“What? No! I work here.” Cara’s lips thinned. “What sort of question is that to ask a body who just saved your pasty ass?”

“A reasonable one, since you know the first body who tried to kill me!”

“Not at all! I don’t usually greet acquaintances by sword point.”

“He certainly seemed to know you well, or at least be professional acquaintances. You’re both part of the same Guild or something, aren’t you.”

His voice grew stronger with each passing moment, though it still retained a rough edge. Cara didn’t know if that was the throat jab or the anger and embarrassment she sensed growing in the man—lad, really. He couldn’t have been older than she.

In fact, she was fairly sure the bugger was younger than she was. Cara put her hands on her hips, sword jutting behind her like a strange tail.

“I haven’t got a clue in the world what that man was talking about. He was talking Gryphish for all I could understand of the jabber. In the name of all that’s holy, what are you up to, that you’ve got a man like him coming after you, anyway?”

The guest swelled like a bullfrog. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would!” Cara snapped. “I’d especially like to know if it’s going to be bringing trouble to Master Jeffrey’s place.” She grabbed an edge of the guest’s sheet and began to walk toward the window for the extra light to see by.

The guest yelped in protest. “Hey! It’s cold!” He gathered the remaining top blanket around his knobbly knees and glared.

Cara returned the look with added venom. Her patience for the evening had officially run out.

“Listen here, blondie. My sword's dirty, and that bunghole’s already messed up the sheets past what Liza can make right. I don’t particularly like talking to folks with my blade drawn, so I’m going to wipe the blood off of my sword that got dirty protecting your pasty ass, and then you’re going to tell me what has got a trained member of the Thieves’ Guild poking around your room in Master Jeffrey’s inn. And if I don’t like your answer, I’m gonna go wake Master Jeffrey, and we’re going to turn this entire inn upside down to find whatever it is that this man wants so we can give it to him tomorrow with our blessing on it!”

The last words came out as a hiss. Cara felt flags of temper waving high in her cheeks, but she didn’t care. She was done tiptoeing around every patron who came to the inn as an honored guest, especially a guest who’d put Master Jeffrey’s establishment at risk by attracting the attention of trained troublemakers.

What little color the guest’s face had drained as if her words had opened a spigot somewhere in his lower torso. She’d have to check the sheets later for body soil. “You wouldn’t. You can’t!”

“I would and I could,” Cara said. She wiped the sheet over her blade, tilting it back and forth in the night’s light to see if the blood was all gone.

Cara could’ve cleaned the sword from lantern light instead of the dim starlight, but she needed the cool air on her forehead and neck. Righteous anger fueled her composure at the moment, but the battle high she’d had in her encounter with the intruder-thief was quickly receding. She needed the boost of the cold to stay alert.

The guest fiddled with the blanket between his fingers, first ruffling the fabric before smoothing it flat again. “It’s… it’s a delivery,” he said finally. “I have to take something to my master.”

“Your master?” Cara cocked her head. “Did you get separated?”

“No, nothing like that.” The guest gripped the pendant so hard that the skin stretched over his knuckles. “I… I’m an acolyte. I’ve just been assigned to a cleric in Cadens. Cleric Matimus. Do you know him?”

He looked at her hopefully. Cara shook her head, and he sighed. “No, I suppose that would’ve been too much to hope for. I was told to take this road into the city, and then the abbot handed me this great box that’s too heavy by half and told me to see it safe into the cleric’s hands. And here I am, a week into my first journey as a real acolyte, and I’ve already botched it by letting it almost get snatched by a thief and telling a complete stranger the whole sorry tale!”

He started to sniffle, and the whole scene just became too pathetic for Cara to stay mad. Her back relaxed, and she leaned against the window frame. The breeze blew wisps of hair in front of her eyes.

“I’m a stranger who saved your life, at least. Surely that’s not too great a sin, but you’d know better than I would, I expect.”

That got her a watery chuckle. “No sin, just hurt pride.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Perhaps you’re the gods’ lesson for me today, to warn against vanity.”

Cara glanced at his unblemished hands, the result of lotions and balms easing away any baby blister. “Mm. Well, is your box safe?”

“The box? Yes, it’s—”

“Don’t tell me where! He might still be about, listening from the roof or something.”

His eyes grew wide. “D’you really think so?”

Cara sighed. “No, I don’t think so, but I expect talking about that thing is going to invite more trouble than you or I could handle at the moment.”

She yawned and covered her mouth, missing the stricken look that passed his face. “The trouble’s passed, I think, but it’s time and past for me to get to bed and you to get whatever sleep you can. G’night.”

And with that, she strode from the room, not tripping even once—but her mind was too focused on her beautifully uncomplicated bed with its clean sheets and warm blankets to appreciate the rare moment of grace.