Chapter 21
Agatha
A warm presence at my back.
A cold spot of drool on my cheek.
A muffled muttering from outside our room.
I gradually gain awareness, blinking groggily and realizing that it’s morning, my arm is stiff where it’s been curled under my head, and Lem is sleeping next to me on this narrow bed.
And there’s a person—no, two people—talking right outside the door.
“I don’t care who she’s with,” a surly voice says. “I’m here for the Lady Agatha.”
I push myself up to my elbow, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and wiping the drool onto my sleeve. Next to me, Lem stirs. He’s still asleep, but his arm reaches out, searching … for me?
I smack it away.
He mutters something incoherent, but I shush him. The men are still talking outside the door. I think the second voice is the innkeeper; he sounds like he’s protesting something.
The first voice, brusque, growls something low. Something smacks against the door, causing it to rattle.
Startled, I roll over and shake Lem. “Lem! Lem!”
His eyes open and he stares at me, disoriented. His gaze trails from my face to my hand, still gripping his shoulder, then flicks down the length of the bed. I’d kicked off the quilt when I rolled over to wake him, but I’m still lying next to him—too close.
He blushes and clears his throat.
I gag. I didn’t know someone’s breath could smell so bad.
The door rattles again, and Lem perks up, twisting toward the sound. “What’s that?”
“I don’t know,” I say in a whisper. “But I heard my name.”
Without thinking, I scoot closer to him, keeping his sturdy form between me and the door.
It’s his turn to prop himself up on an elbow, and he uses his other hand to ruffle his short hair.
My hand, which I’d somehow neglected to remove from his shoulder, slides to his back. I peer over him at the door.
A loud thump sounds. “Come on out, Lady!”
“Are they going to kick it in?” I slither out of the bed. Another thump.
“You’d think knocking would be sufficient,” Lem grouses. He exits the bed more slowly, keeping himself in front of me.
A third thump is enough to knock the bolt out of its place in the wall. The door swings inward. The innkeeper stands in the hall with a sullen face, and in front of him is a man with meaty jowls and unkempt red hair.
“Lady Agatha, I declare.” He strides into the room, taking no notice of Lem. “My master would like a word with you.” Grabbing my forearm, he adds, “Or maybe not just a word.”
Lem puffs himself up like a brave little rooster. “Unhand my wife.”
The jowly man ignores him. “Come along,” he says. “The master’s waiting for you.”
I dig my heels into the floor, trying to shake the man off. “Let go of me, you—you greasy ruffian.”
“Mouthy.” The man leers. “That’s what got you here in the first place, isn’t it?” He yanks me toward the door. “Come, be a good girl, and the master won’t be too hard on you.”
Lem waits no longer. Darting forward, he punches the man right in one of his jowls.
Or, well, he tries. His fist lands off-center with a pitiful little thwack, just hard enough to be annoying without actually harming my captor in the slightest. The thug uses the hand that isn’t holding me to swat Lem away.
Poor Lem. He really is doing his best.
Undeterred and scowling fiercer than ever, Lem staggers toward us again. His bravery would be lovable if it weren’t so stupid. I bite my lip.
I … I can’t let him get hurt.
“Who is your master?” I hope Lem will take the hint that our chances are better if we pursue conversation instead of brawling.
The thug answers with an unpleasant chuckle. “Who do you think?”
“Mansfield sent you, I presume.” I don’t hide my disdain. I should’ve known he was the sort of man who wouldn’t forget an insult so easily.
“He’s been looking for you.” The thug’s fingers dig deeper into my arm. “So be a good girl and come along.”
The innkeeper still waits, tense, in the hallway outside our room, while Lem grits his jaw and looks like he’s about to take another ineffective swing, but I’m not foolish enough to be optimistic. I cover my fear with Poise. “I’ll accompany you,” I say, “if you promise that—”
“You’ll accompany me without any promises.” He yanks me toward the door.
“My wife—” Lem attempts.
“If you know what’s good for you, beggar,” the thug sneers, “you’ll be quiet. The master might forgive that little trick of yours if you slink away without a fuss.”
“What trick?” Lem asks, while I say indignantly, “He’s no beggar.”
“Seemed like begging to me,” the innkeeper mutters.
I clamp my lips together. It wasn’t really begging, just … well, alright. We were definitely begging last night. But that wasn’t Lem’s fault.
Sort of.
“She’s my wife,” Lem insists, “and I’m not going to let you drag her off. I don’t care who your master is.”
“Be quiet, Lem. Don’t be a fool.” My unease lends a bite to my tone. “You wanted to be rid of me, anyhow.” I stop resisting the jowly man, letting him lead me along, and don’t give Lem another glance.
If I act too attached to Lem, the duke might think he needs to separate us by doing something … more permanent, and I won’t risk that. Better to toss him aside and let the duke believe that he’ll not be a problem, even though that means I’m marching straight to the most odious man I know.
Lem
I’ve never been more frustrated by my own lack of intelligence. And strength. And, well, all the other things I lack. If I were any sort of man, I could do something, but my one attempt at freeing Agatha from this giant goon was humiliating. What can I do to protect her? Sing poorly?
But what stings the most is Agatha’s perfect serenity. She makes no effort to escape his greasy grip, despite his threatening words and offensive leering.
I guess she sees this for what it is: her opportunity to escape me.
I take a half-step backward, my eyes fixed on Agatha’s face, asking her silent questions which she doesn’t answer. Can’t she think of some way to escape? Does she actually want to go with this ruffian? Will she really be happier in captivity than she was with me?
That’s the thought that makes me stop short.
Selfish, Lem, always selfish.
Obviously Agatha could be—would be—will be better off without me, even if she’s being escorted by a barely-civilized bandit.
So I grit my teeth, never looking away from Agatha’s cool, calm face, as the man pulls her away from me. She doesn’t say another word.
This shouldn’t hurt. I shouldn’t care.
I don’t care.
Mauthmin startles me with a cough. “I apologize.” His eyes are trained on the wall. “Mansfield offered a good price for news of the lady. I couldn’t—I have a family, you see—we needed the extra …”
His words seem to slow, distort. Anger rises as I grasp his meaning.
He’s bigger than I am, too, but I cross the room in three long steps and grab fistfuls of his shirt.
“What did you say?” I growl. He pushes back at me, but I don’t let go. “You—you pathetic piece of fungus! You sold her?”
“We’ve been down on our luck lately.” His eyes shift from side to side. “You have to understand.”
“What did you do?”
Mauthmin wipes the back of his hand across his damp forehead. “Duke’s been hopping mad since he returned from Montberg district. Word is—although I can’t confirm it, just heard the rumor—gets a lot of those, in my line, you know—”
“Out with it, man!” I narrow my eyes and stare him down, hunching my shoulders up to my neck and inching closer to the nervous man. Agatha had laughingly called this my over-fluffed guinea fowl pose, but it seems to be working.
He gulps back whatever other addenda he was about to ramble. “When I realized who she must be, I—I—” He coughs. “I went to the duke’s myself last night, after I showed you to your room.”
“That’s why you let us stay?” I understand why I’ve never heard anything about Candor’s fabled hospitality, at any rate.
“I let her stay on her own merit!” Mauthmin protests.
“Made a good bit off the crowd who came to listen! Too bad about the duke—wish I could keep her here longer.” He gazes vacantly down the length of the hallway.
I assume he’s thinking exactly how welcome Agatha would be, which makes me snarl and lean closer.
My jaw clenches until I see stars. How dare he stand here, so cavalier, when he’s just sold Agatha off!
On the other hand, isn’t this what I expected to happen? For another man—a better man, a more worthy man—to swoop in and rescue her from me?
Doesn’t she deserve the life of a duchess? Pampered and adored by all who see her? The grace of every room she steps in, the highest attraction at every gathering?
And then I remember the way that greasy duke had grabbed Agatha the night of her birthday ball and said he’d wanted to tame her—
Tame her!
As if Agatha could be tamed!
As if Agatha should be tamed!
The room seems to spin.
Hang it all, I’ve got to go after them. I’ll free her, somehow; I’ll do whatever it takes, as soon as I can think of what, exactly, that is …
Except … Agatha told me not to. Told me specifically to not be a fool, and she’s been quite clear that she thinks everything I do is foolish, so … she doesn’t want me interfering.
Maybe she does want to be a duchess, even if it means she has to put up with whatever vile things Duke Mansfield has in mind. Maybe our few days of poverty and dust has her desperate and ready to go with the first man who can offer stability.
Or maybe … maybe that was just her fairy-blasted composure again.
I feel like an idiot.
I am an idiot.
Agatha didn’t submit to the ruffian because she wants to be united to Duke Mansfield, the skeevy twerp; she was wearing her carefully-neutral face, and she didn’t speak as they left the room.
She didn’t want him—she doesn’t want him.
And even if she doesn’t want me, either, I’m going to help her, because Agatha Montberger deserves to be free.
With a final growl, I swing a frustrated fist at the wall, regretting it immediately. The rough boards leave splinters in my knuckles. I pin my determined gaze on Mauthmin. “Tell me how to get to this duke’s house.”