by Ann Aguirre
“Because I promised to keep him safe. I let myself get distracted, put too much trust in others. I don’t take my word lightly, so if I couldn’t stop him from being wounded, then I had to do whatever I could to make it right.”
“That includes self-harm, exposure to toxins? He’s not even your leader.”
“He is my friend,” she said, as if that explained everything.
Would I have done the same for Oriel? Undoubtedly. He was my brother. But for Zan..? Or another sword mate? There, the answer was murkier, for friendship didn’t supersede his pledge to Princess Thalia, and if he fell saving someone else, he wouldn’t be around to serve.
“You think it’s stupid to go that far,” she guessed.
It took him a moment to sort out what he did think as they rode down the hill away from the fortress. “More that it must be…gratifying to earn your friendship,” he said.
“I don’t know which word is weirder, ‘gratifying’ or ‘earn’. Friendship isn’t based on merit points. Or is that how it works among the Eldritch?”
Gavriel had no idea why he was even talking to her about this. “I scarcely recall. The friends I made when I was young are all dead and I’ve forgotten…” He decided against completing that pathetic admission.
But she knew, of course she did. “You forgot how. I hear you. The older we get, the harder it is to believe that someone could simply like us, for no reason at all.”
“Nobody likes me,” he said then. “I have a terrible personality.”
Her laughter rumbled through his back, a sweet little vibration that made him not entirely hate this ride. “No disagreement here. But that’s the price we pay as enforcers.”
Startled, he glanced back at her, at first shocked by her use of the word ‘we’, then he processed the implication of her statement. “You think I’ve donned a persona? To strike fear into the hearts of my enemies?”
“Haven’t you? Maybe you didn’t notice, but you’re not as fierce with me as you used to be. Either you’re not as cruel as you pretend or you’re starting to enjoy my company. Which is it, Gavriel?”
I hate this damned woman. He’d rather die than make either admission, though the truth was somewhere in between. Magda Versai might be slightly less objectionable than most Animari, and he did perform a certain amount to maintain a reputation worthy of the nickname Death’s Shadow.
Avoiding further conversation, he rode the rest of the way in silence. She hopped off the vedda beast even before he brought it to a halt and while he tied the reins to the bare branches of a convenient tree, she crouched to examine the nearest corpse. Anyone else might have been sickened at the way she touched the blood, rubbed it between her fingertips and brought it to her nose for closer inspection. To Gavriel, these abilities seemed more like a portable science lab, filtered through her senses. At last, he had to admit that the Animari had their uses.
“Find anything?” he asked, taking samples of his own.
He would have to wait for machines to analyze the strange-smelling blood, but he wondered what Magda would say, if she’d tell him the truth. She raised somber light gold eyes to his, worry imprinted visibly on her strong features.
“I recognize a chemical tang in the blood. Not sure why they were taking it, but it’s an Animari medicine. That seems… strange.”
“To say the least,” he agreed.
“If you have time, I’d like to head back where we were before. If you don’t, I’ll go by myself,” she added quickly.
“I’d need to know why first.”
“Because that campsite had signs of Slay. At least, I was trying to confirm before Raff called, and if it was Slay, then—”
“That was likely a party of loyalists with him.” For the first time, Gavriel held out a hand to Magda willingly. “Let’s go, we’ve no time to waste.”
5.
Time hadn’t changed the campsite much.
Fortunately, it hadn’t rained or snowed, or Mags might have found it difficult to sift through the detritus to find the trace of Slay she’d caught before. She dug through the rubbish they’d buried and came up with a few scraps of bloody cloth. Even before she carried them to her nose, she was sure.
Slay was here.
Though she didn’t know how or why he’d gotten injured, this was his blood. Gavriel was checking the scene in other ways, taking more samples, as he had from where the ambush went down. She rose in a smooth motion, pocketing the fabric. If she had to guess, she’d say these had been bandages.
“Find something?” he asked mildly.
This was a test. Mags was prone to doing the same, especially when she couldn’t be sure where someone’s loyalties lay. “Yeah. I was right.”
“You found the…second’s trail?” The brief pause told her that Gavriel wasn’t sure what to call Slay.
Traitor and bastard both came to mind, but maybe that was her own anger talking. People outside Ash Valley probably didn’t know Slay’s first name since he hated it with a passion and used to fight anyone who addressed him by it. It didn’t take more than a couple of ass-kickings until everyone called him Slay instead of Ambrose. She stifled a smile, remembering how she used to taunt him in primary school when they played Hunt Him Down: Ambrose Cornelius Slater, I know where you’re hiding! That always worked, even when he had a damn good spot. Every single time, Slay would come roaring out and—
Memories hurt. The good times had blades attached now, especially when it seemed possible that he’d sold out the entire pride over a woman. It wasn’t that Mags thought poorly of Pru; she’d made her choice and seemed happy with Dom. She wouldn’t forgive Slay, however, if he’d turned on all of Ash Valley because of a breakup.
“Are you all right?” Gavriel asked.
He was watching her, always watching, it seemed like. “Just thinking about Slay.”
“Do you think you can find his trail?”
Mags lifted a shoulder. “At this point, I’m days behind, but I have to try.”
“You’ll leave the wolf lord after promising to protect him?”
That…was a good question. Her conscience protested, but Ash Valley security had the first claim. “I’ll stay until I’m sure he’s going to recover. Then I’m hunting Slay down.”
“I’ll go with you,” he said.
Startled, she jerked her gaze to meet his, expecting a sarcastic follow-up, but Gavriel held the look squarely. “You’re serious?”
“I need to speak with Princess Thalia and formally request that she discharge me from her service, but yes. I think I can assist her best from the shadows.”
Mags registered the subtext. Gavriel thought his grim reputation could hurt the princess, so he was choosing to distance himself. He’d fight for her that way, silently dispatching her enemies without regard for reward or promotion. That established him as astonishingly selfless…or maybe he had a death wish. This war had taken so many of his loved ones already that it was possible he didn’t give a shit about his life anymore.
Well, if Gavriel thought he could go off with her to die like a hero, hell if Mags would let that happen. On that note, she decided to accept his offer—not because she needed help, but she thought maybe the Noxblade did, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Taking a breath, she extended a hand, palm open.
“Partners?”
The Eldritch stared for a few seconds before he slowly reached out and grasped her hand. His skin was lighter than hers, but that wasn’t saying much. He had long fingers, cool skin, made more so by the chill, but he shook with a firm grip. She had the strange impulse to yank him into a rough hug and wondered what he’d do if she did.
Gavriel cleared his throat, pulling his hand away. He didn’t wipe it on his black coat at least. “For now,” he muttered.
“Then let’s do a little searching before we lose the light.” She could hunt in the dark just fine, but she wouldn’t leave until Raff woke up, so, for now, she’d content herself with nailing down the direction this party to
ok, so they’d have a better place to start later.
“You won’t be able to track as well if you ride with me.”
Mags nodded. “I’ll go cat from here. Could you take my clothes?”
Before Gavriel could respond, she stripped down and thrust her belongings into his arms. He was usually good at masking his expression, but shock widened his eyes and left him fumbling with her underwear as she slipped into tiger form. She’d been changing so long that there was no pain, only a fluid ripple, and then she roved the campsite, taking in all the disparate smells. Eight Eldritch, all strangers. And Slay.
The Noxblade cursed as he worked to secure her stuff on the vedda beast’s back. When she signaled him with a jerk of her head, he mounted up and followed at a slow pace, letting her sniff out the path. It took hours and the sun was dipping behind the hills when she unearthed the next campsite, only a day old and heading off toward the desolate reaches of Thalia’s territory. The hunt was in her blood now—she wanted to keep moving—but not yet. Not until Raff recuperated.
Wearily, she dropped out of tiger form and stood shivering in the frosty night air. Gavriel swore again and leapt from his mount, scrambling for her clothes. Though he’d seemed fine with Animari nudity before, he was averting his eyes now, offering her possessions with clumsy hands. She’d never seen him so skittish.
“You’re nervous,” she observed.
“That’s because you’re freezing and naked and we’re in the middle of nowhere. We don’t know how close the enemy is and—”
“I could kill anyone who tries us with my bare hands,” she cut in gently.
“Boasting accomplishes nothing.”
I’m not bragging. Still, he was right about her being cold, so she got dressed in record time and fastened up her coat. While her people didn’t feel the weather as much as the Eldritch, they weren’t immune to the elements. Mags blew on her hands, rubbed them together, and then jokingly pressed her palms to Gavriel’s cheeks.
“Better?”
His eyes blazed like embers in the pallor of his face, pale hair tumbling like flax. The wind blew it across her fingers, and it felt like the whole world was holding its breath while his chest rose and fell, too rapidly for comfort. Then, so briefly that she might be imagining it, his lashes fluttered, and he turned his face slightly, as if nuzzling into her touch. Nobody expected gentleness from her, and she quelled the urge to push his face away in an abrupt rejection of how the moment had flipped on her.
What’s the right move here?
Mags dropped her hands, wondering if she should apologize for teasing him. She hadn’t realized it would agitate him so much.
Before she could, he snapped, “Don’t treat me like one of your own. I am unaccustomed to your ways.”
“Yeah, I got that. Anyway, we should head back. I know which way they’re going, and as long as we don’t get a storm, I’ll be able to hunt them down, after we wrap up our business at Daruvar.”
“I’ve taken images and logged coordinates as well, so I can help retrace our path, even if the weather turns against us.” He mounted the vedda beast in a graceful motion, and Mags caught herself admiring his sheer physical agility.
His movements were elegant and perfectly balanced, and his body showed that he’d spent years honing it into the perfect weapon. With a faint mental shrug, she bounded up behind him and set her hands on his waist. As before, his spine went rigid and they had been riding for a while before he unbent a little.
He’d probably freak out if she did anything else. Perversely, that made her want to even more. Mags looped her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his back.
“Wake me when we get there.”
Just like a cat, she went to sleep in the most improbable spot.
For two days after returning to Daruvar, Gavriel fought a battle with himself. He was annoyed with Magda Versai, but that low-grade annoyance prevented him from focusing on the thorns in his heart as the princess tended to her betrothed and they made wedding plans. It occurred to him that the tiger woman might be provoking him out of kindness, giving him a target for his ire since he couldn’t speak his mind to Princess Thalia.
The trail was growing cold, and they’d waited long enough. Now that it was clear Raff Pineda wouldn’t die, he was itching to leave this place, so that he didn’t have to witness the wedding. He drew in a soft breath and went looking for Lileth.
The elder Eldritch was near the kitchens, arranging for the hasty ceremony. “Have you seen the princess?” he asked.
Lileth shook her head. “Not recently. Did you try calling her?”
“We’ve intercepted data that makes me think there might be listeners. Better not to risk it. Could you let her know that I need to speak with her?”
“Where will you be?”
It wasn’t an unreasonable question. Daruvar was huge, and they could waste valuable time wandering about. “I’ll wait in the strategy room until she comes. Please advise her that it’s urgent.”
With that, he turned and hurried to the princess’s personal office. It was a good size, decorated in style from the last century, lots of burgundy, leather, and old wood, along with tasseled cushions and bits of burnished gold. The most important feature was the huge table, currently covered with a map of Eldritch territory. Markers were placed, showing Princess Thalia’s holdings, enemy troop movements based on the latest intel, and probable targets where the opposition might strike. He’d spent more than one night in here, listening to her plans and offering suggestions when invited.
The fire in the hearth was dead, so he built it up with painstaking precision and spread his palms before the crackling flames. Dancing light cast shadows over his hands, so he could imagine the blood that stained them. He didn’t regret the dire things he’d done for the princess, but sometimes he felt like a vessel that she’d tapped until there was nothing left, and now that he could no longer serve, he would be abandoned. Gavriel wouldn’t permit that ending, so he’d make the cut himself, quick and efficient, no looking back, just like the assassin he was.
He’d watched people leaving for so long… well, no more. It was time for the princess to see his back for a change. She probably wouldn’t miss him, but possibly, she’d regret the loss of a good blade.
His mood didn’t let him get comfortable in her space, so he went to the window and gazed out, wondering how many more of his own people he’d need to kill before this senseless conflict ended. That was his purpose—the ending he’d chosen. Since he could no longer fight by Princess Thalia’s side, he would take the fight to the rest of the world. Eliminate her enemies until he died doing so.
There was no reason for him to live on anyway.
The princess alerted him to her arrival with an intake of breath, a suggestion that she was braced for a difficult conversation. Gavriel guessed that she feared he would kneel and lay his soul at her feet but speaking the words wouldn’t change her mind or her intentions. This was only closure.
He turned as she entered, seeing Princess Thalia for what could be the last time. She looked weary, shadows beneath her eyes, and her bearing gave away the wariness that chipped away at his dignity. Her beauty was an icy knife, and it had cut away enough of him. This is why I must go. It was less about how he hated seeing her with the wolf lord and more about not becoming a pathetic, seething stain of a person.
Gavriel executed a brief bow, waiting for her to reach the grouping of chairs arranged on a worn antique rug.
“Sit down,” she invited.
“I’ll be brief. I know that you’re busy.”
“Go ahead.”
“I would like to be discharged from your direct service,” he said quietly.
Her pause and the faint widening of her eyes told him that he’d succeeded in surprising her. There was some satisfaction in it.
“Will you tell me why?”
Not the whole truth, but he could offer a small portion of it. “Magda Versai is pursuing an investigat
ion related to the disappearance of the Ash Valley second. I believe the trail could lead us to an insurgent stronghold, where your father’s followers are hiding.”
“So it’s likely that the jaguar cut a deal with my father and is now working for the traitors and the Golgoth?” Princess Thalia tapped a finger against the arm of her chair, running the potential outcomes in her head.
He knew her face like the way home in the dark, but he looked at the hearth instead, watching the flames gnaw at the firewood. Yellow, orange, blue, white-hot, the colors of destruction were beautiful, but the logs couldn’t survive them.
She was waiting for a response, but he couldn’t draw conclusions based on what he knew. “She picked up a hint of him from one of our patrols, but everything was in such disarray that we can’t be certain if he was a captive or actively cooperating.”
“What I’m gathering is that you would like the freedom to pursue this on your own?” The princess sat forward, watching him carefully.
He thought about night and starlight and the chill winds that swept in from the sea. Though she knew him well, the princess wouldn’t glean anything from his face that he chose not to give. And he’d closed the door on her while he waited for her arrival. A bit of a poem fluttered in his head, something he’d read during a rare moment when he wasn’t training. Literacy hadn’t been prized by the mentor with whom he’d apprenticed, but Gavriel had always loved words and had stolen them as treasures to be hoarded.
Bitter sorrow hides Her face
As Time sweeps me from this fair glen.
The only certainty is our farewell
And that I shall not see you again.
He held Princess Thalia’s gaze; he wouldn’t look away first. “Exactly so. Will you release me from your service?”
To his surprise, her eyes dropped. She studied the ornate carpet for a few seconds, as if she had some regrets about this parting. It was more than he’d expected.
