Page 28 of Mistress of Bones
“Then speak,” said Nereida, tall and calm and feathering the grip of her rapier.
The man inclined his head in respect. “Sireses, if you’d step outside without your companions so we can explain.”
“The women are under our care,” Oren said. “They won’t be leaving with you.”
Azul slipped out of her chair. Anané extended her free arm and gently pushed her behind her back. The edge of a table dug into her thigh. Nereida and Del Valle’s guards would make their stand here with the tables and stools, not outside, where they’d be easily surrounded.
Anané’s and Oren’s rapiers came free. The men behind their leader responded in kind.
The man lifted a hand. “There is no need to put the sireses in danger. Do you think you can take on all of us? For what? Some vestige of pride? They’ll be safe with us.”
“And yet you do not answer our questions,” Nereida said, her sword still sheathed. “You do not ask for permission. I will not be taken by riffraff and kidnappers.”
One of the men hissed loudly. “Do as you’re told, woman.”
Nereida arched her eyebrows. “Or what? You will try your luck dragging me outside?”
“I don’t need luck,” the man assured her. “Not for someone like you.”
“Watch your tongue,” Anané warned, “or we shall cut it out of you.”
A couple of the men laughed. “You and how many more?” one of them said.
“We don’t need a crowd to win fights, unlike you,” Oren returned, sneering.
“Enough,” the men’s leader snapped. With a swift kick, he sent the stool in front of him flying to the side, clearing the way to Azul’s group.
And then Nereida’s rapier kissed the air.
“The flower has fangs,” commented one of the black tabards. The others tittered.
Nereida appeared unfazed by the laughter, her stance one that spoke of many hours with a rapier in her hand. Azul could recognize familiarity with sword fights when it stood in front of her—she had seen it on Isadora plenty of times.
“Take care of the trash, then.” The tabards’ leader gestured toward Anané and Oren. “Don’t harm the women.”
One of the men stalked toward her, an unnatural gleam in his eyes.
Azul recognized this look too. People often had it when they’d spent too long sitting around with nothing exciting to do.
Azul would cure him of that soon.
It didn’t matter that she was standing by Nereida instead of Isadora, that this was an inn on the road and not a watering hole at Agunción—the movements came easy because she, too, had been looking for an outlet since stepping on Valanje and having her world come crashing down on her.
She spun the mug in her hand, then threw it at the man’s head.
It hit him full in the face, eliciting a shout and a spurt of blood.
The man staggered back, crashing against a table and some stools, one hand going to his nose, his rapier wobbling uselessly in the air.
Anané whistled. Oren laughed loudly. “What an aim!”
Exclaiming in outrage, the other two plain black tabards rushed forward and were met by Oren and Anané. The rasps and clinks of swords meeting filled the air while Azul searched for another weapon, not taking her eyes off the fight.
How many times had she been in this position before? How many times had she stood behind, watching Isadora’s back? Exhilaration filled her to the point of bursting.
A sword tip came close to piercing Oren’s side, and he was forcedback against the tables. His opponent used the advantage, but his sword was diverted by Nereida’s rapier.
With the ease of a thousand duels under her belt, De Guzmán stepped in front of Oren and drove the black tabard back.
