by Ann Aguirre
“What changed?” Mags asked.
“There have been conflicts between the houses as long as anyone can remember, but they used to be more covert. It was a business for Noxblades, not normal citizens. Now, they fight in the streets. They burned our houses the night we fled. Ancalen used to be a such a safe, beautiful place. Since the conclave, however…”
“So there’s a civil war in Ancalen…what houses are fighting?” Maybe that didn’t make a difference, but it might explain why these folks were scared of the princess.
From across the camp, a lean man with silver-blond hair caught up in a messy knot spat in disgust. “You’re fucking beast-kin. You’ll probably cut our throats and drink our blood the minute we let down our guard. Why should we tell you?”
Sickness and shock silenced her for a few seconds. It wasn’t that she didn’t know some Eldritch felt this way, but hearing it spoken straight out instead of in whispers, that was like suddenly taking a fist in the gut. Before she could respond, Gavriel closed the distance and jerked the asshole forward by his shirt front.
“Keep a civil tongue in your head, or I’ll cut it out. The tiger woman is my partner, and I will brook no disrespect.”
Well, damn. That’s kind of hot. Mags could absolutely have thrown the pissant through a tree on her own, but it was nice seeing Gavriel riled up for her sake. I can’t believe this is happening.
The man glared. It seemed that privation had driven him well beyond caring who he provoked. “Beast lover.”
“Don’t say another word, worm. By speaking about her so, you’ve offended me.”
“After what I’ve seen, I’m supposed to be scared of you? Why? Who are you?” The man spat again, all hopeless defiance.
In answer, Gavriel knocked him down and stepped on his chest. Mags suspected she should intervene, but she didn’t want to, considering the shit the asshole had said. I fucking hate being the voice of reason.
The Noxblade’s smile was all winter chill, knives carved of ice. “I am Gavriel d’Alana, Death’s Shadow. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”
From the Eldritch swear that the man on the ground let out, Mags guessed he had, indeed, heard of Gavriel. His already pale face dropped into ashen territory, and he plucked at Gavriel’s pant leg with trembling fingers. “Forgive me. Please. I had no idea. I don’t know why you’re with the tiger woman, but please overlook my—”
“You should be groveling at her feet, not mine,” Gavriel snapped.
Mags finally decided to speak up. “This is entertaining and all, but let the jackass live. I’m still waiting to hear the end of the story that Leena’s mother was telling.”
With a silent snarl, Gavriel stepped back and the Eldritch male scrambled to his feet. He skidded all the way to the far side of the encampment, eyes flickering like he feared his skin might be peeled from his flesh. Leena, on the other hand, was beaming at the Noxblade like his pockets were filled with candy.
Guess she doesn’t like that shit-stain either.
The girl’s mother was saying, “Apologies, I should have introduced myself. I’m called Keriel. Now, where was I?”
“You were about to tell me what houses were fighting,” Mags prompted. At least, she hoped so.
Keriel sighed. “The truth is, I’m not entirely sure. They didn’t bear sigils or colors before the conflict started.”
The leader spoke for the first time. “They were truly the least of our troubles. The real, unavoidable danger came when the Dead-Eyes descended on Ancalen.”
Dead-Eyes? She shot a quick look at Gavriel, wondering if he was thinking along the same lines.
Dammit, I have a bad feeling about this.
Rage still pounded in Gavriel’s skull like furious drums, thudding against his temples. His guild master had always said that he had anger issues and that controlling his temper was key, but he’d rarely snapped like this. There was no explanation for why he’d erupted like a volcanic island when he’d nursed bitter sentiments in the past, blaming the Animari for all he’d lost. Regardless, nobody would be permitted to speak of Magda Versai that way in his hearing. She had a fierce, brave, honest heart, and he’d die before letting some wretch dishonor her name.
He sent a final glare at the caitiff, then forced himself to attend to what was being said. Dead-Eyes? Magda made eye contact and seemed to be asking a silent question, but he lacked the ability to fill in those blanks. He had been able to do that with Oriel before he died, never with anyone else.
“What are Dead-Eyes?” he asked.
“They’ve taken a drug that steals their souls,” Keriel answered. “After the first dose, they change, stop caring for friends and family. They only exist to fight, maim, and kill. We tried to resist at first, but they don’t seem to feel pain. There’s no talking to them either.”
Now he understood Magda’s look. She thought the Ancalen Dead-Eyes sounded like the strange, silent Eldritch they’d fought from House Manwaring, and he had to agree. Gavriel gazed until her eyes met his, then he offered a slight nod, earning a half-smile from her. That quick exchange filled him with peculiar warmth.
“I think we’ve encountered them already. Are there many in Ancalen?”
Keriel sighed, her shoulders slumping. The little girl tucked her hand into her mother’s, trying to offer comfort. “The town is overrun, Dead-Eyes and dissidents. We fled in the night with bits and bobs from our former lives. We came from Gilbraith territory, and we’ve crossed the border, so we have no rights in Talfayen lands, but please—”
“Don’t beg,” Magda cut in. “If we can’t help, we definitely won’t hurt you.” She crossed to Gavriel and set her hand on his arm. It surprised him that he didn’t have the urge to shake off her touch. “Can we talk?”
He turned to the Eldritch leader and said politely, “Would you give us a moment?”
“Of course. Take your time.”
Magda dragged him past the outskirts of camp, still holding his wrist, and Gavriel didn’t wrench away. “We have to help them,” she said.
“That’s not our mission. I’m searching for the hidden loyalist stronghold and you’re looking for…” What was his name? “The Ash Valley traitor.”
“We don’t know that Slay’s turned for sure,” she snarled. “Besides, this is the right call. They won’t survive if they run into a Dead-Eyes patrol. We’ve fought two small ones, wouldn’t have fared as well with larger numbers, and there are probably more. We need to liberate Ancalen and then we need to hunt down whoever is supplying the stuff.”
Her earnest sincerity startled a rusty laugh out of him. “You think we can stop a civil war in enemy territory and eliminate drug trafficking? The two of us. We’re more likely to die.”
When she flashed a cocky grin, he noticed that she had dimples, faint ones; she rarely smiled broad enough for them to show. “You’re an army of one, right? Death’s Shadow and all that. And I’m a one-woman wrecking crew. Together, why can’t we do the impossible? It’s not what we intended when we left Daruvar, but I’m not okay with saying ‘good luck’ and leaving these people to starve or get butchered.”
“It could mean losing the trail for good,” he warned. “If we do this, you may not find Slay before it’s too late.”
He was being generous by not contesting her assertion that the cat lieutenant hadn’t yet been proven to be a turncoat. Assuming that was true, however, also meant giving up the chance to save him in order to help random strangers. In all honesty, it wasn’t the sort of thing he would normally do. Noxblades didn’t receive love from the common folk, and they wouldn’t expect him to step up, not like this.
I’m an assassin, not a fucking hero. I kill people; I don’t save them.
But with her gazing at him with expectant, golden eyes, he wished that he could. For once. Princess Thalia would consider this a colossal waste of time and resources, as these people had no strategic value.
Magda let go of his arm then, expression somber. “Whatever’s going on
with Slay, he’s not waiting for me to save him. I guess you already know that I’m hunting him, just in case. But a potential security threat to Ash Valley does not take precedence over clear and present danger.”
This woman constantly astonished him, making him reexamine his principles and his priorities. “They’re not even your people. Why do you care so much?”
“Maybe you should ask yourself why you don’t care enough.” That was a deflection, though, and she seemed to acknowledge it with the twist of her mouth.
Gavriel waited, arms folded.
“Fine. The truth is, because everyone matters. I’m trying to walk the talk, okay?”
“In other words, you’re trying to live up to the high ideals you lectured me about. We all do our part to build a better world.” He meant those words to sound caustic, but somehow the tone was humiliatingly sincere.
Her smile was pure sunshine. “You get it.”
“I think you might be ruining me,” he muttered.
“Or saving you. The jury is out. So are we agreed? We’re doing this.”
Gavriel sighed. He ignored the cynical voice telling him that this was a terrible idea, one that he would certainly regret. “Fine, what’s your plan?”
“It would be a stretch to say that I have one yet,” she said. “We need more information. First, we have to get these people somewhere safe. Any suggestions?”
He considered. “Not Daruvar. They don’t have the supplies to take twenty more with a dubious ability to contribute to the war effort.”
“Oi! What did I just say?” She poked him in the chest.
“Everyone matters. I suggest we escort them to the nearest Talfayen settlement. I should have enough authority to assure them a civil if not warm welcome.”
“Where are we headed, then?”
Before answering, he checked the map. “Kelnora. It’s twenty kilometers west, closer to the sea than the border. Hopefully, it’s far enough from the fighting that it will offer a quiet respite, after all they’ve been through.”
“How big is it?”
“Two hundred, give or take. Our towns aren’t large. There aren’t many of us, especially in comparison…” He stopped himself.
The Animari weren’t to blame for low Eldritch birth rates. Neither were the Golgoth. Sometimes Gavriel wondered if his people were a relic from times past and they ought to dwindle into nothing, become a footnote in history books about the Numina.
“All the more reason for us to save as many lives as we can,” she said. “I’d like to be known for doing something other than kicking ass. I’m good at it, yeah, but nobody is only one thing. And maybe I had to leave Ash Valley to get that chance.”
“To change your brand? Why, are you hoping to go down in the annals of Eldritch lore as a heroine of legend?” he asked, gently amused. There was that strange, unwanted softness again, pervasive and insidious, growing through him like a parasitic vine.
“Like Annwen? Sorry, I don’t know any Eldritch heroines. I’d bitch at you, but honestly, it’s fun that you’re teasing me. I didn’t realize you even had a sense of humor.”
For a fleeting moment, he imagined sitting with her, sharing one of his favorite stories. He…wouldn’t hate teaching her about Eldritch history, if she truly was interested. Some things, they could learn together, as his studies had been stunted when he was pulled from scholarship and shoved down darker, deadlier paths.
“Neither did I.” Gavriel offered that deadpan, and he wasn’t sure if he was joking. His existence hadn’t given him the space to seek levity or light; he’d lived in the shadows so long that the sun felt like a threat or a myth.
Magda burned with that same brightness—courageous, incandescent, honest to a fault—and he feared she might burn him alive.
10.
The twenty-kilometer trek to Kelnora veered away from Slay’s trail, and Mags stifled a frisson of guilt.
Part of her felt like she was letting down Ash Valley, choosing strangers over kith and kin, like Gavriel had said. But if Slay came back with more Golgoth invaders, Dom and Pru would have to handle it without her. Leena’s eyes would haunt her until her dying day, if she abandoned this child in the wilderness.
Now, she was running point as a tiger with Gavriel watching their backs, riding with Leena in front and two more children up behind him. The rest of the refugees were on foot, so she couldn’t set a bruising pace. They were all carrying more than they could easily manage, the wreckage of lives shattered by a war they neither wanted nor welcomed.
Distance she could have covered in less than hour stretched to nearly four with frequent rests and stops. She ran ahead multiple times, scouting to make sure the path was clear. Fighting Dead-Eyes with refugees in tow could be a disaster. The strain of constantly circling back to check on them started to grate on her, rubbing her nerves raw.
This was different than hunting, more intense and burdensome, but she didn’t regret the course she’d chosen. It was no surprise the refugees had agreed so readily; they were lucky to get this far unprotected, and they had nowhere else to go. Now it was on her and Gavriel to shepherd them to safety.
Around the halfway mark, she smelled trouble, a hint of the camphor she’d scented on the Dead-Eyes. There was no time to signal Gavriel. If the odor was this strong, they were close, and one was wounded. Can I take them before the others catch up?
Really, it depended on how many there were.
Crouching low, she slunk through the tall, dead grass toward her prey, ears swiveling for any signs of movement. She caught a flicker of sound at the edge of her range but checking it out would mean leaving the convoy vulnerable for a while, as it was off the road to Kelnora. Worth the risk, she decided. I’ll be quick. And Gavriel’s there to protect them. He could play defense while she went on the offensive.
She stilled when the Dead-Eyes came into view; they weren’t talking, even among themselves. What was the drug doing to their brains anyway? There were four of them, and one was holding a gun. Safest to assume it might be full of Animari-slaying rounds like they’d used on Raff. I’ll kill that one first.
Wait, if they have Animari-stopping rounds, that means they’re hunting my kind. Did that mean Slay got away from his captors? There could be others in Thalia’s territory, she supposed, but it seemed significant. Too bad she didn’t know all the players on this stage; lack of awareness impaired her ability to make quick judgment calls.
What the hell. She’d already decided to fight when she deviated from the path. Let’s get this party started.
Mags leapt from the underbrush with a lightning fast, predator pounce, and only that speed saved her from a point-blank shot in the head. The Eldritch with the gun moved so fast that his arm blurred, snapping two shots with a celerity that sent a chill down her spine. The second bullet grazed her neck, and the burn started immediately. She hoped to all good gods that the cure she’d tested on herself to save Raff was still in her system, or she might be in trouble.
No time to worry about that.
Mags struck her target with her full weight and knocked him flat. When he hit the ground, the gun bounced away as she tore out his throat. The sticky, tainted blood clung to her teeth and tongue and she wished she had a spare second to clean her mouth, but the nearest Eldritch was already grabbing for the weapon.
I didn’t plan for this. I should have.
She leapt and managed to knock the gun down the hill with one swipe of her paw, so now it was lost in the brush. Three more to deal with, and it was unnerving when they came at her in silence. No trash talk, no threats, just violent determination. It didn’t matter to these Eldritch that their former comrade was gushing blood and choking on it in noisy, gruesome fashion.
They came at her from all sides, and she was damn lucky they were using blades because her skin and fur offered some protection, but their knives were razor-sharp, and sliced into her flesh when she couldn’t dodge. Mags took the hits with a snarl and pushed forward to topple he
r next opponent. In tiger form, she killed the same way in repetition: rush, overwhelm, teeth and claws. It was messy, not much technique to it, but few could stand up to her for pure strength…actually none, since Slay disappeared.
The Eldritch tried to get his knife up, but he didn’t have the raw power and she broke his arm in the leap. His bone made a satisfying snap, but it was even more unnerving when he didn’t cry out as his arm bent at an unnatural angle. He hit the ground under her, and she raked her claws across his abdomen. That left the others free to attack her back, so she rolled across the bastard’s thrashing body and shuddered at the feel of the hot, treacly feel of the blood on her fur.
I can’t let them surround me. That’s how wild dogs win against larger prey.
That might be the wrong analogy, but it was accurate, and they gave her no time to think further, relentless and silent. Thankfully they didn’t have the quickness of mind to go searching for the gun in the undergrowth. Now that it was out of sight, it also seemed to be out of mind. She got why the refugees called them Dead-Eyes. Even with his guts half-spilled, the one beneath her was still slashing with his blade.
She bit down and severed his hand at the wrist and spat as best she could, letting saliva run out, frothy and pink. Disgusting. Two left. Any reasonable foe would have second-thoughts, considering the possibility of a tactical retreat. No such doubt showed in their blank faces.
The poison was in her blood now, though. Not enough to kill her, but she was starting to feel woozy and weak. Mags fought the tremors and faced the survivors with a snarl, showing teeth. The remaining Eldritch were fuzzy about the edges; she had to be fast. If she didn’t take them out quickly, she might not win this.
Using treated black iron bullets infused with beryllium was a shitty trick. Yet Raff got shot multiple times and he made it. I’m stronger than the wolf lord, and this is just a scratch. Come on, get this shit done. The mental pep talk did nothing to clear her vision. More knives sliced across her back, wounds taken because she was getting slow and careless.
