The first soldier stepped up to the women where they huddled together and grabbed the mother by her hair, pulling her up out of Nim’s arms and thrusting her face toward Tor as she whimpered and begged. “This. This is what you will die for,” he growled out before throwing her back to the ground where she curled into a ball around her son and wept.
“And as for you….” He spun toward Nim where she knelt, and she shrank back into her cloak and ducked her head into her chest.
He stepped forward and let fly with a savage kick toward her side. She saw him lift his foot and flung herself away but not quick enough to escape entirely, and she felt fire as the toe of his boot scraped viciously along her ribs.
Beside her, Tor shouted in horror and fought to reach her, but the other two soldiers held him back.
“Get up,” the soldier growled to the women. “We’ll deal with you when we get to Gatehouse.”
Nim ignored the burning agony down her side as she rose slowly to her feet, trying not to panic.
Gatehouse Prison was the worst possible place they could go. Filled with murderers and thieves. Policed via a brutal hierarchy of thugs and gangsters. Even she knew of it, despite having lived all her life in a distant village. And it filled her with terror.
They were alone. Unlikely to live through the next hours. Her brother didn’t even know she had tried to reach him. And Tristan….
Her heart ached. What would Tristan think when he found out what had happened? Gods, she wished they’d had more time.
She kept her face down as she helped the other woman and her son to their feet and wrapped her arm around them, thoughts rushing desperately as she tried to think of something, anything that she could do to fix this. And came up blank.
Chapter Twelve
Tristan foldedhis arms and tried not to glare at the third innkeeper they’d seen that morning.
The man was short and wiry with a shiny bald head and flushed face. His Tarasque scales were a dull gray and he had a disconcerting nervous habit of wringing his hand through his apron, all while darting glances toward the kitchen at the back of the room where Tristan had seen two pretty, blond-haired young women disappear as soon as they arrived.
The Cup seemed clean and well run, with a few locals sitting in a corner enjoying a rich-smelling stew. But, much like the other inns he’d tried, it seemed that the rooms that would normally house merchants, wealthy farmers, and other travelers were surprisingly quiet. A glance around the stables had shown empty stalls and a daydreaming groom.
And yet the innkeeper had taken one look at him, Jeremiel, and Garet and, just like the two before him, insisted that they were full.
Once they had seen Nim and Tor safely through the city gates, they had separated to their different tasks. Tristan had thought their job would be quick and easy. Get lodgings, ideally spread across several nearby inns or taverns so that they didn’t form too obvious a squad, and then get back to Nim.
And yet, here he stood. Making no progress whatsoever. And the delay was riling the primal part of him. The part that had claimed Nim and wanted to know where she was. Right now.
“I have been past your stables. I can see for myself, man, you’re not full. Surely you want the coin?”
The man mumbled something vague about guests arriving later. Tristan looked at Jeremiel over his shoulder, who shook his head briefly. Lie.
Tristan scrubbed his hands down his face. “I don’t understand the problem. We know that you’re empty. We need rooms. At least one, for my, uh….”
He was going to say sister, but that just sounded wrong. He cast around for a better option, aware that the innkeeper was watching him closely.
“Wife,” he settled on eventually, ignoring the quiet snort from Garet behind him.
“Your wife?” the innkeeper asked suspiciously.
“Yes. My wife. And her brother,” he added. It was a good thing he hadn’t said sister if Nim was going to arrive with her arms inked.
“You need a room for you and your wife? And another for her brother?” the innkeeper asked, looking uncertain.
“Yes.” Tristan took out a gold coin and offered it to the man. “This should cover two rooms for the next two days, including meals and hot water, with stabling for our horses.”
It was way more than the room was worth, but they had to have somewhere to stay.
The innkeeper eyed the coin as he let go of his apron and wiped his palm down the cloth a few times before replying slowly, “I just remembered that we had a cancellation this morning. Two rooms are free after all. One for you and your wife. One for her brother. But,” his lips pinched as he eyed Jeremiel and Garet, “there are no other rooms. At all. Whatsoever.”
Tristan sighed and glanced over at the two other men. Jeremiel shook his head slightly, while Garet shrugged. Another lie. But nothing they said was going to change the man’s mind.
“Fine,” Tristan agreed, “we’ll take the two rooms. We’ll be back later this afternoon. Please get them cleaned and prepared in the meantime.”
