps toward one of the more popular alehouses, hoping he is there and not at the establishment where I used to work. Shadows conceal me as I move through the streets, my heart pounding with anticipation.
Yes, anticipation.
It crawls under my skin, rushes through my veins, smolders in my blood. It’s wrong. Every fiber of my being knows it’s wrong, yet I allow it to lure me on. A part of me even craves this fight.
Finally, the alehouse comes into view.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what’s to come, and with a determined stride, I push the door open and step inside. The stench of ale and sweat assaults me, but I ignore it as I scan the faces in the room. It takes me a moment, but then, I spot him—the monster who hurt Kahlia.
He’s having a drink, surrounded by his companions, while Kahlia hides in my crumbling cottage, praying to Olah.
His smug expression is my undoing.
Every bit of reason I once possessed fades as I walk toward him, my eyes never leaving his face.
He sneers when his watery eyes settle on me. “What do you want, old woman?”
“I want justice…” I reply, my voice steady and firm, “…for the woman you assaulted and robbed.”
Twisted amusement plays across his face. “What are you going to do about it?”
Fire courses through my veins as I reach for a goblet and shatter it against the table. The man raises a thick eyebrow as I lean over and scoop up a jagged fragment.
He even has the audacity to smirk. “Is that supposed to be a weapon?”
I tighten my fingers around the shard as I take a step closer to him. “You will not get away with what you did to her.”
A mixture of amusement and disdain spark in the man’s empty gray eyes. “Who are you to make such threats?”
“I am the one who will make you pay.” How calmly I say those words. How coldly, as if an iceberg has crawled into my heart and frozen everything.
With that, I lunge forward, the jagged edge of the pottery glinting in the dim light. The man doesn’t move fast enough, and I plunge the fragment into his shoulder. He howls in pain as the other patrons of the alehouse scramble to their feet.
I ignore them, focusing on the man, who staggers backward, clutching at the wound on his shoulder. Spurred by the memory of Kahlia’s tears, I lunge forward again, and this time, I aim for his chest. He tries to dodge, but I am too quick. My makeshift weapon slices into his flesh. He falls to the ground, gasping for breath.
Fury threatens to blind me as I stand over him, my chest heaving, his blood dripping from my hands.
“Get her!” someone shouts.
Wide, accusing eyes turn to me as the patrons of the alehouse converge on me.
“Kill her,” the same person screams again. “She has the plague.”
My chest tightens at the vehemence behind his words—the same ones that people screamed at me weeks ago after seeing my hands. Because of their fear, they refused to employ me, speak to me, or be kind to me. They lacked even the basic charity to offer me food. Except for Kahlia. She showed me benevolence when no one else would.
The crowd inches closer, a mosaic of anger carved on every face. Their shouts pierce the air, sharp and accusatory, and their hands clench and unclench, each one prepared to mirror the harm I have caused.
