Page 13 of Dragon Gods

“Get us another round, Sweetie,” one of the men—a high scout—said as he pushed his empty cups toward her. She didn’t make eye contact, simply giving a nod. Serving the guests wasn’t her job, but she’d tell Lidi of his request when she was back in the kitchens. She just needed to keep her head down and mouth shut.

Which would have been a perfectly doable plan, were it not for the large hand that fell against the small of her back and then moved lower until it squeezed her ass. She jolted upright, the cups on her tray quaking with her body, a few tumbling sideways. The junior sergeant was leering at her when she turned, her eyes no longer lowered.

“How much for a lay?”

“I’m on cleaning duty,” she said. He was only a foot from her and she could smell the stale ale on his breath and see the fine sheen of sweat along his pronounced brow. He might have been handsome at some point, before the drink had turned his skin sallow and his eyes red. She shouldn’t have stared. She should have averted her eyes like a good little Dragonborn.

“What are you looking at dragon-filth?” he asked with a scowl, showing off his yellowed teeth.

She opened her mouth, knuckles white as she clenched the tray she was holding, rage barely contained. But before she could say anything and dig herself into a deeper pile of trouble, Belen had turned back to the man and placed a fine-boned hand against the stubble on his cheek.

“Ignore the thing,” she said, voice smoky. She traced a finger down his chin, drawing his eyes into her own before moving her hand down his chest and lower still. “She’s just a kitchen maid, a waste of your time.”

Sofia thought it had worked. His eyes were focused solely on Belen now and she was able to take a step back, putting more space between her and the drunk man she so badly wanted to punch. But before she could take another step, Belen went flying across the floor, landing in a small heap a few feet away.

“Don’t tell me what my time’s worth,” he said, spit flying from his mouth. As Belen turned back to look up at the man, Sofia saw the blood dripping down her chin from a split lip.

“I didn’t mean—” she started, voice no longer husky but quavering.

He stood, body moving in a way all too familiar, from the turn of his hips and shifting of his weight. He pulled his leg back to kick Belen. And Sofia acted, without thought or plan. She lunged forward, grabbing his wrist and twisting it sharply, forcing him to turn back toward her. He was nearly half a foot taller than her, but his face was plenty near enough for her to send the heel of her hand up sharp and fast against the soft cartilage of his nose. She felt the snap in the same moment she rammed her knee into his groin.

Only a second after her knee had connected with soft flesh, she was being pulled back, a rough arm around her shoulders, pinning her arms to her sides. She kicked out automatically, hating the feeling of being restrained, but another soldier cuffed her across the face and her head snapped to the side. The shock of the hit brought her out of her rage and she took in the scene before her. Belen was no longer on the ground, having taken the distraction to duck from the dining hall. The other two women who had been acting as company were gone too and the five men were all standing, circled around her. The junior sergeant stood slightly hunched, blood dripping freely down his face from his broken nose.

“You’ll pay for that, Whore,” he sneered, moving forward to grip her chin in his hand. The calluses scraped against her skin and her nose flared at his sour stench. “I could send you to the whipping post for hitting an officer.”

Perhaps the thought should have sent more of a shock through her, but the fear of a consequence could only hold someone for so long before the inevitability of it turns to a numbed acceptance. She was just lucky they hadn’t noticed the brand on her wrist yet that marked her as a traitor. There were no third chances for those who committed treason and they could send her to the labor farms or the execution block for less than a broken nose.

She could almost feel the axe blade against her neck as the man reached forward to grab her right arm.

“What’s going on in here?” Frankie had burst through the back door, her hair frizzing in every direction from the humidity in the kitchens and golden eyes wide as she took in the scene. “What did that idiot do now?”

“Your whore attacked an officer,” the sergeant said. He turned on the owner of the inn.

Frankie gave a bow, an act of respect a junior sergeant hardly warranted, as she shuffled forward. “My deepest apologies. The girl is an imbecile. I only hired her to do the most basic work. She’s not even supposed to be out here with guests around.”

Sofia wasn’t surprised by the slap Frankie sent across her face as the woman dragged her away from the soldiers. “Get back to the kitchens and don’t leave again!” She said the words slowly and loudly.

“It’s my right to punish the girl!” The junior sergeant was still flushed with anger, and Sofia wondered which angered him the most, being bested by a woman or by dragon-filth.

“Of course, it’s up to you what her punishment is,” Frankie quickly amended. “No matter what, I have a switch in the back for matters such as this. And I’ll see her fired and out on the streets once the whipping is done.

“Your tab is on me, of course.”

The junior sergeant seemed appeased by Frankie’s groveling even as Sofia’s stomach plummeted. She looked past the owner and saw a sliver of Flor’s red hair at the edge of the kitchen door, watching the exchange without drawing attention.

Before she could move toward the kitchens, a hand roughly gripped her chin, forcing her to meet the junior sergeant’s eyes. He sneered and spit out his words.

“Tonight, when you’re bleeding and cold, I hope you remember my face and my mercy.” His words were slow and annunciated, but she bit her tongue and nodded her head quickly, even as her eyes burned with hate.

He slapped her hard once more across the face, as if for good measure, and she tasted blood. But the moment he let go, she scurried away, ducking into the kitchens without looking back at Frankie who was still cooing apologies to the men.

“Another round for everyone. I just got in a shipment of a new ale from northern Falais.”

The door shut and the sounds of the dining hall disappeared under the general hum of the kitchens. Flor was gripping her face a moment later, soft fingers inspecting the red skin and the cut across her cheek and lip.

“What in the dragons were you thinking?” she demanded, words practically whispered under her breath.

“Thinking wasn’t a part of the equation. He was going to kick Belen while she was on the ground and I?—”

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