Jolis called out Thierry’s name, and came straight over to the two of them, long legs, long-striding, bejewelled again, the tall man trailing her. Thierry turned his back. He didn’t go to the bar, that would have looked too much like flight. And Jolis would have followed him anyhow, Silvy realized.

Of course she would have.

She faced the other woman. Who was always so unfairly beautiful, almost stupidly desirable. “You are not welcome here. You know that. Please take your pretty man and go.”

“I just want to—”

“Tell Thierry you are marrying. Yes. We know. I assume this is him, the pretty man. Have you started on your twelve children yet?”

“Silvy, why do you hate me so much?”

Silvy saw, out of the corner of her eye, that Eudes had come out from behind the bar now. He stopped a short distance away.

“Fuck yourself,” she said to Jolis de Charette. “You know why.” Swearing again!

The tall man glowered at her. “That is no way to speak to your betters! Apologize!”

“No,” Silvy said. “We were ready to throw her out before. We can do it tonight instead.” Wasn’t quite true, as to before, but she didn’t care.

Jolis went to one side of Silvy and reached out a hand towards Thierry, rings and perfect fingernails. He still had his back to them.

Jolis closed her fingers on his shoulder.

Silvy, watching, saw him flinch. So she did it again. She punched someone. Second time in her whole life, that she could remember, now twice in moments. She hit Jolis de Charette with all her strength on the side of her head, the cheekbone. Might have heard a crack. The other woman shrieked. The tall man moved quickly, held her upright as she staggered.

“You bitch!” he exclaimed at Silvy. “Do you know what you have done?”

“Hurt my hand again?” said Silvy, which was silly but satisfying. Also true.

“We’ll get this tavern shut down!” he snarled.

Thierry turned around at that.

“I doubt it,” he said gravely, “whoever you think you are, and whatever power you think you have. This woman is not welcome here. You just heard it from one of the owners. Jolis de Charette gets people killed. Likely she’ll do it for you, if you last long enough. I’d be careful. Take her away now, with some dignity, before they have to throw you out into the dog shit and mud.”

“You,” said the man, “need a lesson.”

“I’ve had a few in my day,” Thierry said. “Go. I mean it. It really is wiser.”

“I think not,” said the other man grimly.

Jolis was holding her cheek with both hands, moaning. Silvy hoped she’d broken a bone. Was also, she’d later recall, slightly afraid she’d done that. This was not an inconsequential woman.

Then she saw the tall man draw his sword.

“No! None of that!” Eudes snapped, stepping to them now, bulky and calm, but forceful.