Hide.
That old familiar voice cracks like a whip, and as a horse that’s drifted off its trot into a walk, I snap back into action and inspect the turban-like hat. Yanking all my hair together, I wind it up high and force the dressing onto my head. Given that it’s made up of bands of fabric, I tear free the end of the top layer and the length falls down over my face, buffering the world in a haze of blue. To keep the veil in place, I tuck it into the shirting and finish things with the heavier outer coat.
The last thing I do is take Mare’s velvet satchel of coins out of my bloomers. The bag is nothing of its former pristine self, but the coins inside gleam like sunshine. Pouring them all out, I twist, twist, twist the fine material, wringing out the murky sludge. Then I use the very last of what’s in Julion’s bladder.
Like with me, it’s a resurrection.
I refill a dried, clean sack, and tuck it into the inside of the navy coat.
When I step out from behind the tree with the pack over one shoulder, both of the men who are waiting redirect their glowering expressions to me.
“You look like a boy,” Merc says dryly.
“She is perfectly dressed for discreet travel—”
“Assuming you want her to get mugged for all that silver.”
Julion’s jaw works in a circle, as if he’s chewing on insults he’d prefer to spit out. Next to him, Merc’s staring like he wishes the knight would open his mouth and let it all fly.
To ease the tension, I bow toward Julion. “You’re most generous. Thank you.”
Julion places his hand over his gleaming gold breastplate and inclines his torso in return. “You are most welcome.”
I hand him back the empty bladder. “What, may I ask, is that wash?”
“Oh, is it not lovely? My staff makes it from the garden at the—”
“Not to ruin this chatty conversation,” Merc cuts in, “butmayI remind you that there’s a village that still wants you dead. And they live on the far side of that.”
His heavy forearm swings around like the boom on a frigate ship, and my eyes follow where he’s pointing out of the tree line at the wall.
“Allow me to be of aid.” Julion steps in to me and takes my hand. “I have a steed, and a home that is very safe. No one will find you there, and if we leave now, we can be there by sundown—”
Merc closes the distance, too. But instead of gallantly assuming my free palm on the other side, he looms in all his black leather and hard-worn steel. “She and I already have an arrangement. I will see her where she needs to go.”
“It’s up to her—”
“She’s already decided—”
“And she can reconsider—”
“Enough!” As they both eyebrow at me, I shake my head. “Merc is right. He and I have made… an arrangement. He is going to ensure my passage to… safety.”
Not that I expect much of that. Along the way or wherever I end up.
“He’s going to get you killed.” Julion glares at the other man. “Because he’s going to desert you when it’s convenient for him or he gets a better offer. That’s what men like him do.”
“You don’t know me,jyrth.”
I nearly gasp. Not because I’m particularly lady-like—but because even after all my years at the Gauntlet, I’ve only ever heard that word used once before.
Julion does gasp, and rears up on his spine, like a prized stallion coming to attention. Maybe because one of its shod hooves touches excrement.
“Ibegyour pardon.”
“You can beg for whatever you want,” Merc drawls. “And something tells me you’re probably the kind whose preferences run in that vein. But pardon isn’t something you’re getting from ‘a man like me,’ now or ever, and especially when you’re in my way.”
With a slow, steady draw, Merc unsheathes his broadsword and then begins to idly flip the massive weapon in the air, like it weighs no more than a stick.Each time he catches the hilt, it smacks against his hand, and I’d be willing to bet my virtue, he’s picturing himself paddling Julion’s butt each time the sound rings out through the trees. Or worse.
