“They like the thought of sleeping with the sorceress,” the banker woman said.
Emily didn’t have to fake embarrassment. The cover story would ensure that no one would connect her with the real Emily, but it was still embarrassing. She looked down, allowing them to draw their own conclusions. They’d believe those more than anything Emily might tell them.
The merchant woman sniffed, then changed the subject. Emily listened as she finished her stew, enjoying it more than she wanted to admit. It had taken her a while to get used to eating rabbit, when the sergeants had caught rabbits to feed their students on overnight forced marches, but the meat tasted good. And selling the pelts was apparently a good way for country boys to earn a little money.
She knew she should stay longer and see what other rumors she could pick up, but she suspected it would be useless. No one knew anything for sure. The civil war was about to begin, the civil war was underway, the civil war was already over or never going to happen or…there were just too many contradictory rumors. Instead, she bid her dining companions farewell and left the room. Her thoughts were a muddle. She knew she needed to lie down and sleep.
And wake up tomorrow covered in insect bites, she thought. It had happened before and would no doubt happen again. They’d run out of insect-repelling incense long ago. Surely we could cast a ward against insects.
The inn felt oddly quiet, although she could hear music in the distance. Someone would have hired an entertainer to keep the men quiet, she was sure. It might save the inn from being torn apart if the mercenaries got bored and started a fight. She walked along the wooden corridor, suddenly unsure of the way back to her room…
…And then she heard someone grunt in pain.
Chapter Three
EMILY HESITATED, TORN BETWEEN THE urge to run forward to investigate and the need to keep her head down. Someone was in trouble, someone needed help…and yet, she didn’t dare draw attention to herself. Getting kicked out of the inn would be a disaster, but…
“Let go of me,” a voice pleaded. A girl’s voice. “Please!”
Emily was moving before her mind had quite caught up. She had an awful feeling she knew what she was about to see, even before she rounded the corner. A man–a mercenary, judging by his hair and leathers–was pushing the young girl Emily had met earlier against the wall, his face so close to hers that he was practically forcing her to kiss him. Emily felt her stomach churn with rage, a rage so strong she had to put solid blocks on her magic to keep from accidentally incinerating the entire inn. How dare he?
He dares because he knows no one will stop him, her thoughts answered. And no one will believe her if she complains.
She slipped the dagger out of her belt and moved forward, as quietly as she could. The man didn’t seem to hear her, too intent on forcing the younger girl into submission. Emily walked up behind him and held her dagger to his throat, barely resisting the urge to butcher him like a hog as he froze. She could do it…but there would be too many questions, too much attention from the local authorities. And if someone had already hired the would-be rapist, he’d have questions too.
“Let go of her,” Emily ordered, sharply. “Now!”
The man seemed to hesitate, just for a second. Emily braced herself, ready to slash his throat if necessary. Sergeant Miles and Lady Barb had warned her, more than once, that some men would sooner die than allow themselves to be dictated to, particularly by a woman. And mercenaries were not known for allowing anyone to push them around. They had a habit of pulling up stakes and leaving if regular payments weren’t forthcoming.
He stepped backwards, dropping his hands to his side. The girl shot Emily a grateful look, then slipped away from the wall and hurried down the corridor. Emily hoped she’d have the sense to stay out of sight for the rest of the evening. The mercenary would be keeping an eye open for her, hoping for a chance to try to rape her again. God knew the girl’s parents wouldn’t be much help. They’d be in worse trouble if they tried to stop him.
She gritted her teeth. What now? She had a knife to his throat, but…if she tried to take it away, he’d have a clear shot at her. And if she used magic…she kicked herself, silently, for not having thought to bring a wand of her own. It would have explained any traces of magic without revealing her power, let alone her true identity. Perhaps if she stunned him, then hastily made a fake wand…the locals probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Or if she…
The mercenary moved, suddenly. One hand caught Emily’s arm and shoved it–and the knife–away from his throat, even as he slammed his other elbow into Emily’s chest. She stumbled back, gasping for breath; her fingers opened, involuntarily, dropping the knife to the floor. She barely heard it as he slammed her into the wall, one hand pressing against her throat. He was going to suffocate her! She reached for her magic desperately, cursing her own mistake, then had a better idea. The virgin blade slipped out of her sleeve and into her palm; she pressed it against his groin, as hard as she could without actually cutting his leathers. He froze, clearly terrified. Emily knew how men like him thought. Losing his manhood was almost worse than losing his life.
“Go away,” Emily ordered. It was hard to speak, even though he’d stopped pressing against her throat. “Now.”
He glared at her. She could smell his breath, so foul that she dreaded to imagine what he might have been eating. His beady eyes were alight with calculation, clearly wondering if he could get the other knife away from her and then…she shuddered at the thought she saw so clearly on his face. She’d have to use magic and that would be far too revealing…
His gaze slipped to the side and froze. Emily blinked in surprise, then risked a glance herself. Cat was standing there, holding his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. The mercenary hesitated, then jumped back and ran down the corridor with commendable speed. Emily didn’t really blame him, even though it was shameful. No one would fault Cat for killing someone who laid hands on his woman.
She took a long breath, then picked up her dagger and slotted it back into her belt. If she’d cut the bastard’s throat…perhaps she should have cut the bastard’s throat. The girl he’d wanted to rape wouldn’t be his last victim, not after what Emily had done to him. If the other mercenaries found out that he’d been threatened by a mere woman, he was going to be a laughingstock. He’d take it out on any woman unlucky enough to cross his path.
“Emily,” Cat said. “What happened?”
“He was going to rape her,” Emily said, numbly. “I had to intervene.”
“I know,” Cat said.
Emily looked at him, surprised. How could he know? He hadn’t seen the girl…no, he had seen the girl. She’d had the presence of mind to fetch him. Emily felt a flicker of admiration, mingled with a grim awareness that the mercenary wouldn’t be the first or last guest to threaten the inn’s staff. It wasn’t as if they were protected…
“She fetched you, then,” she said. “That was good thinking.”
“She told me to hurry,” Cat agreed. “And I don’t blame you.”