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Finally, the swordsman slips up. He attacks with too much strength and loses his footing, giving me a chance to move in. With one hard strike of the butt of my sword to his head, the man falls.

I whirl around just in time. The man Clover fights evades her dagger and manages to grab her from behind. She struggles like a rock leopard, cursing him to Ferradelle and back again.

He goes still when I press my blade between his shoulders.

“Release her and drop your weapon,” I command.

The assassin immediately obeys, and Clover darts away from him. Her hair is a mess, and blood trails from her cheek. Even in the dark, her eyes flash with anger.

“Who are you?” I demand. “What do you want?”

“None of your business, traitor,” the man bites out.

I smack him across the back of the head. “That’s not an answer.”

Clover saunters forward, twirling her dagger in her hand. “Should we kill him?”

“I’d like to make him talk first,” I bluff.

“You don’t have the guts to kill an unarmed man,” he sneers, turning around to look at me. “Everyone knows you’re too high and mighty for such a low thing.”

“Henrik’s nicer than I am,” Clover says, drawing his attention back. She lowers her hood and gives him a smile. “You know who I am, don’t you? Tell me, are you confidentIwon’t kill you?”

The man balks.

“Let’s take him back to Lawrence,” I say. “You can torture him after we throw him in the dungeon.”

She narrows her eyes, stepping close to the man. “Is that a promise?”

I nearly snort. Clover is enjoying this a little too much.

She frowns. “I don’t have a rope to tie him up with.”

“I do,” a third voice says, startling us all.

I whip around and find Maisel examining the man I knocked unconscious.

“That’s a nice sword,” she says as she peers at it. “Do you think it’s too long for me? It might drag the ground as I walk.”

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

She looks up. “What do you think I’m doing? I followed you.”

Ulfric, Maisel’s rock leopard, noses the second man, looking put out when Maisel shoves him out of the way. “You can’t eat him, Ulfy,” she says. “He’s not dead.”

“He couldn’t eat him even if he was dead,” I say blandly.

“You tell him that.”

“You’re a Dornauth,” the still-conscious man stutters, gaping at Maisel like she’s a ghost.

Maisel looks at him. “And you’re an idiot. We done calling each other names, or would you like me to go on?”

He blanches, clamping his mouth shut.

“Did you throw that dagger?” I ask Clover, impressed. The man nearly doubles over when Maisel yanks it out of his chest.

She preens. “I did.”