“A party?” I asked.
After another week of recovery, I was finally able to get out of bed. I still felt a bit unsteady on my feet, but as long as I had something to hold onto, I could manage to stand.
“If we’re going to do this, we have to strike hard while ensuring they’re at their weakest. Getting them drunk and gathered together makes it much easier,” she explained.
“But a party means—”
“You’ll have to fight. Yes, but her husband will be back in two days, and I know he’ll throw a party shortly after.”
“I’m not sure I’m strong enough,” I admitted.
“You have to be. This is our one chance. They rotate hosting these parties, and it’s finally his turn. We could be waiting months for another opportunity.”
I sighed, pressing on my still-healing wound. It stung, and moving was difficult.
