There’s a thump and a rustling in whatever room is beyond, and the maid begins to tremble. “You must go—”
“Let me help you—”
“No.”
She slips back through the portal, and I feel as though I’ve just watched her disappear into her grave. My first and only instinct is to go in after her, but I know if I’m caught here by the cook, there’s no doubt what the consequences will be.
My seeing her death and trying to do something about it… will cause her to be murdered.
I hurry out, hating every step that carries me away. I wish I were as physically strong as Merc. I wish I could wield a broadsword and behead that cruel, bullying ogre.
As I emerge into the pub proper, I can feel a dark energy flowing through me, and instead of being horrified by it, I find myself embracing the wrath and anger. I don’t know where it comes from, and I don’t care as I round the base of the stairs and start my ascent. With every step, I imagine a different demise for that bloated drunk who’s terrorizing that innocent girl—and doing more than just beat her.
I’d kill him with my bare hands if I—
My feet come to a halt halfway up, and an odd tunneling of my vision occurs. As my sight dims, my hearing becomes more acute, and I look down.
Through the loosely nailed boards of the steps, I hear the voices, back and forth. The low, slurred deep one, the meek, higher-pitched one. The cook has roused, maybe because of my interruption. Closing my eyes, I pray that I’m wrong about what I’ve been shown.
Even though I know I am not.
Every instinct in me tells me to go down there and put myself between them, bodily. But that will just put her in more danger—
“Get out,” he bellows. “You worthless whore—get the grain!”
There is a scampering and a door closes.
I exhale, even as I know this is no reprieve for her. Just a pause in the destiny that’s coming like a reaper.
From out of a part of me that I don’t recognize, a conviction takes root and begins to grow. I tell myself it’s wrong, on so many levels. When you can’t live with inaction, however, you don’t always get to choose the trail you’re set upon.
As I lift my foot up and place it on the next step, I’m aware that I’ve made a decision, and I spend the rest of the stairs trying to find a way around it. The time is now, however.
Just as I reach the top, the door of the room before me opens—
Merc steps out and is pulling his surcoat back on. Behind him, in a bed draped in bloodred satin, one of the working women is lying back in an indolent sprawl, her long, flaxen hair waving over the pillows, her naked breast exposed, her painted nails trailing down her cleavage as if she’s recalling what he did to her.
And being very satisfied with their interlude.
As his head comes up, he sees me and freezes. His face shows a brief flash of emotion, but then he puts a mask in place.
He recovers faster than I do. “What in the fates are you doing out of that room.”
Kicking up my chin, I arch my brow as I’ve seen him do countless times. “I’d ask you the same about being in there, but that’s self-explanatory. At least your pants were done up before you opened things.”
As I stride off, I find it incredible—in a bad way—that for someone who’s never felt jealousy before, I take to it with such facility.
Fifty-OneLimitations.
“I asked you a question.What are you doing out of that room.”
Merc is tight on my tail while I march down the corridor to our room—myroom, I mean. As he repeats his demand, he’s keeping his voice low, but he might as well be yelling. On my side, every time I blink, I see that bed… and all that’s in it. The wrinkled sheets, too. And those painted nails on the woman’s—
With a lithe jump, he gets ahead of me and shoves open the door, staying in the jambs so that I have to push by him. I’m more than happy to give him an elbow, and as he closes us in, I continue to walk as if I have a destination somewhere, anywhere, other than here. With him.
“You are not supposed to leave!” He jabs at the bolt. “I told you, you have to stay here—”
I walk right up to him and peg him eye to eye, even though I might as well be trying to meet a mountain in the summit. “No, I don’t.”
