Not as much as it seems.

Shairi’s eyes snapped open, and her hand lashed out to grab Eritha’s wrist before she could bring the dagger down. Eritha stared for a moment, stunned and dumbfounded. Then Shairi’s fist collided with her face.

Despite her frail appearance, Shairi had a strong right hook. Eritha fell over, her wine-glass smashing and her dagger sliding out of her hand into a corner. “How?” she gasped.

“Did you think some cheap hedge-witch demon-worshiper would get the better of me?” Shairi asked gloatingly. “I tasted your weak sleeping potion in the wine. I cast a spell to purge it from my system as soon as you left me.”

She punched Eritha again. “Oh, and by the way, I’ve read plenty of grimoires, and I know for a fact that Mahadrak is a relatively minor fiend. If he told you he was a duke of hell, he’s having you on.”

Shairi yanked off Eritha’s robe, leaving them both equally naked. Shairi grabbed the robe’s sash and used it to tie her foes hands behind her back.

“Try to cast a spell, and it’ll go very badly for you,” she warned. Eritha seemed to take her threat in earnest.

“Now, then,” Shairi said, placing her knee in the small of Eritha’s back, “You were going to sacrifice me to a demon. Let’s see about your… punishment.”