Defy

by Sara B. Larson

  I shook my head, unable to say anything.

  He took my hand again and squeezed it. “I’m glad it was me and not you. Now help me get bandaged up and let’s get to bed. It’s been a long night.”

  I was quiet as I did what he asked, cleaning the wounds, then winding the extra bandages I kept to bind my breasts carefully around his torso. When it was done and I’d helped him pull on a clean tunic, I finally said, “I can’t believe you thought so quickly to call out your own name.”

  He shrugged, then winced in pain. “You might be the better fighter, but I was always the smarter one.”

  I couldn’t bring myself to laugh, because it was true. His quick thinking had saved me from discovery and the breeding house twice now.

  “Do you want me to get you anything?”

  “No,” he said. “But I will let you be the one to deal with Prince Damian in the morning.”

  I grimaced. “Of course.”

  He carefully lowered himself to lie down on his bed with a smirk on his face. “I’d take ten lashes over one of Prince Damian’s temper tantrums any day.”

  I shook my head with a rueful smile. “Thank you, Marcel.”

  “I’ll never forget that little boy, trying to protect his sister,” Marcel said suddenly, his voice quiet. “I did what I had to do.”

  I waited until his breathing was deep and steady before I finally crawled under my own covers. Even then, it was hours before I was able to go to sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about what Marcel had done and the horrors of the breeding house. Of Kalen, lying down in the attic, probably still crying with the other girls. Of the girl I’d glimpsed on the bed, her face turned toward the moon.

  And just before I drifted off, I thought of Iker, hunched over a table in his room, doing something with a knife that smelled of blood and fire. Something that he was so upset about us seeing, he’d punished us even more thoroughly than he probably could have imagined.

  I hated him, and the king who did this to our people, more than ever.

  THE NEXT NIGHT, the air was still damp from a passing storm, and would most likely stay that way for hours. The darkness was so complete, it felt alive, as though it sucked at me, pulling my eyelids lower and making my limbs heavy. Because of King Hector’s dinner party, the normal perimeter squadron had been called inside the ballroom, and Prince Damian’s guard was assigned to patrol the outer doors to the main palace until the party ended.

  “I’m going to go walk the perimeter,” I announced, pushing away from the wall. Walking would help me stay alert. The drenched heat of the jungle was too much for me tonight; I’d never stay awake if I continued to stand in place.

  Marcel glanced over at me from his position on the other side of the doorway. “Would you like me to come with you?”

  “It’s been a quiet night. Stay here and rest,” I said, noticing the sheen of perspiration on his forehead and the pain in his eyes. “I’ll take the whistle just in case.”

  The palace grounds were mostly peaceful, although inside, the royal dinner party was still going strong, and had apparently turned into an impromptu dance. Strains of music began to waft through the air as I neared the dining hall windows. I caught a glimpse of Prince Damian waltzing with a pretty young woman across the dance floor. In his evening attire, with the warm candlelight painting his features so softly, his customary sneer absent from his face, he was almost painfully beautiful. His dark hair, olive skin — so much like mine, since we were both half Blevonese — and his pale blue eyes were a striking combination. I couldn’t deny that he was attractive. Too attractive.

  There had been a moment when I’d first met him when I wished I didn’t have to hide that I was a girl. But then he’d opened his mouth to speak, and it didn’t take long for me to come to dislike him.

  Realizing I was staring at the prince, I squared my shoulders and scowled at myself. The heat was getting to me. That was all. I nodded at another guard, one of the king’s men, as I continued forward. Echoes of laughter and voices slurred by drink were clearly audible as I crossed in front of the open windows, scanning the courtyard.

  I’d nearly passed the length of the dining hall when I heard the thud of a body. Instinct took over, and I dropped to the ground, whirling at the same time. An arrow pinged as it hit the wall, right where my head had been moments before. One of the king’s guard lay on the ground across from me, an arrow protruding from his eye socket.

  Sliding my sword from its scabbard, I turned my back to the wall, and spun to face the unknown enemy. My heart beat erratically. How many were there? At least one of them was obviously an excellent shot. If they had breached the outer wall without a racket, there couldn’t be too many of them. No, this was a small group — possibly even a single assassin.

  Straining my ears, I barely heard the whistle of another arrow before I spun again, raising my sword up to the level of my face. It bounced off the wall inches from my cheek.

  I was blind, sitting like a target in the spilling light of the party, staring out into the black night. Raising the whistle to my lips and simultaneously leaping through the open window, I blew on it hard, three times. It was a special whistle that emitted an earsplitting sound, so loud, not only would Marcel hear it and repeat the call, but so would the rest of the guard who were above us in their beds or on duty in the hallways.

  The people nearest me gasped and screamed in horror when I vaulted through the window, the echo of my whistle blows still ringing in my ears. I got a glimpse of the king sitting on his throne, watching the party with his pale, cold eyes, before a servant bearing a tray of wine collided with me, dumping the tray on the floor with a crash as flutes filled with the scarlet liquid shattered.

  “Attack! Guards, clear the room!” I shouted into the sudden silence as the music stumbled to a halt.

  Immediately, those of the outer guard, the king’s guard, and Rylan — who was guarding Prince Damian at the party — jumped into action, herding the royals and their court out of the room. Prince Damian glanced at me, his expression inscrutable before turning and guiding his companion, resplendent in diamonds and silk, out the door in front of him. Iker ushered the king behind the throne to a special passage hidden there.

  “Rylan, come with me!” I shouted before turning away from the flashing jewels and bright silks to plunge back outside into the darkness and the aim of the unknown shooter.

  Marcel was already there, holding his bow. “I shot down the one who killed the king’s man.” He nodded behind him, where the guard’s body lay prone, a puddle of blood surrounding his head. “But there was someone else. He scaled the wall before I could get off another shot.”

  “There could be more outside the walls as well. Let’s go.” I took off at a run, sheathing my sword and pulling my bow over my head, drawing an arrow from the quiver on my back. The outer squadron for the west gate was nowhere to be seen. Most likely shot as well. We had to waste precious seconds locating the key ring hidden behind a loose stone and heaving the door open. By the time the jungle was in full view, the rest of the prince’s guard had arrived.

  “Not a single king’s man showed up to help, huh?” Asher noted, glancing behind us.

  “Typical,” muttered Jerrod, his extremely pale blue eyes ghostlike in the darkness. “They’re probably all too busy waiting in line for their turns at the breeding house.”

  “Fan out,” Deron whispered harshly, ignoring them and pointing into the jungle. “They won’t have gone into the city; they must be out there. If they’re assassins from Blevon, they won’t be comfortable in the jungle. Use your senses, track them.”

  The men nodded and we began to slip away silently in pairs. Shouldering the bow so I could move more easily through the trees, I headed straight forward, straining for any sign of the men who attacked the palace. The leaves and vines of the jungle were still coated with drops of moisture, and the ground sucked at my feet as I moved ahead without a sound. My heart thudded in my chest, but I gritted my t
eeth and kept going. There was no time to waste on being afraid of the jungle.

  I motioned at the ground, and Marcel nodded. His hairline was damp and his eyes bright with pain, but he gamely followed me into the jungle without a word of complaint. Directly ahead of us were a broken leaf and a fresh boot print. We were on someone’s trail.

  The darkness was so complete, the shadows seemed to take form around me as we plunged deeper into the belly of the rain forest. My mind made enemies from the mist. As I stalked through the jungle, stealthy as a predator, I had to sort what was real from what was imagined. Trees, vines, rocks — all were menacing in the steamy night. But my prey was cunning and far more intelligent than any jaguar’s quarry — and a better shot. The pungent scent of moist soil filled my nose. Heavily laden leaves, swollen with water, brushed against my face. A hanging mist coated the air. Not true rain, but enough to make my skin wet.

  I caught sight of a shadow ahead of me. Not one of our own. He tried to blend in, but he wasn’t at home here. Not like we were. Though I was afraid of the jungle, I understood it — I knew it, and how to blend into it. I halted, lifting a fist silently. My eyes narrowed, and I squinted to make out the details as the assassin melted from tree to tree, trying to conceal himself. I silently lifted the arrow I’d been holding the whole time, felt the smooth wood, the tickle of feathers against my fingers.

  He froze. Possibly felt the weight of my stare. Time was short now before he realized he’d been caught. Would he turn to fight or try to flee?

  In one smooth movement, so fast there were few, if any, who could match me for speed, I swung the bow off my shoulder, notched the arrow, and let it fly. Only the smallest twang from the string sounded as the arrow whistled through the damp air toward the enemy.

  There was a cry of pain and the shadow dropped to the ground. My arrow hit true. I never missed.

  Someone drew up next to me on my right. Without looking, I could sense my brother. Marcel was always close by — always trying to protect me.

  “Is there only —?”

  I jerked my head to silence him, but it was too late. I heard the returning whistle right before the arrow embedded with a wet thunk in Marcel’s chest. He cried out, sucked in a shocked gasp of air. Just as before, the aim was perfect. Marcel fell to his knees, his eyes wide as he stared up at me. I could see my name form on his lips, my true name.

  Alexa.

  But the word was nothing more than a gurgle as his mouth filled with blood and he collapsed to the ground.

  The blackness of night was like a living thing, breathing in hope and expelling terror. As I stood next to his body, the darkness took the shape of death, reaching, grasping for him. I was helpless to stop him from leaving me.

  The night was painted red now, red with my fury, red with his blood. There was a small snap from a twig, near the first assassin I shot down. I grabbed an arrow and let it fly, barely even looking. The second attacker — the one Marcel didn’t see, the one who killed him — dropped next to my first victim. But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t fast enough.

  Sure now that there were no more assassins hiding in wait, I dropped to my knees beside Marcel. My fingers clenched the blood-soaked folds of his tunic. A prayer to beg God to somehow save my brother formed but didn’t leave my lips before his chest fell and did not rise again. A tear slipped off my chin and splashed on his motionless face. Already he looked different, now that he was really gone. Was this how I’d look when I died? His olive skin was beginning to turn ashen. Once-full lips were bloodless. I gently closed his eyelids, hiding his sightless hazel eyes. Stroking the thick, raven hair back, I pressed a kiss to his still-warm forehead. Tears ran down my cheeks now, hot and urgent on my skin.

  Marcel couldn’t be gone. He was my twin, my other half.

  “No, Marcel, no,” I sobbed, bending over and pressing my forehead to his, my fingers still clutching his bloody tunic. “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me here alone….”

  “Alex! Where are you?”

  “Here.” I forced myself to call out, belatedly remembering to lower my voice. Hopefully in the turmoil of the chase, no one noticed the higher pitch. Or maybe they’d attribute it to grief. “Over here,” I tried again, swallowing my tears. A member of Prince Damian’s guard didn’t cry. Not even for his own brother. “Marcel is dead.”

  We were a somber group as we walked back through the gate, carrying Marcel’s body. The regular perimeter squadron parted for Prince Damian’s elite personal guard — the squadron that hadn’t been here at its normal post because of the king’s infernal party, and hadn’t joined us in pursuit of the men who’d done this. I forced my face to be blank, to hide the pain that was tearing through me, shredding me, threatening to pull me apart inside. Marcel was the one who’d kept me together when our parents were killed, convinced me to pretend I was his twin brother when the army came for us. He was the one who’d saved me again last night, taking my beating for me. He had saved me over and over, and now he was gone.

  I had failed him.

  With the loss of Marcel, there were only eight of us left. I looked into the familiar faces as we gently laid Marcel down on one of the many funeral pyres that always stood ready, awaiting their fuel. Another one was already in use — probably the king’s guard. There was never a shortage of bodies to burn, not for long. King Hector’s war on King Osgand’s kingdom ensured that. Our captain, Deron, met my gaze, his dark eyes sorrowful. Jerrod, next to him, stared forward, stone-faced.

  Someone handed Rylan a torch. He stood on my left, so close that the fire burned hot by my face. He cleared his throat. “Marcel was one of the best of us. Brave, strong, loyal.” His voice broke and he paused, trying to regain control. Finally, he whispered, “Go in peace, brother.”

  “Go in peace,” the others murmured.

  I couldn’t speak. The words stuck to the tears in my throat, the sobs I desperately swallowed back down.

  Rylan looked to me, and I realized they were waiting. Waiting for me to give the signal. As his brother, I was to either light the pyre or give Rylan the go-ahead. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, so I gave the barest of nods and Rylan slowly lowered the torch. The dry wood of the pyre ignited instantly, spreading to encompass Marcel’s body in a bright orange grave of heat and smoke.

  The firelight played across the faces of the other guards. Deron’s skin was so dark, he almost blended into the night, but the firelight revealed the grief on his face. Jerrod, Asher, Jude, Kai, Antonio, and Rylan next to me, all stared into the flames, watching as my brother was consumed.

  Finally, I couldn’t bear it any longer. I turned and strode away from the last member of my family.

  THE NEXT MORNING, I woke up in the same clothes I was wearing the night before. I’d collapsed onto my bed and cried for hours, smothering the sounds in my pillow until I finally fell asleep. I rolled over to see Marcel’s empty bed and the pain hit me all over again. I bent over double and clutched at my stomach, tried to push the agony away.

  The smell of the fire was still in my hair, in my shirt, on my skin. The scent of Marcel’s death.

  I tore the clothes from my body and threw them in the still-hot coals in the fireplace, then scoured my body with water and soap, trying to scrub away the smoke, the sweat, the tears, the guilt.

  I was supposed to be the best. I was the fastest, the most skilled at archery, unparalleled at swordsmanship. And yet I let my brother get shot down right next to me. All my training, everything I’d learned and become were for naught.

  My clothes finally caught fire. Thick, black billows of smoke chugged into the air, then were swallowed up into the chimney.

  I heard noises from the other side of the wall, muted and indistinguishable from the rest of the palace sounds. My room was next door to Prince Damian’s. All of the guards’ rooms except Deron’s flanked the prince’s. Two guards per room, two rooms on either side of his chambers to keep us close, even in sleep. I knew I’d be summoned any moment if he wa
s up. He’d want an accounting of our pursuit of the attackers last night — and he’d most likely want it from me, since I’d shot down the enemies. And since my brother had died.

  I raked my hands through my short hair. Already, it was almost dry. That was one benefit of wearing it short. I’d mourned the loss of my hair for a year after Marcel cut it off. Now, after three years, I was used to it. But I still wished things could be different. I wished I could be a member of the guard and a girl.

  Instead, I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my traitorous body. We’d lied about our age when we joined the army, claiming we were seventeen, afraid of what would happen to us if they knew we were only fourteen. Now everyone on the guard believed me to be twenty, when I was actually only seventeen. But my body had really begun to change in the past year, since I’d won the position on the guard and left the regular army behind. Rather than feeling joy — planning a party with my mother and friends to celebrate my coming into womanhood — I glared at the breasts that had doubled in size in the last few months. They were still small by anyone’s standards, but anything was too big for a boy.

  I took a long strip of cloth and bound it around myself, as tightly as I possibly could. It hurt, but there was no other choice. Now, more than ever, I couldn’t risk discovery.

  I’d barely pulled a tunic over my head when there was a knock at the door, and it opened after a pause.

  “Prince Damian wants to see you,” Rylan said.

  I finished tucking the tunic into my long pants and turned to face him. I was tall for a girl, thankfully, but Rylan was taller. Almost everyone in the guard was taller than me. That often worked to my advantage, though; no one worried about the small guard taking him down — until it was too late.

  I nodded and bent to quickly pull on my boots.

  “Alex, are you okay?”

  I stood up, grateful my tears had dried and the red blotches that would have given me away were gone. “I’m fine,” I answered, making my voice gruff. It had taken me a long time to gain the respect of these men. I couldn’t afford to show weakness, not even for my brother. I moved to storm out of the room, but Rylan grabbed my arm. I immediately tensed, jerked away.