Slight and Shadow (Fate's Forsaken: Book Two)
Page 13
While Holthan made certain they wouldn’t be cut off from behind, Elena crept to the dungeon doors. The guards’ noise came clearly through the wood: the loud slurping of that evening’s dinner, the curses of men losing at cards, and the mutterings of those with nothing to do.
Holthan appeared beside her without a sound. His eyes closed as he pressed his ear against the door and listened. Twelve? he asked, using the hand signals the Countess had taught them. It was important that they keep as quiet as possible. They never made a sound that wasn’t necessary.
Elena shook her head. Fourteen. Two are sleeping.
He listened for a moment more before he nodded. Then he raised his brows. Ready?
Elena ran her middle finger down the bandolier strapped across her chest, counting all seven of her throwing knives. She knew they were there, but for some reason it felt better to check before every fight. Her hands slipped past the leather gloves tucked into her belt. She didn’t like to wear them.
The metal plates stitched into the gloves might’ve protected her hands, but the tightness of the leather strangled her fingers. She could work far more quickly, if her hands were allowed to breathe.
Once she was certain everything was in place, Elena grasped the hilts of the twin daggers strapped to her arms, and nodded.
Holthan’s eyes lingered on her for a moment; she didn’t like what she saw. But before she could start to worry, he spun around and kicked the door off its hinges. The loud crack of splintering wood and the startled gasps of the soldiers, the hiss of blades flying from their sheaths, the many widened eyes that locked onto hers — all made her forget the danger.
It was time to go to work.
Three of her knives brought the card game to an abrupt end. The men fell dead from their seats with their swords half-drawn. She spun under a fourth guard’s blade and stayed in a crouch as Holthan answered. Once she heard the thud of the guard’s severed head striking the ground, she sprang for the card table.
Elena used her hands to launch herself into a vault, landing directly in front of a fifth guard — whose momentary shock gave her the second she needed to draw her twin daggers.
Slight and Shadow, she called them — and they fit her better than any pair of gloves. She brandished Slight and kept Shadow tucked against her forearm. The guard sneered when he saw how small her blade was. He swung his sword for her middle, with all the force of a woodsman about to fell a tree. And Elena jumped.
She tucked her knees to her chest and his blade went whistling through the empty space beneath her. It was when she came into her landing that she brought Shadow out to play.
The guard never saw him coming — nobody ever saw Shadow coming. It was clearly a surprise when his shoulders locked at the end of his swing, and Elena cocked her fist to the side … and Shadow’s blade sprang out to kiss him across the throat.
His eyes were wide by the time Elena’s feet touched the ground. She had to turn sideways to keep his body from crushing her as he fell.
A swarm of guards closed in on her. They tried to surround her, to overwhelm her with their numbers and force her to the ground. But Elena never panicked. Instead, her eyes sharpened. She focused on the man closest to her and used her ears to follow the others.
As she concentrated, the whole world changed: she saw no flesh, no faces — only blood and beating hearts. She imagined that the guards’ limbs were made of steel, that their skin burned white-hot. She couldn’t let them touch her. If they touched her, she would lose.
So she let the thrill of battle wash over her, let the heat run unchecked through her veins. Soon she was Elena no longer — but a living, breathing weapon. Her only purpose was to kill.
She sent the first man sailing with a thrust of her boot. Slight bit through the chest of another, and she spun — letting Shadow finish off a third guard who’d been sneaking in at her back. If she couldn’t kill a man in one blow, she kicked him away, separating him from his fellows. It wasn’t long before she’d broken their clump and had them organized into a single line.
Once they were forced to attack her one at a time, they died quickly.
Holthan took on all of the others. She watched for a moment as he spun through the crowd of armor and spears. The great sword he wielded wasn’t like any Elena had ever seen: its blade was nearly an inch thick at its middle, and far heavier than the hilt. He wielded his sword with two hands — and blood trailed behind his sweeping blows.
Elena heard the twang of a bow behind her, heard the noise of wind whistling across feathers, and leaned backwards just in time to avoid the arrow.
She hated archers. They always stood at the back of battles, behind the protection of shields or the keep wall, and they picked off their enemies like vultures. When she turned, the guard who’d fired at her was fumbling with his quiver. She began a slow walk towards him.
By the time he had a second arrow trained on her chest, she’d closed half the space between them. His eyes narrowed as they locked on her heart. He exhaled, and then his arrow slipped from the string.
Elena sighed.
If she’d had a copper for every time a man had fired an arrow at her … well, she probably could’ve built her own castle. She knew precisely when to turn, leaning so that the fletching brushed her chest as the arrow sailed by. It thunked into the back of an unsuspecting guard. She heard the sharp sound of iron striking stone as he fell to his knees. His gasps were cut short as Holthan’s blade finished him.
The archer watched, horrified, over Elena’s shoulder as his companion fell. It wasn’t until Slight slipped between his ribs that his eyes shot back to her, and by then, it was too late. He was already dead.
The noise of hurried footsteps drew Elena’s eyes to the ceiling. They clattered overhead for a moment, faded out, and she held her breath. Then came the noise of someone pounding on the hallway door.
She knew the time for play was over. Holthan would handle the stragglers — Elena had to find the Duke.
It only took her a moment to spot him: he had his face plastered to the iron bars of his cell door. His goatee had grown out into a full beard, the months away from the sunlight had paled him, but there was still a considerable amount of haughtiness in his eyes — and they watched her with interest.
His gaze flicked down to Elena’s chest, obviously searching for an emblem or some clue as to who she was. But he found nothing.
“Who are you?” he demanded. When Elena didn’t reply, his hands shot up to grasp the bars. “I don’t know who sent you, but I’m worth far more alive than dead. Get me out of here, and I’ll make you rich.”
Elena stopped at the door, and Duke Reginald smirked.
“Yes, you heard me. I’ll pack the whole bottom of a galleon with gold and jewels … and your employer never has to find out.”
He yelped and fell backwards as Elena’s boot struck the door. The bolt snapped under the force of her blow, and she wrenched it open.
“You’re making a mistake!” he cried, scrambling to his feet. “I’ll make it so you never have to shed blood again —!”
“But what if I really, really like it?” Elena whispered. She watched as Reginald’s eyes widened in recognition. “What if I don’t want to stop?”
She pulled her mask down, then, because there was no point in staying covered any longer. Reginald’s eyes swept over her, and then his face went scarlet.
“You!” he spat. “I knew there was something off about you — the whole lot of you! D’Mere was always going on about her little pets, but I was beginning to think that she’d made it all up. I must admit … I never thought to look for you in her court.” Greed shone behind his eyes as he took in the gory scene behind her. “D’Mere kept you close, then — closer than I ever expected. And I can certainly see why. You’re no ordinary killer, are you?”
Elena didn’t respond. She knew there was no point in denying it.
For some reason, Reginald seemed to think that knowing the Countess’s secret
gave him an advantage. “It seems a shame, to bind a woman of your talents to such pithy tasks. Set me free,” he said, closing the space between them. “Ride with me to Midlan, and I’ll speak on your behalf to the King. He won’t let your skills go to waste. The Countess’s plan is doomed to fail,” he added, when Elena didn’t respond. “I know how she’s been scheming with the others. She even tried to drag me into it. But it won’t work. And she’s too stupid to figure it — gah!”
His body curled around Elena’s daggers as she rammed them through his middle. “You would’ve done better to hold your serpent tongue,” she whispered in his ear, “than to insult my Countess.”
She pulled her blades free, and Reginald managed to land on his knees. He looked down at his wounds, grasped at them for a moment, but seemed to realize that it was hopeless. When he looked up at her, Elena was surprised to see defiance in his eyes.
“Too late,” he muttered, coughing on a mouthful of blood. “She’s got one, too.”
“Who has what?” Elena said impatiently. The pounding on the hall door was becoming louder and more rhythmic: the guards were trying to ram it down.
Reginald managed a smirk. “The Dragongirl.”
His words made no sense to Elena. They were probably only the ramblings of a dying man, but she remembered what he said — in case they meant something to the Countess.
She watched as Reginald toppled over, squirmed, and finally lay still. Then she sheathed her daggers and jogged out of the cell — where she nearly ran into Holthan.
He’d retrieved her throwing knives from the bodies of the card-players. Is it done? he asked, as she tucked the knives into her bandolier.
Yes.
Good. Follow me.
They left the way they came — slipping out through the grate, past the stone, and into the shelter of the night.
*******
Once they’d made it back to the safety of the mainland, Holthan sunk their boat. They jogged into the woods, listening to the bells that cried out from the castle.
“What are they saying?” Holthan whispered.
Elena was in no mood to talk. “Figure it out,” she muttered, moving ahead of him. “You were supposed to memorize the signals on the way here.”
“Maybe I had better things to do.”
“They’re ringing about an emergency at the castle,” she said shortly. “It’s nothing specific — but you should stay off the main roads.”
“Well … why don’t we just wait till morning?”
Elena didn’t hear the darkness in his voice — she was far too busy thinking over the fight. Her muscles tensed as she remembered the precise angles at which she’d turned, the force she’d used to drive her daggers. She played it over, searching for flaws, and she didn’t find many.
There were a few things she could improve on. But for the most part, it had all gone according to plan. Reginald had many enemies, and his wounds were common enough that any assassin might’ve been responsible. No one would be able to tie the killing to the Countess —
Holthan’s hand clamped down on her arm, startling her. “Where are you off to?”
She broke his hold easily and darted for the horses. He obviously hadn’t been expecting her to fight back — she usually didn’t. Usually, the darkness in Holthan’s eyes held her captive, and fear gripped her limbs like a vise. But not tonight.
Tonight, the thrill of the fight still burned in her veins, and it kept the fear from freezing her.
She’d just gotten her mare untied when Holthan grabbed her wrist and jerked her around. “Let go of me,” she snarled. She tried to pull her arm free, but he was ready for it. This time, there would be no escape. “I have business in the desert,” she reminded him, “and you have business in the forest. The Countess will want to know that we’ve succeeded —”
“The whole Kingdom will know by sunrise.” Holthan pulled his mask down, and the dark hunger in his eyes matched the snarl on his lips. “No … my business is with you.”
In one rough movement, he ripped her mask away and locked his lips onto hers. He pressed down so hard — she knew her lips would bruise. She swore she could hear her ribs groaning against his hold.
But this time, Holthan had chosen poorly.
He hadn’t waited until she was off her guard, or wandering alone in some unwatched corner of the castle. He’d attacked her while her blood was up. Through her eyes, he was nothing more than an enemy — just another lopsided match that she must find a way to win. So instead of squirming, she stood still.
She relaxed, and Holthan’s mouth moved more boldly against hers. It wasn’t long before his lip slipped between her teeth …
Then she bit down. Hard.
He roared and tried to pull away, but she held on. Blood coated her tongue with a taste like metal. Her teeth went through his flesh and clicked together on the other side. Then his fist came out of the darkness and struck her in the face.
Her head snapped back and her mouth opened in shock as she flew to the ground. The whole earth spun around her, but she managed to pull herself to her feet. Holthan’s moans came from behind her as she stumbled over to her horse. It was by sheer willpower that she managed to pull herself into the saddle — with one eye shut tight and her whole head throbbing in pain.
Elena pointed her mare to the south and left at a gallop. They tore across the countryside for several miles before the fire left her veins. It was nearly dawn when the full weight of what she’d done finally struck her, and she burst into tears.
Oh, it hurt to cry. Her whole face stung from Holthan’s blow. Tears shoved their way painfully out of her swollen eye, the pounding steps of her mare jostled her throbbing head, but she couldn’t stop. She realized that she could never stop. If she ever slowed down, if she ever tried to return to the Grandforest … Holthan would kill her. He’d killed for far less. He’d killed just because he felt like it.
If she returned, not even the Countess would be able to protect her. No, Elena’s home was lost.
This realization brought on another wave of stinging tears. What would Holthan say had happened to her? Would he tell the Countess that she’d been killed? Deserted? And what would D’Mere do without her? No one had been as vigilant as Elena. She didn’t trust the others to keep the Countess safe.
But as the sun rose and warmed her swollen face, she realized that it was too late for regret. She couldn’t turn back, now. She wouldn’t be able to protect D’Mere any longer. The bile rose in her throat at the thought, but there was nothing more she could do …
Wait — there was one thing, one last task to be done. And she intended to do it. She would do it, for the Countess’s sake: Elena would find the Dragongirl, and she would kill her.
After that, she wasn’t sure where she’d go. But there would be others across the Kingdom who would have need of her skills, and she wagered it wouldn’t be long before she found a new home.
Chapter 11
Arabath
The fastest way to reach Whitebone was by sea. Kyleigh’s little vessel followed the current south, and the days were mostly fair — but she still spent a good portion of the journey with her head over the railings.
The ocean was meant for swimming. It was unnatural to bob along on its surface, and her insides could never quite catch up. The movement wasn’t so bad on a larger ship. But on this tiny merchant’s vessel, she felt every buck and break. And her stomach heaved in constant protest.
“Look, dragoness,” Silas murmured, tapping her on the shoulder as she voided the remainder of her breakfast.
“What?” she snapped.
Silas hadn’t stopped chattering since the moment they set sail. He’d never seen the ocean before, and behaved as if nobody else on board had seen it either — calling out anytime he spotted so much as a weed drifting through the water, and exclaiming every few minutes that he’d never laid eyes on anything quite so bizarre.
Kyleigh was very near to giving him a closer look.
“Land, ho!”
Her companions crowded in on either side of her, watching excitedly as the shadow in the distance took shape. Waves struck the beach and gave way to rolling hills of sand. The morning sun hid behind them, staining them pink with its rising glow. Tall, spindly trees grew like weeds along the shore. They were all trunk, with only a small gathering of leaves sprouting at their tops. But even that slight weight seemed to be too much for them: many of the trees were hunched over, slouching at such severe angles that they practically grew sideways.
The sleepy chime of a bell drew their eyes to the right, and Silas pawed at her arm again. “What is that?”
Not two miles away, a large gathering of rooftops towered above the dunes. When their ship crept around the next bend, an entire town blossomed out of the desert.
“It’s the port city of Arabath,” Jake supplied, since Kyleigh had a hand clamped stubbornly over her mouth. She was determined to hold onto the water she’d just swallowed.
Arabath was easily the largest settlement in Whitebone. Like all desert villages, it had grown up around a water source: a large oasis that pooled in the middle of town. The cool waters came from a spring deep beneath the sands, and many believed they had healing powers. Kyleigh had even heard of nobles paying large amounts of gold to have the waters bottled and shipped to their castles.
But that was before the Whispering War. Now the people spent their coin on armor and weapons — and cared more about dodging wounds than healing them.
The shelf of rock that jutted out from Arabath made a natural port, and the people of the Kingdom had been visiting it for centuries. They flooded in from every region, eager to spend their coin on the fine jewelry and glassware that the desert craftsmen were famous for.