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“Did you give any additional thought to my invitation?”
“After my initial opposition upon receiving it?” she asked. “No. My answer hasn’t changed.” Tarley turned her head to Horance. “Which table?”
“That table of four.” The barkeep nodded from the other end of the counter to the table near the hearth.
A man at the table where she was headed yelled, “Where’s our drinks?”
Tarley rolled her eyes and said to Horance, “Taking them now.” She scooped up the tankards.
“But Miss Fareview, I think a riverside picnic will be just the thing to demonstrate my regard.” Rufus’s head tracked her as she moved around the bar.
“No thank you, Mr. Rufus.”
“Doctor.”
She refrained from rolling her eyes. “Dr. Rufus. Not inclined, and I’m working, sir.”
“But, Miss Fareview–”
Tarley left the doctor’s declarations behind without looking back and worked her way across the room. Time with Rufus? Absolutely not. Time on her own for a solitary trip into the woods? Absolutely. A few days alone in the woods. Heaven. While her forays into the Whitling Woods weren’t the safest of endeavors in Kaloma, especially for a woman—not with the threat of collectors and their roundups—she and her family had worked out a disguise to make the stints safer. Adding to it the lessons from her father in self-defense and using the forest to camouflage herself, she felt relatively safe disappearing into the wilds. She couldn’t think about that now; she needed to focus on surviving work.
A strange energy filled with tension worked its way through The Copper Pot, which made Tarley tense as she moved between tables. Perhaps because of the impending visit of the Queen of Kaloma, who was set to arrive in the village of Sevens any day now, the village was on tenterhooks with anticipation. It was the most exciting thing to ever happen to Sevens in its whole existence, and the very reason Credence had given Tarley a position at the Copper Pot Inn.
Tarley had lived within the confines of Sevens for twenty-six years. While usually a sleepy, inconsequential settlement in the Whitling Woods at the northern edge of the Kaloma Kingdom, the news of the Queen’s visit had caused the village to burgeon with new life. And, because it wouldn’t just be Kaloma Royals visiting, but a royal contingent from the bordering kingdom of Jast journeying to meet the Queen for whatever it was the royals did, many new faces had arrived in the village, like Dr. Rufus—all hopefuls seeking to capitalize on the coin the royal visit would incur.
“There ya are,” a gigantic stranger slurred as she arrived at the table.
“Four ales,” she told the man and his companions as she set the tankards down on the table and offered a fake smile to each of them.
At one time, when Tarley and her sisters were younger, they lamented that there was no one their age in the village. But now there were so many strange faces, she wished they’d all go away again. This man and his party were among the newcomers. Most of the new life in Sevens were single men in search of fortune or gainful employment. And most of them were the very men who annoyed, belittled, harassed, harangued, and mistreated women already in short supply.
Sevens was a place that required a certain level of fortitude. It was why it was short of women and families and had been primarily a trading outpost for most of Tarley’s life. Winter lingered for nine months of the year, then spring would arrive, and summer would play for a few weeks before it turned cold again. Her own family had eked out a living—barely—until Auri had found a key laden with gems in the woods after theGreat Nap Escapade. With the wealth they gained from the key, they could have moved to the capital of New Taras—or anywhere in Kaloma—if they wanted, but her parents had insisted on staying in Sevens, in their tiny cottage within the confines of the hedge. They loved the life they’d built there. Besides, where could a woman go in Kaloma to escape the Law of Means? Sevens was as good a place to hide as any.
Tarley didn’t love Sevens, but she loved the woods. Or rather, she loved the way she could disappear into the wilds and claim her independence. She loved being in a place so remote, no one questioned her. Except that had begun to change. Now that the Queen had put their small village on the map, and everyone had decided to make a run for their share of coin, it meant putting up with assholes like Mr. Four-Tankards and friends, who were presently making crude jokes, taunting her.
Ignoring them, she turned her back to the men to collect empty dishes on a nearby table. A meaty hand grabbed a handful of her skirt, including the right cheek of her backside, laughed as he did, and squeezed. With a screech, Tarley swung the used tankard in her hand, the cup connecting with the face of the offender, who yelped in pain.
The noise in the room fell into a chasm of silence.
“How dare you!” Tarley snapped. “Keep your filthy hands to yourself.”
The man—Four-Tankards himself—a beefy tradesman who reeked of sweat and looked stained with dirt, moved from the wooden planks of the floor where he’d fallen to a knee and stood, a hand pressed to the side of his head. “How dare a woman swing on a man.” He straightened, bringing him several hands taller than Tarley, his complexion rapidly reddening.
“But you’d swing on a woman?” she retorted.
“You bitch,” he spat, spittle lingering on his lips.
Tarley took a step back. “Among other things,” she said, narrowing her eyes and wishing she had more than a tankard as a weapon.
This was bad.
She took another step back and met resistance, colliding with the unforgiving wall of someone else. Afraid Four-Tankards would retaliate if she glanced away, Tarley kept her gaze forward, and realized Four-Tankards was frowning at whoever stood behind her.
“Excuse me?” a deep voice rumbled.
Tarley chanced a quick glance over her shoulder to discover the person behind her was Auri’s suitor. He wasn’t looking at Tarley, however, his dark, unnerving gaze leveled on the giant arsehole.
Mr. Uraiahs gently moved past Tarley, placing himself between her and the seething bull of a man who’d dared touch her.
