Merc winds up and brings the sword to the gate once more.Gong!
Closing my eyes, I feel the nearly imperceptible vibration in the… whatever it is. And then I look up, way up, at the pearly expanse.
“I think if I had some explosives,” Merc announces. “Or a cannon—”
With a snap of cognition, my mind takes me back to Mr. Lewis’s pub.
“I know what to do.” I stride over to Lavante. “I have to return to the Outpost. They have what is needed there.”
As I’m swinging up into the saddle, Merc goes over to his horse and likewise mounts. The sight of him urging his slowpoke toward my stallion fills me with a relief that I refuse to acknowledge.
“Coming back with me?” I ask.
“Unless you think you can drag a cannon back by yourself, you’re going to need me.”
I could tell him that’s not what I’m going to get, not even close. But then he might change his mind, and I want him by my side.
Even if it’s just for a little longer.
Merely for safety, of course.
Nothing more.
Sixty-FiveRecruitments.
“You cannot be serious.”
We’re stepping out of Thale’s establishment as Merc makes the announcement. And follows it up with: “And he believed you.”
“It’s going to work.” I have no idea if this is going to work. “Trust me.”
“You’re mad.” He gets back on his horse. “And he’s mad for listening to you.”
One of the sets of double doors opens, and Thale emerges with two of his working women, and I try to avoid looking at the one on the left. It’s Bethle, the lady for hire Merc was with, her long blond hair flowing down her pink gown. A quick glance at him and he doesn’t seem to notice her in any fashion—and she doesn’t seem to mind. Linking arms with her cohort, who is in turquoise, the pair of them are like fancy birds in the bright light, their bodices rippling as they giggle and preen.
“I must say, this is a new approach to an old problem.” Thale looks down the lane impatiently. “But it’s a lovely day for an outing in my coach, isn’t it, my dears.”
“Wait.” I glance at him. “There’s a third.”
“Oh? Does she have blond hair?” He smiles in Merc’s direction. “One fair-haired maiden seems to be more than enough, no?”
Merc’s glare is sharp as his broadsword’s blade. “Youreallydon’t want to address me right now.”
I step in between them. “Just hold on a moment.”
Praying that the pair of them don’t get into it, I race back inside and pass the stairs. Pushing open the kitchen door, I scan the maids who are about, kneading bread dough at the counters, doubling up to roll in extra kegs of mead, stocking logs by the oven’s side doors. Everything is cleaner, and freshersmelling, and the pall that seemed to affect all the staff has lifted. Talk is relaxed, cheerful—
“Oh! There you are.” I go over to Lalah. “I need your help—”
“You’re back!” She smiles at me. “Your room is ready—”
“I need you to come with me.”
Her brows rise, but she immediately wipes her floured hands on her apron. “Of course.”
In my haste, I almost trip over a bag of grain, and she helps me catch my balance. As we head through the kitchen door, she turns to go up the stairs.
“No, out here.”
