Spy's Mask, page 11
part #5 of The Aermian Feuds Series
Vienna quirked a smile. “It is my occupation to help everyone I can, and if that wasn’t enough, I’ve birthed six babes myself. You’d be shocked to see my skin. It looks like a leren took a liking to me.”
Jasmine winced. Good hell, she hoped hers wasn’t that bad. She wasn’t a particularly vain creature, but she didn’t want to look like something had mauled her. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“It’s nothing, my girl.” Vienna waved her off and then gestured to the game bag. “It’s nothing compared to what you bring me.” She licked her lips. “What did you trap this time?”
Jasmine grinned. “I’ve brought you four nice-sized rabbits and a haunch of venison.”
Vienna’s beady eyes widened. “Tell me you did not drag a deer around in the woods?”
“No. I did not. Luckily, my aim was true and the beast didn’t travel very far. As for this—” She pointed at the chunk of meat. “It wasn’t too heavy for me to carry. I’m pregnant, not an invalid. Women have been caring for their families for ages while they’ve been with child.”
The old woman harrumphed but took the meat. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
Jasmine hid her look of pity for the woman. Vienna was as tough as nails, but she was lonely. She’d lost her entire family to the sickness that swept through the kingdom. “I would love to, but I must get back. But, if you’re up for a visit, I’ll bring the twins in two days. They’ve been dying to play with that green muck you’ve been experimenting with.”
“Slime,” Vienna said with a twinkle in her blue-grey eyes.
Jas shuddered, thinking of the wet sludgy texture. “Children find the oddest things to be interested in.”
“You can’t tell me you weren’t enthused about mud, muck, and bugs when you were a child.”
“Touché,” Jasmine said with a smile. She placed her bow and quiver in the back corner of the room and wrapped her bloodied clothing in a sack. Skinning and cleaning meat was always a dirty job.
“Goodness me, child. You cannot take those back with you. Hand them over.”
She rolled her eyes, but did as she was bade. They argued every night about this, but Vienna always won. “I feel like I am taking advantage.”
“Nonsense. You provide me with food and good company. It is I who is in your debt. I’m the lucky one who gets to entertain royalty.”
Jas snorted. “I’m not royalty, no more than you are.”
Vienna tossed the soiled clothing on the square wooden table, and studied Jasmine in a way that was far too knowing. “I’ve been on this earth for a long time, my girl. Many things have come and gone, but there is one fact that is always true. We’re only hindered by ourselves. You have more power than you believe. Open your eyes, and you might be surprised by the influence you have.”
Jasmine kept her mouth shut and nodded. She didn’t necessarily agree with the old woman, but Vienna had more experience than herself. “I will give it some thought.”
“Good, now, get back home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jasmine slipped on her boots once again and snatched up her other small game bag, tucked the bottle into a pouch at her waist, and retrieved her cane. She glanced longingly at her bow, hating that she had to leave it behind, but it was way too cumbersome and suspicious to lug around. “Goodnight, Vienna.”
“Goodnight, child,” the old women said, following her into the dark alley. “Be safe. There have been more crimes in this area since the army has moved out.”
“I’ll be cautious.” The fingers of her right hand tightened around the cane. She may be without her bow, but she wasn’t without a weapon. She waved goodbye and trotted onto the busier street ahead.
With care, she moved through several streets without so much as one person looking her way. But a scratchy feeling had begun spreading between her shoulder blades a few alleys back. Someone was following her.
Awareness crept along the nape of Jasmine’s neck until the fine hairs stood on end. This was the part she hated the most. Lately, she had the feeling of being watched whenever she went on her weekly visit to the woods and then the apothecary. So far, there had been no evidence to justify her feelings—no glimpse of a person behind her, no sound of footsteps—but she knew what it was like to stalk prey. And, during these moments, she knew she’d become someone’s target.
Carrying her leathered game bag in her left hand and her hickory cane in the other, Jasmine continued to walk at a brisk pace, her back and feet aching with every step. But she wouldn’t let the pain distract her. Her gaze took in every detail of the buildings around her, and she cursed as she realized, in her haste, she’d taken a wrong turn toward the docks. That was not a place to be careless.
“Stupid,” she breathed. Jasmine glanced at her belly and then scanned the area for familiar sights. She exhaled in relief as she figured out where she was—only two blocks away from the main road where there’d be more lanterns and guards. Chastising herself, she picked up her speed and veered left. She needed to pay more attention. Lapses in attention could mean the difference between life and death for a lone woman.
As she passed near a drainage ditch, noxious fumes wafted upward and made her eyes water. Swamp apples, that was disgusting. She instinctively covered her lips with the left sleeve of her dress, but it didn’t help. She caught the gleam of a man’s gaze and quickly dropped her arm to breathe out her mouth. Sticking out in this area of Sanee wasn’t a good idea, and any resident who lived around here would be used to the God-awful stench. Why would anyone live here when they had the choice to live in the country? That was something she’d never understand.
A chill ran through her body that had nothing to do with the fall weather. The road was eerily quiet. Most of the dilapidated buildings had been abandoned, but held flickering lights of pickpockets, drunkards, and ladies of the night who were squatting in the buildings’ entrances. The glow from the broken lamps on either end of the street scarcely cut through the fog that began to creep up from the bay, slinking over and around homes like an insidious nightmare.
We’ll get through this little bit. Just a block more until we reach safety.
But her pace faltered as new figures emerged from the weak light. A momentary surge of relief washed over her as she identified the trio of off-duty soldiers. They laughed loudly as they advanced in her direction, clearly well into their spirits, on their way to being truly drunk. They wouldn’t be any help to her
Jasmine crossed to the other side of the street, keeping to the shadows, hoping they were too inebriated to notice her. She glanced in their direction and caught the eye of the tallest soldier. Damn it. Too late.
The tall one smiled lazily and swerved in her direction.
“Here’s a bit of luck,” he exclaimed. He slapped hands with his companion to his right as they strode in her direction. “I’ve been hankering for a bit of sport.”
Distaste threatened to wrinkle her nose, but she kept her expression cool and picked up her speed, her heart hammering in her chest. “I’m sure you’ll find your amusement just down the road,” she said stiffly, while her grip tightened on the crooked handle of her cane.
The men were obviously worse for the drink. Stars above, she hated drunks. Her uncle had a taste for spirits, and it never failed to bring out the worst in him. Even thinking about it, Jasmine could swear she could smell her uncle’s foul whiskey breath. She didn’t doubt that the soldiers had been loitering at the tavern all day. Everyone knew it was a death sentence to go into battle against Scythia, so the men were trying to soak up as many amusements as they could before they were called upon.
If only their tastes were a little less sinister.
Her heartbeat escalated as their long legs caught up with her. “Allow me to pass, gentlemen,” she said crisply, crossing the street once again. She was thankful for the speech lessons she’d been given. Maybe if they realized she wasn’t some light skirt, they’d leave her alone.
They moved to block her totally.
“Talks like a lady,” observed the youngest of the trio. He was red-headed, his hair springing up in unkempt rusty coils.
“She is a lady,” remarked the tallest, hulking, hatchet-faced man—the one she’d caught the attention of. “I’ve never had a lady before. I bet she’s looking for some fun if she’s out for a stroll on such a night.” He regarded Jasmine with a yellow-toothed leer and waved his hand toward the moldy, wooden wall of a home that shouldn’t have still been standing. “Go stand next to the wall and lift your skirts. I’m in the mood for a little play that’s upright.”
“You’re mistaken,” Jasmine said sharply, attempting to walk around them. They barred her way, and her pulse whooshed in her ears as she glared at the men. “I’m not a prostitute. However, there is a fine brothel just down the road where you can find such service from what I hear. Now, let me pass.”
“But I don’t want to pay for it,” the large man said nastily. “I want it free with a pretty little thing, and I want it now.”
For a brief moment, she thought about screaming. But what good would that do? It would probably just call more predators in. And it was hardly the first occasion Jasmine had been insulted or threatened. That was one of the reasons why her father had trained her with a bow and staff. Sometimes, men took it upon themselves to take what they wanted, despite the refusal. She didn’t want to fight them. She was exhausted after her long hunt in the woods, and, frankly, she was hungry. A certain sort of numbness trickled through her veins as she decided on her next action. If she did nothing, chances were they’d be so rough they’d hurt her, but if she fought, she might be able to get away unscathed. The key word being might.
Her jaw set as her fingers curled even tighter around her cane. Men were such pigs. They thought they could take and take and take. Tonight, they would take nothing from her. They were bullies and nothing more. She’d looked into the black eyes of true evil. These men had nothing on the warlord.
“As soldiers in His Majesty’s service,” she said acidly, “has it occurred to you that your sacred duty is to protect a woman’s honor instead of violating it?”
To her distaste, the question elicited hardy chuckles instead of shame.
“Needs to be taken down a peg, if you ask me,” commented the third man, a stout coarse-looking fellow with a pockmarked face and dark eyes that robbed the words from her tongue.
He looked like… She shook her head. She couldn’t think about him.
Jasmine blinked as the younger one rubbed the fabric of his crotch in a crude gesture.
“She can ride my peg.”
Terror threatened to swamp her, but she shoved it down deep. Fear would get her hurt or killed. “I don’t see much of anything.”
The young one glared and crossed his arms as his two companions cackled.
The hatchet-faced man grinned at Jasmine with easy menace as he wiped the corners of his eyes. “Over to the wall, my fine lady. Don’t be causing a scene.” He pulled a serrated blade from his belt and held it up to display its wicked edge. “Just do as we say, and it’ll be over before you know it.”
Jasmine’s stomach flipped unpleasantly, and her legs quivered. “Drawing a weapon while off-duty is against the law,” she observed coldly. “Added to the offenses of public drunkenness and rape, you will earn yourselves a flogging you’ll never forget and at least ten years in prison.” She didn’t know that for sure, but their punishment would be hell if Sage caught wind of it.
The hatchet-faced man bared his yellow teeth. “Maybe I’ll cut out your tongue, so you won’t tell anyone,” he stated.
Jasmine didn’t doubt for one second that he would. As the daughter of a former soldier, she knew that pulling out a knife meant he would most likely use it. Her mum had been a healer, and once she’d seen a woman who’d managed to get over the Scythian wall so cut up that Jas had barely been able to tell where one cut had ended and another began. When the woman had healed, she explained that a man had wanted to give her something to remember him by.
“Calm yourself,” the young man said to the hatchet-faced man. He brushed his copper curls from his freckled face. “There’s no need to terrify the poor girl.” Turning to Jasmine, he added, “Let us do what we want.” He paused. “It will be easier if you don’t fight.”
Bile burned the back of her throat. There was no way she wasn’t fighting. Taking hold of the strings of her surging fear and anger, Jasmine recalled her father’s advice about distracting your opponent.
Keep your distance, and avoid being flanked. Use speech as a distraction.
“Why force an unwilling woman?” she asked carefully and set her game bag down on the dirty street. “If it’s the lack of coin, I’ll give you each enough to visit a brothel.” Carefully, she slipped her hand into the outer back pocket of the bag and closed her fingers around her skinning blade. Deftly she concealed it from their view as she stood, the familiar elk-horn handle resting in her palm.
In her peripheral vision, Jasmine saw the hatchet-faced man with the bayonet knife circling around her. At the same time, the stout man began to close the distance between them.
“Thank you for the offer. I’m sure we will take your coin once we make use of you.”
Jasmine adjusted her grip on the skinning blade, resting her thumb on the flat side of the handle. Gently, she applied the tip of her index finger along the blade. She may be little, but like Hell would she let them anywhere near herself or the babe.
Make use of this.
Drawing back her arm, she released the blade in a slinging motion, stabbing her wrist straight to ensure the wickedly sharp dagger aimed true. A feral grin curled her lips as the knife sunk into his cheek. He roared with astonished fury, stopping in his tracks. Jasmine pivoted around the soldier with the bayonet knife, whipping her cane in a horizontal hard strike. Then, she smashed it against his right wrist. Taken by surprise, he cried out in pain and dropped his knife.
Jasmine followed the blow with a backhand strike against his left side and heard a vomit-inducing crack, then jabbed the tip of the cane at his groin to make sure he wasn’t getting up. He’d doubled over, and she used the handle to strike him over the head.
He crashed to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. Good riddance.
Jasmine snatched up the bayonet knife and spun toward the other two soldiers.
In the next moment, she froze in surprise, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her heart threatening to explode.
The street was silent.
And both men were sprawled on the ground.
What in wicked hell?
Was this a trick? Were they playing dead to lure her in?
Her hands began to shake as quivery energy worked its way through her, and her body began to slow and recognize that the emergency was over. She bent over and puked, her body shaking, but she never took her gaze off the men.
Slowly, she stood and wiped her mouth with the back of her left hand. She ventured closer to look at the fallen men, taking care to stay out of arm’s reach. Her skinning blade had left a bloody wound in the larger one’s cheek, but that wouldn’t have knocked him out. She eyed the red mark on his temple. That wasn’t from her. Even if she’d jumped, she wouldn’t have been able to hit him on the head.
Her attention darted to the younger soldier whose face was a swollen, bruised mess, and his nose was streaming. It looked broken to her.
“What the devil?” Jasmine murmured, looking up and down the silent, foggy street.
She had that feeling again, the prickly awareness that someone was there. She rolled her eyes and straightened, clasping her cane and bayonet knife in each hand. Obviously, there was someone else here. The other two soldiers hadn’t knocked themselves out.
“Come out and show yourself,” she said sharply. She clenched her jaw as her voice wobbled on the last word. Heat pressed against the back of her eyes.
Stupid hormones.
She cleared her throat and tried again. “There’s no need to hide like a rat at the back of the pantry. I know you have been following me. Come out.”
A masculine voice came from directly behind her, nearly causing her to jump out of her boots. “My, my, my, what kind of mischief have you been getting yourself into, my dear?”
Jasmine turned in a quick circle, her gaze chasing over a flicker of movement in one of the darkened doorways. It was unnerving how the tone dripped sin and depravity. Despite herself, she couldn’t help but shiver. “Enough of the games.”
A stranger emerged from the shadows, the darkness forming into the shape of a man in a fine but worn black hooded cloak. He paused a few feet away and lifted back his hood, revealing blond hair that fell in waves around his face and deep, piercing blue eyes she’d know anywhere.
Jasmine’s jaw slackened. “It’s you!” she exclaimed. This was not good.
Her husband, the prince of Aermia, smiled wickedly at her. “Hello, my love. Have you missed me?” he crooned at her.
Seventeen
Sam
His wife was bloody insane.
Certifiably insane.
And it was quite possible he’d committed murder tonight, and that he’d now chain her to his bed.
Well, that was a little dark, but the circumstances warranted it. If he hadn’t found her when he had, he dreaded to think what might’ve happened. Sam forced his hands to stay loose and relaxed, instead of curling into fists like he wanted to. He glared at the soldiers littered across the ground, and something feral threatened to break loose inside him. He might even reach out for Rafe’s expertise in making vile men disappear…
The idea had merit.
If he hadn’t found her in time… Hell, he knew exactly what those low-lives would have done. What really rankled him was that they were Aermia’s own men.
Filthy garbage.
Sam pulled his eyes from the carnage sprawled across the darkened street to stare at the bane of his problems this evening.
Jasmine stood, gaping at him, her cane clutched tightly to her heavy chest, her pants the only sound to cut through the swirling fog. He scanned her from head to toe, looking for injuries. No blood. But that didn’t mean there weren’t injuries. She had wounds that she hid from the world, and this would just make them worse. With his spies, he’d seen what happened when one didn’t face their trauma. And Jasmine? She was the queen of avoidance and ice.
