by Alex Lidell
I freeze, quickly amending my assessment.
Everyone except me and whoever is shrieking inside the barn.
9
9. Lera
Pulling the stable door open, I brace myself for the sight of a rampaging stallion knocking some unfortunate soul into the wall. Instead, amidst the sweet-smelling hay and the warmth of the horses’ scent, I find Princess Katita’s three cousins—the dark, heavyset twins, Puckler and Rik, and the slightly older Lord Nolan—surrounding the scrawny page everyone calls Rabbit. With Nolan gripping the front of his shirt, the nine-year-old lad stands on his toes, shaking in fair imitation of his namesake. A livid bruise peeking out from beneath the threadbare fabric of his tunic matches the set of leather reins in Puckler’s meaty fist.
Hot fury rushes though me, my face and muscles blazing while my magic thrashes against its shackles.
Puckler raises the leather again, Nolan maneuvering the boy to make him into a better target.
Rabbit cringes, bracing himself while hiccupping little sobs escape his throat.
“Belay that!” My bellow echoes through the stable, turning heads, human and equine alike. My fists curling at the sides of my flowing dress, I advance on the group. The rage inside me is so loud, I hear it whistling in my ears. Inside me, River’s shackled earth magic pounds fiercely enough to bring down the barn if given the chance.
Still holding on to the front of Rabbit’s shirt, Lord Nolan turns to flash a set of crooked teeth at me. “If you bothered to look first and speak later, you’d know we are doing the lad a favor.” The tallest of the bunch, Nolan has a thin blond mustache, a nose too pointy for his face, and an expensive jacket cut to make the most of his lean features. The cadet’s gaze slithers across my body before finding my face. I can almost feel the oily trail left by his hard green eyes. Pulling a thick gold sigil from his pocket, Nolan flashes the piece at me. “The little shit picked this from my pocket. Now he is paying for it. Unless, of course, you think I should report him to Commander River instead?” Nolan’s small eyes gleam at the boy. “How would you like a beating from the deputy headmaster, boy? Right before he throws you out of the Academy with the rest of the garbage.”
Rabbit sobs, shaking his head. “No. Please.”
“Seems Rabbit has learned the lesson you have so generously taught him,” I tell the three. Thunder still ringing in my ears, I close my hand casually around a pitchfork leaning by the stable wall. My mind screams that this is the opposite of keeping to myself. I ignore it. “Since everyone is in the mood for favors today, I’ll offer one as well. Let the boy go now, and I won’t break your noses for you.”
Standing closest to me, Nolan releases Rabbit and shifts his weight, loading up his right fist. The obvious movement says fighting isn’t the lord’s strong suit, and I imagine the sudden bravery comes from being a head taller than me. The dubious glance that the twins shoot toward Nolan is absurdly satisfying. And very fleeting.
Nolan swings his fist at my head.
I swing the pitchfork’s handle against the back of the lord’s knees.
Rabbit takes advantage of the commotion to skitter away.
My strike on Nolan lands first, his legs flying out from under him as he topples backwards. He lands on the stable floor with a soft thud, a pile of fresh manure cushioning his head. I step back quickly, crouching in readiness.
“Filthy wench,” Nolan shouts to grunts of agreement from the others, who now converge on me from both sides, eyes flashing. “You’ll regret that.”
Built like barrels, the twins have shining eyes the precise color of Katita’s and tightly pulled-back black hair. The brutality in their mirrored gazes sends a shiver down my spine. They were enjoying hurting Rabbit and, with that taken away, little want to be left empty-handed. I may be fae and they human, but I’m still adjusting to my new fae body—a body that is far smaller than theirs—and three to one are not good odds.
On my right, Puckler swings the leather reins he used on Rabbit, the thick material making a whooshing sound as it cuts through the air. On my left, Rik has located another pitchfork—though unlike me, he holds it with the sharp end forward. Across the aisle, Sprite is kicking her stall, and even Coal’s Czar is whinnying his displeasure.
Rik swings the pitchfork first, the metal teeth flashing toward my head.
I duck and slide sideways, letting Rik’s momentum carry him to stumble into the wall. Just as I do, a line of fire explodes along my left ribs. Puckler. I gasp at the pain, twisting to see him swing the leather reins back for another blow. The whooshing sound makes my stomach clench, my memory flashing in remembrance of Zake’s beatings, and I know that only my having been moving when he struck saved me from the full force of the blow. I won’t be so lucky next time.
Out. I need to get out of here.
My eyes slash over the three cadets. The stable. The horses. Stalls line both sides of the long, wide aisle where we are fighting, the two doors on either end as far as from me as the moon. Worse still, I’m in the middle of the boys, with the twins cutting off the south exit route and Nolan cutting off the north. The pungent stench of Nolan’s fury is stronger than latrine refuse.
But Nolan is the weaker of the group. If I can get through him, it would put the lord between myself and the twins.
Throwing my pitchfork at Rik, I buy myself time to set up my attack. Breathing steadily, I lower my level. Aim my shoulder for Nolan’s hip. Push off my legs. Explode.
My shoulder hits Nolan’s bony frame with a satisfactory thud, the lord’s body yielding to my force. Falling backward for the second time in as many minutes, Nolan moans.
I don’t even pause.
Jumping over Nolan’s writhing form, I spring for the door, my dress swinging awkwardly around my legs. My soft boots pound the wooden floor, my lungs taking gulps of hay-sweet air. Behind me, the boys scramble off each other, their cursing egging me on. Faster. I need to go faster. The ten steps left between me and the door feel like miles. Eight steps. Five.
I’m going to make it. I can tell by the distance of the sound closing up from behind me. Just one more—
My foot lands on my dress’s hem, my knee suddenly hitting fabric. With a curse, I fall onto my knees, the sting of impact nothing compared to the devastation of a hand closing around my ankle. A hard yank from one of the boys flattens me, the rough wood scraping my face.
“Going somewhere, wench?” Puckler’s gravelly voice hits the back of my neck a moment before his considerable weight settles atop me. The stench of too-strong perfume fills my nose. “You think you have leave to assault members of King Zenith’s court?”
I move on instinct honed from too many minutes spent flattened beneath Coal’s unyielding body. Rising to my knees and elbows, I turtle up to protect my stomach and head. Wait for my opening. Compared to the immortal warrior, Puckler is an awkward sack of rocks—but he is large and one of three. I can’t stay here in my turtle position for long.
There. The slight shift of Puckler’s weight is all I need to twist out from under him.
The moment I do, Rik is there, forcing me right back onto my hands and knees while his brother restraddles my back. The two failed escapes press on me as roughly as Puckler’s considerable weight.
“Well, this is convenient, isn’t it?” Nolan’s thin, nasal voice holds a note of vicious amusement. “I do love breaking a filly. Let’s get a bit in its mouth.”
The clanking sound of a bridle being readied shoots through my nerves. I buck to get Puckler off, having to wait patiently for a shift of weight. For an opening. Puckler doesn’t budge.
The next moment, something cracks along my backside, the slap of leather an acidic mix of pain and humiliation. A second lash.
Atop me, Puckler grabs my hair while Nolan’s manure-covered palm shoves a bit into my face.
The rush of fury that overtakes me is enough to rival a storm.
10
10. Tye
With the others busy at dinner
, Tye swung on the horizontal bar in the center of a quiet training pitch as the sun slowly sank below the Academy wall, gaining more momentum with each flex of his body. With an easy exhale, he gave himself a final push and flew into the air.
Cool air nipped his face, his body’s tumbling in defiance of gravity sending a rush of exhilaration through him. In that instant of soaring above the bar, with nothing but the control of his body and trust in momentum keeping him in the air, Tye felt that elusive completeness.
He felt alive, his heart pumping hard in celebration of nothing but the now.
The moment ended as Tye caught the bar on his way down, his too recently dislocated shoulder screaming its protests. With a swallowed wince, Tye let himself down, landing neatly on the forgiving sands. After the high of soaring through the air, the return to the ground was deadening.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Tye turned toward the applause, a trained smile on his face as he saluted whoever it was. Katita. Again. Tye’s jaw tightened. Pretty, intelligent, and ruthless, Katita was King Zenith’s heir and Ckridel Kingdom’s—Tye’s kingdom—next queen. For all the uniforms and Academy rules that technically made the upperclassman Tye a superior to first-year Katita—there was no denying the reality of power. Ckridel was hers, and by extension, so was Tye.
“Impressive,” Katita said, ending her applause. “I’m not sure what Master Shade would say about stressing the shoulder, though.” Dressed in a pair of billowing black pants and a short silver jacket that let a sliver of taut belly show, her blond hair tied up in an elaborate nest of coils and braids, Katita was accustomed to drawing the eye of every male at the Academy. Yet her toned body failed to captivate Tye in the least. Not that it would be polite—or wise—to inform her so aloud.
Tye summoned a grin wide enough that he knew it made his green eyes seem to dance—which usually confused people long enough to give him time to escape. He didn’t like to abuse his effect on others, but sometimes it was worth it. “What Master Shade doesn’t know can’t hurt him. You wouldn’t be in the mood for reporting on a friend, would you, Kit?”
“My name is Katita.” A mix of annoyance and pleasure.
“Is it?” Tye hopped back on the bar, which had the dual benefit of ending the conversation and making his shoulder burn. At least pain was a feeling. A something.
These days, feeling was a privilege. No matter how many people surrounded Tye, how he laughed or jested, a great slice of Tye’s soul seemed to remain trapped away in some dungeon. And no matter how hard Tye pounded on the door, he couldn’t get to it. Couldn’t feel the range of emotions, not outside those glorious moments of flying.
With one notable exception.
Leralynn’s lilac scent woke Tye’s soul as only soaring above the earth did, his heart and breath quickening with the merest shift of wind if it carried the smell. Made him drunk on it. Unfortunately, it also made him stupid. Especially in the time following that first awkward run-in in the courtyard, when he’d followed Lera into the woods and let his cock do too much of his thinking. The part in question twitched even now just at the bloody memory.
At least Tye had manned up a few days ago, laying the reality bare before Lera. Tye could not get involved. With anyone. And whenever he was tempted to, he needed only to recall what happened with his fiancée Tiga, and the misplaced lust dissolved to reality.
Unlike the Academy’s other students, Tye was common born—with only his talent for athletics bringing him in contact with his betters. Athletics were his life—it and the fiery, passionate Tiga whom he’d been promised to since childhood. With both of them growing up, Tiga had been certain Tye’s competitions would stay behind. There was, after all, no place for a common-born peasant to go.
Until Great Falls Academy invited Tye to enroll and represent them at the Prowess Trials. Until Tye had accepted, standing firm through Tiga’s tears and pleas.
The morning after the argument, Tye awoke to a note on the pillow freeing Tye of all obligations. No destination, no address, no promise of return. You made your decision, Tiga’s loopy handwriting leaked with hurt. And now I’ve made mine. I hope you find it worth it.
A week later, Tye returned from a grueling run to learn that a villager had found Tiga’s body at the bottom of a ravine. A note tucked into her bodice said goodbye to no one in particular.
No. Tye was never doing that to anyone again. Not getting involved with anyone he didn’t wish to hurt. Training and relationships did not mix at all. He and relationships didn’t mix.
Which all still left the void Tye struggled to fill with what he could. Tempting gravity, tempting fate, even tempting River. He’d go over the Academy’s wall again in a moment, no matter how many beatings it earned him. Feeling pain was better than feeling nothing at all, and the thrill of Lera’s nervous excitement—the first he’d felt with any woman since Tiga—was worth any amount of discomfort. Tye could still feel the heat of Lera’s body, her pulse beating hard enough to be heard, her eyes widening as he slid his hands along her hips.
Lera, that small, glorious lilac girl, was so alive that even Tye’s locked-away soul sang in her presence. Her similarity to Tiga in appearance little hurt either.
Keep your cock to yourself, you bastard, Tye told himself as he completed a twenty pull-up set and hopped back to the soft sand. Flowers are to be savored, not trampled on.
The last dinner bell sounded from the keep tower, and Tye’s stomach gave a dissatisfied rumble at being out here when food was elsewhere. Well, it could join his cock in complaining, Tye still had things to do. A run, to start with. Then more strength and flexibility work. He could always talk a cook into some bannocks later, but with the others busy eating, there was no one to tell him what he should and shouldn’t be doing with his shoulder. Katita might tsk and fawn, but she wouldn’t interfere. And she certainly wasn’t going to run with him.
Tightening his laces, Tye looked toward the moat of woods planted to create the illusion of a forest instead of a wall, his attention catching on a small body sprinting fast as a frightened squirrel past Katita and into the training corral.
No, not a squirrel—a Rabbit.
11
11. Tye
Catching the lad, Tye crouched beside him. The small, curly haired boy was panting, tear tracks plain on his dirty face.
“What’s keeping you from dinner?” Tye asked, narrowing his gaze on Rabbit’s trembling shoulders. Tye had been small as a boy as well, and knew firsthand that only events of grand magnitude could make the lad skip a meal. “Have the guards been giving you a hard time?”
With no family, Rabbit had somehow talked his way into a position as a page at the Academy, mostly running messages around the grounds. With no other children employed, the adults had differing ideas on what the boy’s exact role should be—especially since, despite months of regular meals, Rabbit couldn’t help picking the pockets of anyone careless enough to leave valuables there.
Tye understood that as well, and, being of a belief that anything worth doing was worth doing well, was unlikely a good influence.
“Le—Leralynn. Nolan and his… Surrounded.” Rabbit’s skinny chest heaved with panting breaths that left him unsteady on his feet. “Puckler. Rik too.”
A chill spread down Tye’s spine, the world around him suddenly silent. Irrelevant. “Where?”
“The stable, I presume.” The cool answer came from Katita, now standing beside them, her turquoise eyes cold, her blond hair gleaming in the setting sun. She snatched Rabbit’s ear to pull the boy away. “At least that is where my cousins took this rubbish to discuss his recent activities. He must have escaped.”
A flash of heat lit Tye’s blood. “Let him go.”
To Tye’s relief, Katita released Rabbit’s ear, her gaze turning slightly amused as she folded her arms over her chest. “Better?”
“Yes.” Shoving past the princess, Tye started toward the stables.
“Stop.” The amusement in Katita’s voi
ce was gone now. Stepping in front of Tye, she pressed her hand into the middle of his chest. “Leralynn must have interfered. Let the royals handle it as they see fit.”
“Are you insane?” Tye fought the urge to grab and snap that slim wrist. His mind raced, his gaze darting between the princess and the stable. “Come with me and put a stop to whatever is happening, Katita.”
“No.” She closed the distance, her movement for once void of sensuality. “Leralynn interfered with royals, Tyelor. After today, I imagine she won’t repeat the mistake.” Her voice lowered, the soft threat raking like nails on slate. “Don’t make the same mistake she just did.”
Tye burst into the stables in time to hear a high-pitched male wail. This came from a doubled-over Lord Nolan, who, judging by his popping eyes and straining vocal cords, wouldn’t be siring any children in the near future. Or ever.
Just beyond the downed Nolan, Lera had control of Puckler’s back, her arm wrapped around the cadet’s thick neck. Unable to reach the ground, Lera hung on to the choke while Puckler flung her about like an angry bear. Puckler’s twin, Rik, circled the pair in search of an opening that his own twin wasn’t giving him. Granted, given Puckler’s increasingly darkening face due to lack of air, the mindless thrashing was understandable.
Stars. Lera was half the size of any one of them, and holding her own better than any Academy guardsman could have.
For a heartbeat, Tye’s swell of pride for the fierce little tsunami made him hesitate to interfere. Then Puckler twisted around.
Welts and bruises flashed through the rips of Lera’s tattered magenta dress, bits of manure covering her vibrant hair and flushed skin. Another bruise ran along her mouth, her lips swollen and bloody. She’d not been winning; she’d been surviving. And she was hurt.
