Vambran was just squaring himself to jump in and attack one or more of the thugs from behind when he heard a shout from the opposite direction. Turning, he spotted a host of men at the mouth of the alley running toward him. He groaned, thinking at first that those were reinforcements for the thugs, sent to come in from behind him and keep him from escaping. But then, he got a better look at the soldiers' markings and saw that they were members of the Sapphire Crescent.
Most of the mercenaries rushed past him, crashing into the remaining thugs who, realizing they were outnumbered by a sizable margin then, turned and fled. Vambran doubted any of them would reach the far end of the alley.
Two of the mercenaries pulled up short, though, stopping to face Vambran and salute him.
"Looks like you needed a bit of help, sir," Adyan drawled, that scar on his chin glowing in the moonlight. "Glad we happened to hear your scuffle."
"We've been sent to bring you back to the temple," Horial added, a smirk on his face. "I couldn't think of a better reason to gather the platoon and come see if you needed some assistance."
Vambran looked back and forth between the two men and started to laugh.
"Well met," he said, offering his hand. "Well met!"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Emriana continued to tug against the strips of cloth that Denrick had used to bind her into one of the high-backed chairs in her own room. He'd torn them from her dress, which lay in a discarded heap on the floor nearby. Wearing only her chemise, she glared at the young man, who was sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her with a glare of his own and rubbing a spot on his forearm where she'd managed to bite him. That was before he'd wedged a thick knot of more cloth into her mouth and tied it in place with yet another strip. So she was confined to the chair, her legs and arms strapped down. Denrick had managed it with the guard's help, of course.
"That wasn't very nice," Denrick grumbled, examining his wound.
Emriana had barely broken the skin, but watching her captor fuss over the fresh wound gave her some small level of satisfaction. She glanced over to where Jaleene sat next to her, tied to another chair in a similar fashion. The handmaiden's eyes were wide with fear, and she'd said nothing since awakening. Emriana pitied the woman a bit, but not so much that she had forgotten to be afraid for her own well-being.
Despite her bravado, Emriana knew that she was helpless against whatever Denrick ultimately wanted to do to her, and his intentions seemed pretty clear as he studied her, that wolfish grin slowly returning. She desperately wished the dress were still on, no matter that it had been a rather uncomfortable thing to wear. She refused to let her fear show through, though, and kept her malevolent gaze right on his face the entire time.
Denrick stood up and began to pace back and forth in front of the two women. He placed his hands behind his back as he did, as though deep in contemplative thought. He began to speak.
"If this marriage is going to work at all, we're going to have to establish some ground rules. You know, some guidelines by which you can keep from getting into trouble, which you most definitely are in right now."
Emriana simply snorted through her gag, showing what she thought of the older boy's guidelines.
"Deride them if you want, but at your own peril," Denrick said. "For I might begin to grow tired of you if this foolish resistance keeps up for much longer. I had hoped for a more amicable marriage, but I will take what I need from you less amicably, if necessary."
The girl lowered her eyes for the briefest of moments at Denrick's not-so-veiled threats, feeling her heart pound. He seemed perfectly capable of following through with sating his despicable lust. She could see it in his eyes. The look had always been there, had always been a part of Denrick Pharaboldi's visage, for as long as she'd known him, and it was what was always so off-putting about the man. Emriana had just never realized what it truly signified until just then.
"So, whether you begin to recognize the value in making me happy, or I have to extract my enjoyment from you the hard way, I will get my satisfaction from you. It was promised to me from the start of this little venture, and I will have you."
Thinking of her uncle negotiating with such a man and using her body as part of the offer incensed Emriana. She began to thrash, jerking on the strips of cloth that pinned her to the chair, grunting in fury and desperation. Her rage washed over her, and she wanted nothing more right at that moment than to lunge at the glowering, smirking cretin and scratch out his eyes. She wanted to ram her knee up between his legs as hard as she could. She wanted to cry.
"Excuse me, Master Pharaboldi," came a voice at the door to Emriana's rooms.
Denrick spun around with a sigh of exasperation.
"What is it, Bartimus?" he asked, impatient.
The man standing there was slightly paunchy, with a round face and a flat nose on the end of which sat a pair of spectacles. The man's hair was sort of greasy and white. He seemed to be working very hard to be ingratiating to Denrick, for he wore a silly grin, but at the same time he appeared distracted, as though he was thinking of something completely separate from the discussion at hand.
"Master Talricci and Master Matrell have finished dealing with everyone else at the meeting. And the house is secure."
"Excellent," Denrick said, nodding. "And my mother?"
"She is waiting with the others. Master Talricci would like to know if you want to deal with her yourself."
"Hmm" Denrick said, thinking. "Yes, I suppose I owe her that. All right, tell them I'll be right up to explain things to her."
"Of course," the man named Bartimus said, then he turned and ambled off.
Denrick came back around to face Emriana.
"Well, I guess you've earned yourself a short reprieve. If I were you, I would spend it giving careful consideration to the repercussions of continuing to defy me. My patience is growing thin, and you must realize that, sooner or later, I will get what I want. You might as well make it easy on yourself and not anger me further."
He spun on his heel and left the room, walking confidently and quickly out the door.
As soon as their tormentor was gone, Jaleene burst into tears.
"Oh, Mistress Emriana, I'm so sorry! He's a wretched man, but you mustn't be afraid. He'll do what he's going to do and be finished, and it's only one moment. Don't fight him and make him angry, Em. Just let him finish and he'll leave us alone."
Like hell I will, the girl thought, and she screamed through her gag as loudly as she could, forcing Jaleene to stop her chattering. The handmaiden looked at Emriana, her eyes wide with fear.
"Mmph," the girl vocalized, then jerked her head down toward her arm, which was bound by the cloth.
"What is it?" Jaleene asked. "What do you want me to do?"
"Mmph!" Emriana yelled, rolling her eyes.
She gave her companion a look of patience and, taking a deep breath, she began to rock her chair from side to side. Jaleene watched her, confusion still obvious in her visage, but Emriana had to concentrate on her own movements. Slowly, steadily, she got a rhythm going, making the chair tip just the slightest bit each time she shifted her weight. As she worked, she made the rocking grow a little with each pass, until soon she was riding up on two legs each time, making the chair lean way over from side to side.