When Lane finally finished chatting Damien waved her over. Scowling, she stalked to the bar. What was she pissed about now?

“What?” Lane asked.

“They don’t have a stable in this part of town. My new best friend”—Damien nodded toward the bartender—“assures me that any horse we leave outside will find its way to the meat market in short order.”

“Fine. Take the horses back up the street and find a stable. I’ll wait here.”

“If you think I’m leaving you alone in this place you’re nuts. And if your mother found out she’d kill me. We go together and walk back together, if you insist on returning.”

“It’s for the best, miss.” The bartender flinched when Lane turned her angry gaze on him. “Bonzo’s got a lot of friends. You don’t want to be here when they find out you flattened him.”

Lane turned back to Damien. “What’s a Bonzo?”

“The gentleman lying by the wall over yonder.”

She pursed her lips. “I think I have a good feel for what the people in this part of town think. Maybe it would be useful to talk to the other side.”

Thank Bonzo and all the heavens.

Lane headed for the door and Damien slipped the bartender a silver crown before he followed. He doubted it would stop the man from telling the Daggers which way they went, but he had provided some useful information.

Damien dissolved his invisible barrier before Lane reached it. He detected no sign that anyone had tried to bother their horses. Lane swung up into her saddle and Damien followed her example.

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They’d gone as far back as the cedar-sided buildings before Lane said, “You used your powers back there. No way I knocked that goon out myself.”

“Yeah, I sure did. Would you have preferred to break your hand on his jaw?”

“I told you not to use your powers. I know how to throw a punch.”

Damien shook his head at the woman’s stubbornness. “I’m sure you do, but have you ever punched a warlord? Bones as hard as steel tend to be hard on the knuckles.”

Lane laughed. “If he was a warlord then I’m a princess.”

“He wasn’t Citadel trained, but Bonzo did have a weak internal soul force. He’s what’s called an instinctive user. You’ll run into one now and then. The point is, trained or not, you still would have broken your hand on his jaw. After that I would have had to do something drastic to stop him from raping you on one of the tables while the whole place watched.”

That shut her up.

They reached the crossroads and turned in the direction the guards had suggested. The effect on the buildings was exactly the opposite of their ride toward the first inn.

Houses became nicer. Fresh coats of paint covered everything. Single-story buildings gave way to two stories. Windows got wider and more numerous.

The Golden Stag stood two stories high and sprawled over half a block. An iron fence surrounded manicured grounds. Warm light from the windows lit the yard. Three steps led up to dark wood doors, inset with colored glass.

Damien guided his mount through the open gate. Beside him Lane groaned.

“What’s wrong?”

“I hate places like this.”

“Oh sure. Clean, warm, good food, no thugs to attack you. Seems like a horrible place. Bet you a royal the bartender has all his teeth.”

Lane offered a weary smile. “It’s not the setting, it’s the memories. Mom used to bring me to places like this. Everyone patted me on the head, and smiled these sad smiles, every one of them thinking how pathetic it was for someone like Mom to have such a disappointment for a daughter.”

A pair of boys in blue tunics embroidered with golden stags rushed out from behind the inn. They held their reins while Damien and Lane dismounted. As soon as they had their gear the boys led the horses and mule off toward the back. Now that’s what Damien called service.

“You’re not a little girl anymore,” Damien said. “Try to relax and enjoy the luxury. After this little break it’s back to business.”

“I’ll try.” Lane followed him up the steps. “It’s only one night after all.”