I smirk. “I’m sure he’d prefer a nice, juicy turnip.”
Brennah’s face scrunches up in confusion. “Truly?”
“No, not truly,” I say as I toss more fruit into my basket.
As we load our bounty into the cart, a commotion erupts behind us. I pivot as three men wearing black masks attack our guards.
Without thinking, I grab the first thing my hand touches—a rather hard pear. I hurl it at the nearest attacker, and it smacks him in the back of the head.
The man stumbles and turns to glare at me. “Did you throw a pear at me?”
“No,” I say, already reaching for another pear. “It was a really ugly apple.”
He lunges toward me, but I’m quicker. I pelt him with a barrage of pears, each one finding its mark.
Around me, the other women join the fray. Ava wields a stick like a quarterstaff, while Feyona throws punches that would make any warrior proud. Even Brennah gets in on the action, tossing fruit at the attackers.
Morwen grabs a handful of spices from her newly purchased stock and flings them into one man’s face. He howls, clawing at his eyes.
“That’s right,” she says. “How do you like my special blend?”
The assailants, clearly unprepared for a group of feisty women, retreat. As they stumble away, I turn toward the Bloodstone warriors. Two are unharmed, but the third clutches at a nasty gash on his upper thigh.
Morwen kneels beside him, already yanking herbs and bandages from her bag. “Hold still. This might sting a bit.”
As she works to bind the wound with cloth, I survey the surrounding carnage. Fruit litters the ground, looking like the aftermath of an aggressive food fight.
“Well,” I say, “I guess we’re going to need more fruit.”
“No.” Morwen finishes tending to the warrior’s wound and stands. “We need to return to the camp as quickly as possible.”
We all turn away, leaving behind the market and the stunned shopkeepers, who cautiously emerge from their hiding spots.
The two uninjured Bloodstone warriors flank their wounded comrade, supporting him as he hobbles along.
Ava and Brennah push the cart while Morwen walks ahead. Feyona keeps pace next to me, one hand resting protectively on her swollen belly.
I glance at Brennah, half-expecting her to break the silence with another question about Cenric’s fruit preferences, but even she is subdued.
As we near the camp, I wonder what Cenric will say when he hears about our adventure. Will he be angry?
Warriors from the camp spot us and rush forward to take charge of our injured companion, supporting him as they lead him toward the apothecary.
Cenric steps from one of the larger tents and approaches us. His blue eyes sweep over our group, lingering on me for a moment, and I fight the impulse to check if there’s a pear stuck in my hair or something equally mortifying.
“What happened, Morwen?” Cenric asks.
“We were attacked in the market,” she begins, her voice steady and calm, “by three men in black masks. They went for our guards first.”
A muscle ticks in Cenric’s jaw as he speaks. “And then?”
“Then, we fought back with sticks and fruit,” Morwen says, pride lacing her words.
Cenric’s eyebrows shoot up. “Fruit?”
“Fruit,” Morwen confirms. “Everly started it.”
Cenric’s attention swings back to me, and my cheeks burn, as if I’ve been caught doing something forbidden.
