Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
SOFIA
T he next few days went by in the same steady and slow monotony as always, Sofia’s mind barely registering a difference between each morning and evening. Frankie hadn’t blinked when they had shown up to work a day early and she was all too happy to assign them work. Sofia cleaned the rooms she was assigned and scrubbed the pots and pans after each meal, Flor working beside her. They listened carefully through the walls and to the gossip, waiting for some mention of the soldier that had gone missing or the king’s current mood, but nothing of consequence was said. Even the women who serviced the soldiers at night, at least those Flor and Sofia were friends with, hadn’t heard anything of use during the past week. Sofia was beginning to wonder if the chief commander was simply planning on hiding the kidnapping of his general’s son.
The morning she woke up for her last day of work something felt different. The clouds that had blown in over the last few days were gone, and the small hole cut high on the wall of their room that acted as a window was letting in a breeze bordering on pleasant. Flor was already awake, washing her face in the small basin in the corner.
She turned and looked at where Sofia was stretching, sleep still heavy in her eyes. “Can you braid my hair?”
Sofia gave a small smile and motioned for Flor to sit back on her cot. The shorter woman gave a soft hum as Sofia combed her fingers through her hair, slowly taking out the knots that had accumulated through the past few days. This small ritual of theirs had started when they were still living on the streets together. Sofia’s mother had taught her how to braid when she’d been younger but Flor barely even remembered her mother. From what she knew, her father had been a Dereyan man who’d knocked her mother up and then left her without a backward glance. By the time Flor was four, her mother had died of pneumonia, leaving Flor to fend for herself. She had been on the streets for cycles before she found Sofia.
“You know I could teach you how to braid your own hair?” Sofia said as she twisted the strands of red hair between her hands. She’d had to relearn the technique after she’d lost her finger, but the moves were second nature once more.
“But then I wouldn’t have an excuse for you to do this,” she said simply. Sofia laughed and tugged lightly at the hair.
Breakfast was nearly done by the time they made it into the kitchens, Flor snagging two burned rolls from on top of the garbage, handing one to Sofia. She ate it in two bites, happy it was still warm even if the burned crust of the dough left a bitter taste on her tongue. She’d eaten worse.
Frankie didn’t even look up from where she was scribbling symbols into a notebook.
“Flor, start on the pans and Sofia, he was asking for you this morning. I don’t know if he’s still there, but clean the tables off while you’re out there. Charo’s late again. We’re closing at midday for a mandatory meeting in the square, so be quick about it.”
Sofia’s stomach dropped and she met Flor’s eyes. A mandatory meeting likely meant no good, but Sofia knew exactly what him was asking for her and it gave her some measure of hope. Perhaps he had good news. Flor’s face was grim, but neither of them could say anything in front of Frankie. While she was one of the few women willing to hire someone marked for treason, Sofia doubted her patience with rebels stretched so far as to tolerate outward resistance.
So instead, she turned away from Flor and swallowed back her emotions. Her nails dug into the skin on her hand until she could breathe again. She gave a sharp nod that Frankie didn’t acknowledge and then grabbed a tray from the counter and made her way out into the dining hall through the narrow doorway.
Despite the late hour, the hall itself was teeming with people. The majority of the patrons at the inn were off duty soldiers. It was situated near the edge of the barracks and few Dragonborn who lived in the slums had the money to afford even a warm ale. Sofia usually tried to avoid being out and about in front of the soldiers, who were often drunk before lunch, taking advantage of every moment of their leave. Some of the soldiers were eating their breakfasts quietly, but another handful were already throwing back ales and talking loudly next to the fire. A few of the inn’s workers were sitting on the men’s laps, happily taking their own sips from the ale and nibbling from their plates. She didn’t envy the women, knowing too well how they felt about the men they bedded for coin each night.
Frankie had spent the last few cycles trying to convince Sofia and Flor to join the ranks of working women. It paid well and would have been a more efficient way of gaining access to information and gossip, but Flor couldn’t stand the sight of a man’s penis and Sofia was just as likely to stab one of the soldiers out of pure bitterness as she was to bring him to orgasm.
She didn’t see Vato among the crowd, but the lone soldiers had their heads down and were minding their business. She avoided the tables near the fire, picking up the dishes around the rest of the dining hall first, trying her best not to draw attention. When a hand fell over her own as she reached to grab an empty glass, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“Fuck,” she cursed under her breath when she saw the bright green eyes of Vato looking back at her. She took stock of the table and room, but the man was alone and no one in the room had heard her exclamation.
“I can’t stay, but there is a meeting today,” he said, pulling her closer until she was straddling his lap. She hated this part, but it was the only way for them to talk without drawing attention.
She let out a huff of frustration, but moved forward, pressing herself closer to him. “I know. Is it?—?”
“I think. The general’s been tight lipped. You captured him? Alive?” He whispered the words in her ear, brushing her hair back. She let out an involuntary shudder at the feather-light touch. He wasn’t unattractive, but Sofia never mixed business with pleasure, and she hated that her body couldn’t always tell the difference.
“Yes. We have him and he’s alive for now. But gods, it was his damn son! It wasn’t supposed?—”
“I just came to make sure everything went to plan. I have to go.”
He pushed her back with a splayed hand. It was gentle enough, but she let herself stumble as she stepped back giving him a snarl.
“Prude, I didn’t want nothing anyway,” he slurred the words, loud enough for the table next to them to hear. He stood, giving her one last look before he walked out. She was left with shaky knees and no more information than she started with.
* * *
Sofia spent another twenty minutes clearing the tables as Frankie had ordered. There were half-eaten portions on plates left at tables from breakfast that still hadn’t been cleaned and Sofia wondered again where Charo was. This wasn’t the first time the woman had shown up late to work, but Frankie had never even threatened to fire her. Of course, Sofia also knew Charo had two kids at home and her husband was all but dead working on the labor farms. Frankie might have acted like a hard ass most days, but Sofia was pretty sure there was a soft heart under her biting exterior.
Once the rest of the tables were cleared, Sofia made her way over to the rowdy bunch of soldiers. They’d already gone through another round of drinks and the way the large man at the end of the table was gripping the woman on his lap made her lip curl. She recognized the woman’s bronze hair and freckled skin—Belen. She kept her head down as she grabbed the empty cups from their table—enough that she knew they were on their fifth or sixth round already. Four of the five men were still wearing their uniforms, the insignias ranging from high scout to the one holding Belen showing the rank of junior sergeant. They weren’t required to wear their uniforms off duty, but she knew they did so to ensure they could throw their weight around. No Dragonborn, no matter how highborn or wealthy would mess with the king’s soldiers.
“Get us another round, Sweetie,” one of the men—a high scout—said as he pushed his empty cups toward her. She didn’t make eye contact, simply giving a nod. Serving the guests wasn’t her job, but she’d tell Lidi of his request when she was back in the kitchens. She just needed to keep her head down and mouth shut.
Which would have been a perfectly doable plan, were it not for the large hand that fell against the small of her back and then moved lower until it squeezed her ass. She jolted upright, the cups on her tray quaking with her body, a few tumbling sideways. The junior sergeant was leering at her when she turned, her eyes no longer lowered.
“How much for a lay?”
“I’m on cleaning duty,” she said. He was only a foot from her and she could smell the stale ale on his breath and see the fine sheen of sweat along his pronounced brow. He might have been handsome at some point, before the drink had turned his skin sallow and his eyes red. She shouldn’t have stared. She should have averted her eyes like a good little Dragonborn.
“What are you looking at dragon-filth?” he asked with a scowl, showing off his yellowed teeth.
She opened her mouth, knuckles white as she clenched the tray she was holding, rage barely contained. But before she could say anything and dig herself into a deeper pile of trouble, Belen had turned back to the man and placed a fine-boned hand against the stubble on his cheek.
“Ignore the thing,” she said, voice smoky. She traced a finger down his chin, drawing his eyes into her own before moving her hand down his chest and lower still. “She’s just a kitchen maid, a waste of your time.”
Sofia thought it had worked. His eyes were focused solely on Belen now and she was able to take a step back, putting more space between her and the drunk man she so badly wanted to punch. But before she could take another step, Belen went flying across the floor, landing in a small heap a few feet away.
“Don’t tell me what my time’s worth,” he said, spit flying from his mouth. As Belen turned back to look up at the man, Sofia saw the blood dripping down her chin from a split lip.
“I didn’t mean—” she started, voice no longer husky but quavering.
He stood, body moving in a way all too familiar, from the turn of his hips and shifting of his weight. He pulled his leg back to kick Belen. And Sofia acted, without thought or plan. She lunged forward, grabbing his wrist and twisting it sharply, forcing him to turn back toward her. He was nearly half a foot taller than her, but his face was plenty near enough for her to send the heel of her hand up sharp and fast against the soft cartilage of his nose. She felt the snap in the same moment she rammed her knee into his groin.
Only a second after her knee had connected with soft flesh, she was being pulled back, a rough arm around her shoulders, pinning her arms to her sides. She kicked out automatically, hating the feeling of being restrained, but another soldier cuffed her across the face and her head snapped to the side. The shock of the hit brought her out of her rage and she took in the scene before her. Belen was no longer on the ground, having taken the distraction to duck from the dining hall. The other two women who had been acting as company were gone too and the five men were all standing, circled around her. The junior sergeant stood slightly hunched, blood dripping freely down his face from his broken nose.
“You’ll pay for that, Whore,” he sneered, moving forward to grip her chin in his hand. The calluses scraped against her skin and her nose flared at his sour stench. “I could send you to the whipping post for hitting an officer.”
Perhaps the thought should have sent more of a shock through her, but the fear of a consequence could only hold someone for so long before the inevitability of it turns to a numbed acceptance. She was just lucky they hadn’t noticed the brand on her wrist yet that marked her as a traitor. There were no third chances for those who committed treason and they could send her to the labor farms or the execution block for less than a broken nose.
She could almost feel the axe blade against her neck as the man reached forward to grab her right arm.
“What’s going on in here?” Frankie had burst through the back door, her hair frizzing in every direction from the humidity in the kitchens and golden eyes wide as she took in the scene. “What did that idiot do now?”
“Your whore attacked an officer,” the sergeant said. He turned on the owner of the inn.
Frankie gave a bow, an act of respect a junior sergeant hardly warranted, as she shuffled forward. “My deepest apologies. The girl is an imbecile. I only hired her to do the most basic work. She’s not even supposed to be out here with guests around.”
Sofia wasn’t surprised by the slap Frankie sent across her face as the woman dragged her away from the soldiers. “Get back to the kitchens and don’t leave again!” She said the words slowly and loudly.
“It’s my right to punish the girl!” The junior sergeant was still flushed with anger, and Sofia wondered which angered him the most, being bested by a woman or by dragon-filth.
“Of course, it’s up to you what her punishment is,” Frankie quickly amended. “No matter what, I have a switch in the back for matters such as this. And I’ll see her fired and out on the streets once the whipping is done.
“Your tab is on me, of course.”
The junior sergeant seemed appeased by Frankie’s groveling even as Sofia’s stomach plummeted. She looked past the owner and saw a sliver of Flor’s red hair at the edge of the kitchen door, watching the exchange without drawing attention.
Before she could move toward the kitchens, a hand roughly gripped her chin, forcing her to meet the junior sergeant’s eyes. He sneered and spit out his words.
“Tonight, when you’re bleeding and cold, I hope you remember my face and my mercy.” His words were slow and annunciated, but she bit her tongue and nodded her head quickly, even as her eyes burned with hate.
He slapped her hard once more across the face, as if for good measure, and she tasted blood. But the moment he let go, she scurried away, ducking into the kitchens without looking back at Frankie who was still cooing apologies to the men.
“Another round for everyone. I just got in a shipment of a new ale from northern Falais.”
The door shut and the sounds of the dining hall disappeared under the general hum of the kitchens. Flor was gripping her face a moment later, soft fingers inspecting the red skin and the cut across her cheek and lip.
“What in the dragons were you thinking?” she demanded, words practically whispered under her breath.
“Thinking wasn’t a part of the equation. He was going to kick Belen while she was on the ground and I?—”
She didn’t need to finish the sentence. The flat glare of understanding Flor gave her told her that her friend knew exactly why Sofia had acted and that Flor thought her crazy and stupid for it. She was still being inspected by Flor when Frankie walked in a few minutes later, face pale. She didn’t say anything for a moment, simply looking at the two women before her, lips in a flat line. The weight of what she was about to say was visible in the set of her shoulders and Sofia pulled away from Flor, chin held high.
“I’ll have my things packed by the end of the hour.”
She thought she might have glimpsed the softness beneath Frankie’s stiff lip and narrowed eyes. For only a second, Sofia could have sworn the woman looked guilty. But then she nodded and turned away.
“Good. Flor, I’ll expect the entire rent from you until you find another roommate.”
Flor cursed behind Sofia and she felt the guilt on her actions settling over her.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” Flor said, holding up her hand. “I’ll worry about it in two weeks when rent’s due.”
Her words didn’t ease the ache of guilt that twisted in Sofia’s gut.