Page 6

The woman startles me from my dark memories, answering my previous question. “As if she actually retired. And even if she has, my kids don’t know that.” She finishes with a wink before running after one of her children who is about to bite into an apple they haven’t purchased.

I watch the woman tending to her gaggle of children, and then I continue to sit and observe the people in the market. This is probably the last time that I can feasibly come to this market, as Nemoris is on the west coast. I highly doubt there would be any reason for me to be coming this way again.

It’s not until the sun has started to set that I finally decide to leave the market. My hired horse has the personality of wet porridge, and I wonder if it’s been abused into submission. I always treat the horses I hire with respect, but I never know if the stables are treating them well.

After dropping my wet porridge of a horse back to the stables in the outer compound, I start the cold walk home, but a strangled cry carried on the wind piques my interest and my rage. Slipping up the hood of my cloak, I stick to the darkest shadows of the trees as I follow my ears toward the cries.

It doesn’t take me too long to discover the source: a pair of young women—perhaps only girls—being harassed by a group of men. Women should be safe to travel without the need for protection by another man, from other men. The thought alone boils my blood and fuels my rage as it takes over.

I would like to think I am in control, but there are times when my rage steps in.

I sneak as close as I can to the group. The five men have the two young women on their knees, as they plead for the men to leave them unharmed.

As if this traumatic experience hasn’t harmed them enough.

It would have probably been better to observe for a moment longer before I made my presence known, but as soon as I witness the unbuckling of a belt, the choice is clear.

Leaning against a tree nearby, I clear my throat. Seven sets of eyes jump to my position, and three swords are drawn within seconds. Interesting. No Patrons of the Divine, all the men are Nemorisborn, and the girls are Sadoriborn.

“This doesn’t look like a very fun party,” I say, stifling a fake yawn.

One of the girls makes a pleading sound I pretend to ignore, not taking my eyes off the men.

“Aye, but it’s a party you weren’t invited to, lad. So, fuck off before you get hurt,” says the man closest to me.

I chuckle as I push off the tree to standing. I wasn’t even trying to pretend I was a young man this time. But, of course, why would these men think a woman would be bold enough to approach them? Sometimes, I wish I could hide my violet eyes that mark me as a Patron, as too many people back down for fear of what my Gift might be, never realizing that my Gift doesn’t exist and it’s just me beating their asses. I keep the hood of my cloak low.

“If you let the girls go now, I won’t hurt you.”

All five of the men laugh, and I almost do too. They never take my offer, and I hope they never do. What comes next is far too much fun.

In an instant, three throwing knives hit the first man’s thigh before anyone realizes I’ve thrown them. He howls and falls backward, crying and looking around for someone to help him.

Pathetic.

One man clumsily swings his sword, and I duck under it to punch him in the crotch. That’ll keep him down for a moment.

“You’re dead!” the last man with a drawn weapon threatens.

Picking up the discarded sword from the man cradling himself between the legs, I pretend to wield it. As he approaches, I throw the sword at him instead, and then fling a knife from my wrist into the chest of one of the men holding the girls. I hit my mark.

As the sword I threw is knocked aside, I spin and kick the side of his hands, and he drops his own sword. He reaches down to pick it up, and I knee him in the face with a satisfying crack. Blood sprays deliciously from his nose.

The man with my throwing knives lodged in him cries as he pulls one from his thigh and throws it at me. He misses, of course, and I laugh as I run at the last man standing. He immediately puts his hands up in surrender, but it’s too late for me to care. They had their chance.

Once he realizes that I’m not backing down, he swings a punch. He connects with my cheek, but fortunately, I’ve taken worse punches. He’s not very strong, but he’s adept at hand-to-hand. However, it’s over far too soon when I get him to the ground.

With his arm wrapped behind his back, I look up to see two of the group have disappeared. I barely even touched the guy I punched in the crotch, and he’s already gone, along with the broken-nose guy. I think the one that took a knife to the chest may actually be dead.

“Say you’re sorry,” I demand to the man under me.

“Fuck you.”

“Wrong answer.” I continue to pull his arm until a loud crack sounds, and he screams. “That would be your shoulder. You should have apologized.”

Standing up, I give one swift kick to his side and turn to the girls.

“Are you okay?”