Chapter 12
Tal limped past the blacksmith’s shop. “Dammit,” she grumbled.
Her wounds weren’t closing. Whatever spell the mage used had caused more damage within her limbs than a mere blade.
She hoped the alchemist knew how to put her to rights.
As soon as she convinced Septimus to create a new formula for his healing elixir, she would retreat to her bed for the next forty-eight hours.
A figure stepped out from the alley, and she scowled. “Go away, Daire.”
“I need to talk to you,” he said, his tone serious.
“I’m busy.” She brushed past him, trying to hide her limp.
Daire kept pace with her. “I just need a few moments. I think you owe me that much.”
Tal’s anger flared, and she stopped short. She bit back the retort that sat on the tip of her tongue and glared at him instead.
“Join me.” He nodded to a pier jutting out over the water. He waited for her to accept, his expression serious.
Tal took what should have been a deep, cleansing breath and exhaled aggressively. She hobbled down the street, the length of one building, crossed another street, and sat along the wall overlooking the lower docks, her legs hanging painfully.
Daire, who gave no indication that he noticed her obvious injury, sat next to her, tucking his captain’s sword behind him. He hesitated only briefly, but turned to Tal and said, “I want you to know that I forgive you.”
Tal cocked her head and gawked. “Excuse me?”
“I forgive you, Talwyn,” Daire repeated.
She stared at him in disbelief. While there were certainly many things Tal had done to require forgiveness, his audacity to say it outright amazed her.
No asking how she felt, no acknowledgement that he had unfair expectations, not even an apology for the ridicule she received at the ball even before she actually chose to be a nuisance.
She swallowed her anger and instead said as calmly as she could, “What is it exactly that you forgive me for?”
“Come on, Tal. You made a fool out of me at the masquerade; not to mention, you ruined my dress uniform. I’ve spent the last two days as the center of gossip because I brought a barbarian to the king’s ball.”
“Oh.” Tal blinked. “Is that what you think of me? I’m a barbarian?”
“That’s what the nobles are saying. I’ve had to make up this ridiculous story that you’re recovering from the influenza after learning of your brother’s sudden passing overseas, and you aren’t yourself.”
Tal couldn’t believe she’d considered this fool a friend for so many years and then let him court her.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize your ego was so fragile that it shattered the moment any of those overstuffed pigeons realized you had relations with anyone less than nobility.
” She stood to go, wincing against the searing pain in her legs.
“Are you not remorseful over your behavior? You ate your meal like a dog that had been starved for days.”
She stopped and turned. “Is that not what I am? When has anyone from the docks ever even seen exotic meats or a room with enough food to feed an entire village, let alone been invited to eat it? And the looks they give you if you actually do eat it!” She gasped dramatically and put her hand on her chest. “Heavens forgive me for accepting such a gift and enjoying it!”
She turned, but he grabbed her arm, right where the mage cut her open.
She grunted and flinched in his grasp. Daire froze and gaped at her, noticing the tenseness in her body, the way her back hunched.
He pulled his hand away, and his eyes grew wide when he saw the fresh bloodstain from the wound he had just reopened.
“Who did this to you?” His voice deepened with rage, his eyes narrowing, and his jaw set. He tightened his hand over the hilt of his sword as if he would fight her attacker right then and there.
“A dead man,” Tal said flatly.
“Does he have any accomplices?”
“Forget about it, Daire.”
“I cannot stand by and pretend someone hasn’t assaulted you. It’s just as much an attack on me.”
Tal guffawed at his audacity. “And how, Captain, do you gather that?”
“If you are to be my wife, I will not hesitate—”
“This again?” Tal’s lips pulled up in disgust.
Daire paused, confused. He sputtered a moment, his mouth hanging open, then said, “I will not stand by while my future wife…” He let his voice trail off.
Tal eyed the water at her feet. If she had her strength, she would have thrown the imbecile into the river.
“Is that why you wanted me at the ball? To show off your future bride? Unless you want me sharing how freely you throw your lot in with the riffraff, you’ll forget about this laughable idea.
” She stepped closer. “Let me be perfectly clear: you do not, nor will you ever, have any claim over me no matter how many times you stuck your cock inside me.” Daire winced, but she continued, “I will not marry you, nor will I marry anyone. I am not a piece of property to own or purchase, and I certainly will not be told what to do for the sake of your reputation. Go find some dimwitted little bird who is happy to sit quietly by your side and starve as you parade her around like a pony you won at a contest. Bring this up again, and I will do more than just ruin your dress uniform. Do you understand? Maybe, instead of worrying about me, you should be eliminating the mages.”
The shock on his face quickly faded to hurt. His lips set in a grim line. “Who told you about the mages?”
Tal shook her head. Of course he would question her about what she knew.
She didn’t bother arguing. She probably should have felt badly for what she said, but she was tired, in pain, and the man needed to take a damn hint.
Either he was too stubborn for his own good, or so thick-headed that he actually thought she would give in at some point.
“Stop trying to be so honorable and find someone who deserves you.” She didn’t let him respond as she limped away.
Tal dreaded comforting the broken-hearted woman in front of her.
She was not in the right mind to console anyone.
She explained where the young woman’s husband went every night, who he spent the night with, and gave her the bottle of elixir Septimus had promised would cause the man to become violently ill any time he became aroused.
She expected the wife to break down crying, but aside from wiping away a single tear, the woman set her mouth into a thin line and nodded, taking the vial with a firm, “Thank you.”
Tal hesitated. “You knew,” she stated.
She nodded. “Ain’t no woman who doesn’t know when she’s lied to. Thank you for tellin’ me what I needed to hear.” She cocked her head. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
Tal studied the young woman’s features, finding recognition but unable to place it.
“My father—” She hesitated, inhaling and raising her head. “You saved my mother when he was in a rage.”
Tal’s eyes widened, recognition blooming.
Eight years ago, a ten-year-old beseeched Tal to stop her father who had been beating his wife.
The village’s sheriff wouldn’t do anything, claiming what a husband and wife did behind closed doors was no business of his.
The girl offered to pay the bounty with money she had earned selling flowers.
After a quick investigation, Tal learned the man also had a gambling problem and had been hiding from Pochette because of the large debt he owed.
Tal would have waited to ambush him on the streets, but the daughter burst into the tavern one night, panicked.
The bounty hunter finished her ale in a single gulp and stormed off toward the girl’s home.
She could hear the wife’s screams all the way down the street.
Tal sneered at the quiet homes nearby. Not a single person tried to help.
Kicking in the door, she clocked the man in the jaw and broke his arm but not before he broke her cheekbone.
Despite his size, Tal was the better fighter, and he was severely intoxicated.
She dragged him to Pochette’s gambling den and deposited the man in front of Greggs, the gangster’s debt collector.
She left without a word, the man’s pathetic pleading following her until it cut short.
She found the little girl and half-dead mother at their home, still no help in sight, and dropped a healing elixir from Septimus that she picked up on the way back to the broken family.
She assured the pair they would never hear from the bastard again and collected payment from the girl.
Tal paused at the door when the mother cried that they were ruined and asked how they would survive without a husband.
The daughter tried to console her mother, but the woman could only reply, “What have you done?!”
Tal waited long enough to ensure the woman wouldn’t turn on her daughter, then returned to the tavern.
“You stayed,” Tal said to the woman in front of her. “I would have thought you and your mother would go to the mountains.”
She swallowed. “My mother didn’t… get better after that night.
She refused to leave and chose to wallow in her own self-pity.
I did all I could, but ain’t nobody who can force someone to live.
When she died, the house became mine and has been since.
The memories my children created there are enough.
” She tried to hand Tal the bag of coin she pulled from her pocket.
Tal shook her head. “You have a family to feed.”
“And we had a deal. I promise, we’ll be just fine. Ain’t nothin’ I won’t do for those kids.”
Tal reluctantly took the payment and whispered, “Make him regret it,” to which the woman winked and turned, walking down the street.
She walked with her back straight and head held high.
Beyond her, the weeping willow swayed in a breeze Tal couldn’t feel.
If it could speak, it would surely have wise words to share, words Tal had no desire to hear.