by Plum Pascal
I move forward, brandishing the big sword, but the truth is that the thing is made for someone way taller and stronger than I am (I got it from Malvolo, an enormous dragon shifter) so it throws off my balance and I have to drop it, so I don’t go tumbling off the wall.
“Fuck!” I yell as I start to lose my balance. At the same time Nash’s huge, calloused hand locks around my wrist and tugs me back onto the stone ledge, steadying me before I can fall.
Um, what? Black Bear just saved me after threatening to kill me more than once?
For a protracted moment, we just stare at each other. I can’t seem to tear my gaze away from his beguiling eyes. What is he doing? I’m his enemy. Why did he save me?
Oh, maybe he’s going to push me off the wall to kill me once and then maul me when I’m down, to kill me twice?
“Surrender,” he orders in a soft but fervent whisper.
“I never surrender!” I say just as quietly.
Then I use all the strength I’ve borrowed from one of their guards and I take a step forward, driving my fist into his gut. The attempt shocks him and he lets out a startled “oomph” sound. But, most unfortunately, he doesn’t double over, like I expected. And that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense because the bear I leached energy from only ten or so minutes earlier was big and strong, with lots of power to spare.
But just making contact with this guy’s abdomen does a number on my knuckles, and, as I glance down, I realize I’ve split them wide open.
Damn it—at this rate, my hands are going to be useless for weeks. Maybe I can track Tenebris and buy a healing potion from her. Yes, it’s that important I heal myself and quickly—a thief’s best tools are her hands, and I can’t afford to lose the use of mine.
Well, unless my double death makes that a moot point.
So while the blow didn’t do much but surprise this giant, it did loosen his grip on me, giving me enough time to twist out of his grasp and sight my target again. An oak, many feet below, with its bare arms stretched toward the sky. The branch is about eight or nine feet off the ground. Perfect. It’s not going to be a pleasant impact, but I’ll survive and, honestly, I’d rather take my chances with the tree than Black Bear.
I dive off the wall, praying the wind doesn’t shift me off course. For a moment, that seems to last forever, I’m flying, arms outstretched to catch the branch. God, sometimes all I want in the world is a pair of wings.
Then I reach my target, hands clenching tight on the bark of the tree, using the last of my borrowed strength to make the move possible. I swing my weight around the branch, using my momentum to roll my body in a spin, digging furrows into the tree. It sheds bark like shingles, dropping them to the ground below with a sound like clattering stone. The effort it takes tears my palms to ribbons and tears spring to my eyes. I blink them back, stopping the sob building in my throat. Escape now, indulge the pain later.
I leap down, the eight-foot drop making my bones shiver in protest, but I grit my teeth and bear it.
Ha-ha… bear it.
And now I’ve got to get the sword before I make my getaway. It sticks blade first into the ground, quivering like a javelin as I snatch it up, and shove it back into my satchel. I start moving again, slower than before. It’s hard to find a part of me that doesn’t sting or throb in some fashion. But I’m free at last.
I race, as fast as my legs will carry me, for the break in the trees. The break will lead to a path that winds back to Bridgeport, the seaside town. I have a reservation at the inn there and a meeting with Hook arranged for the next day. And then I’ll be sailing as far away from these angry fuckers as I can!
I’ve nearly reached the path when a figure steps in front of me, bringing me up short. I have to dig my heels into the packed earth to stop from smacking into his chest. He’s monstrously tall and pale like the other two, but that’s where the similarities end. He’s got a squarer face, an angular cut to his jaw, and blue eyes instead of brown. Deep brown hair gathers around his face in waves and brushes his ears.
I don’t see the fist that lashes out, but I feel the impact on the side of my face. It sends me flying backwards, literally picking me up off my feet. My head knocks into the trunk of another oak tree and stars explode in my vision. The last thing I see, before darkness sinks in, is his triumphant smirk.
TWO
Kassidy
Bile claws its way up my throat as I swim back to consciousness, and my body heaves, threatening to spill the leftover fish I had for breakfast all over my front. I swallow it back, but the sour taste just prompts another gag before I can cough down the worst of the nausea.
When I try to open my eyes, a silver spike of winter daylight drives into my vision. I gag again and screw my eyes shut tight. My ears are ringing, and my head feels like a struck bell. I can’t lift my head more than an inch or two without feeling the return of the nausea. I settle back down against the ground—stone I think it is, owing to the feel and the coldness against my cheek—and try to gather what information I can about my surroundings with my eyes shut.
I’ve been out for at least ten to twelve hours, if the sun is shining. And that’s bad. Really bad. It can only mean the man who punched me nearly put me into a goddamn coma. I don’t think I’ve had anyone lay me out that hard, not even the dragon I was unfortunate enough to spar with.
Cold bites my body. And from the fact that I can feel the cold on my legs and arms, I realize I’ve been stripped down to just my undershirt and underthings. The thin cotton offers almost no protection from the elements and I curl my legs unconsciously, trying to get them nearer to the heat of my core. My boots, belt, satchel, and weapons are all missing as well. My bare feet are numb and my toes won’t curl when I try to move them. Shit. They’ve left me to die of frostbite out here. Maybe they think it’s what I deserve.
Gods, what if they do try to kill me twice, just to prove a point?
Oh, shut up, Goldy.
I try to lift myself up as I force my eyes open and they rebel against the light so I close them once more. It’s not as if I haven’t been trapped in the cold before. I’ve survived worse, though I had my brothers to huddle against for warmth, at the time. Now, my progress is impeded by manacles on my wrist. The fuckers chained me up?!
The portion of skin beneath the heavy iron is so cold, it actually feels like a low-grade burn. The body is tricky like that sometimes. I’ve seen people freeze to death because their body tricked them into thinking they were burning up in the snow.
I open my eyes slowly, centimeter by centimeter, until they grow accustomed to the light. When only mild discomfort greets me this time, I’m grateful. I test the length of chain the manacles are attached to. There’s no give. I’m tethered to a stone column, one of many in this courtyard, and the column is double the size of an oak trunk. Even if I’ve somehow retained the strength I stole from one of the werebears, there’s no way I could snap this thing in two. It’s probably designed for holding a bear in place, and my scrawny human self won’t make a dent in it.
Swallowing back the desire to gag again, I sit up, and my head pounds with the effort. I’m definitely hurt, but I’m still not sure how badly. I was fairly sure I’d snapped my neck when I hit the ground but such clearly isn’t the case because I’m not paralyzed.
As I become aware of voices nearby, I crawl to the backside of the pillar, trying to hide. I recognize both voices, though I’ve only heard them speak a handful of words. But, I’m good with faces, names, and voices. Another trick of the trade when you’re a thief. It can be deadly to hit the same mark twice.
“It’s cruel, Nash,” Gray-Bear, the one known as Leith, mutters.
I dare a peek around the rounded edge of the pillar. They’re standing about ten feet away, talking in low voices that nonetheless carry across the stone courtyard. There’s not much between me and them, except for a burbling fountain and a few stone benches. They’re thankfully clothed this time, and they pose a striking contrast to one
another. The taller of the two, Leith, is dressed in a simple white linen tunic that ends at his knees, beneath which he wears woolen trousers and suede boots. His slate-gray hair is pulled back into a low tail behind his neck, but pieces have already come loose, as though the wind tossed it into motion.
His brother—Nash—is dressed in leather armor and chainmail, with only brief flashes of tan, rippling bicep or thigh muscle showing between the pieces. His midnight hair is cropped close to his head with a design of swirls shaved into the closely-cropped hair. Anyone trying to grab a fistful of it would have a hard time. The brown-haired bear is conspicuously missing.
My traitorous body clenches with want at the sight of the two of them, especially Nash. He oozes masculine confidence, something I’ve always liked in a man. That, and a good sense of humor. But Nash’s finely-cut face doesn’t look like it’s seen a day of laughter in its life.
He follows Leith’s pacing form with a glare.
“Cruel? It’s the law, Leith. You don’t get to bend it because the miscreant happens to have a mossy cleft between her thighs.”
A mossy cleft? And just like that, whatever desire I might have felt for him is gone.
“Don’t be crude, Nash. I merely mean to point out she’s human. And she won’t survive the usual punishment. Didn’t you see how small she is? She won’t live through even half of it. We’ll flay her down to bone, not to mention she’s already hurt.”
“Then she should have thought of that before she stole from us.” Nash insists stubbornly before turning on Leith and shaking his head, in obvious anger. “I don’t see why we’re arguing about it. If she were a man, you’d have ordered her punishment already.”
“Yes, but she’s not a man.”
My sluggish brain catches up with the words as I slowly start to make sense of things. They mean to punish me for the theft of the Ambrosia. I don’t know much about werebear society, other than the fact that all werebears are of Scandinavian, and more pointedly, Viking origin and they’re a small and reclusive band of mariners who favor the coast and shun outsiders.
I also know they’re the only ones in all of Fantasia who know how to create Ambrosia. And Ambrosia is valuable. It’s a bread-like substance imbued with magic that can extend life and heal injuries. It’s for that reason I’ve been sent. The Guild knows there’s a war on the horizon, and we need every advantage we can get. And Ambrosia would be a good advantage to have—something we can use to heal our soldiers.
I’m not sure what the two of them mean by punishment, exactly. A lashing, maybe? If so, I could probably survive it, especially if I’m able to touch one of them at some point and leach his life force in order to heal myself. Still, it doesn’t mean I relish the thought of being whipped.
I really don’t like pain.
I lean further out from behind the pillar and my chain rattles, betraying me. Both their heads whip toward me in unison, eyes narrowing in an eerily similar fashion. I try to scrabble back into the shadow, but too late. I’ve been seen.
Fuck fuck and fuck!
Nash rounds the pillar first. I glare defiantly up at him, refusing to let him see how frightened I really am. The shivers that rack my body are as much from cold as from fear. Damn it all but where are the dragon shifters when you need them? They’d make quick, charcoal work of these fuckers in two seconds flat.
“The thief is awake,” Nash sneers.
“You’re a prick, you know that?” I shoot back at him, not wanting him to realize how nervous I am. It’s better not to cower. “A big, dumb…”
A snarl cuts me off. It’s like a ripping sound issuing from Nash’s chest. He bares his teeth and his canines are already extended into fangs, like he’s going to tear me to shreds. I fall silent, mentally beating myself for baiting him. I’m chained and at every physical disadvantage. All I’m going to succeed in doing is getting myself killed.
Maybe even twice.
Leith rounds the pillar next and shoulders Nash out of the way; he’s growling as well, but at Nash instead of me. The two lock eyes and I can practically feel their wills clashing like two boulders, stubbornly refusing to give. Nash eventually tears his gaze away from Leith, growl tapering off to a grumble.
When Leith shifts his eyes to me once more, I’ve regained my footing, though I have to use the pillar for support. The courtyard seems to be spinning and my head starts pounding again.
Shit, shit, shit. I’m definitely hurt and I need a healer.
“What’s your name, thief?” he demands.
“Thief,” I answer with a shrug that gives me an even worse headache.
He growls louder.
I consider for a minute. Do I give him my name? It’s not like I’m an especially well-known thief. There’s no bounty on my head, like there is for Tenebris, so it’s not as though he’ll be able to sell me to a neighboring kingdom for gold. Still, I’m leery.
“What’s your name?” I ask instead, holding my chin high.
Leith’s eyebrows raise slightly as if he’s surprised I’ve turned the tables on him. “I am King and my name is Leith Nord. This is my cousin, Nash Ericson.”
I blink. Royalty? Royalty were the ones who came after me? I’m surprised, to say the least. In fact, it’s so strange, I can’t even formulate a proper response. All the royals I’ve ever met have been naggy, doughy sorts, depending on more capable men and women to do their bidding.
“And the asshole who punched me?” I manage at last.
“He’s the asshole?” Nash manages through his teeth.
“Sorren Nord,” Leith answers.
“Your brother?” I ask.
Leith shakes his head. “Also my cousin. I have no siblings.”
“Now who the fuck are you?” Nash demands.
I decide to give them my thief name rather than my birth name since it will be harder to link me to my Guild name, in case they try at some point. “Goldilocks.”
A small smile tugs the corner of Leith’s full, kissable mouth. He doesn’t intimidate me as much as Nash does. Even though he appears just as strong and immense, there’s kindness in the set of Leith’s mouth and eyes. That doesn’t mean he won’t hurt me, of course, but it also doesn’t look like he wants to. It’s more than I was expecting. Far more than I deserve for breaking their laws.
“Goldilocks, hmm?” Leith says as he looks at me, or more pointedly, my hair. “Wonder where you got your name?” then he smiles in a way that says the inside joke is just ours. It’s a bizarre response and then I suddenly wonder if he’s trying to make nice because he figures it will get him further than if he’s an asshole like Nash.
Well, he’s right.
“So we’re in quite the quandary, Goldilocks,” Leith continues, his hazel eyes narrowed on me in a way that makes me feel like he can see right through me. I don’t like the feeling.
“Why is that?” I ask, wondering what his game is.
He shrugs. “Because you broke a hefty law by stealing from us.”
“Right,” I answer. “About that, I have lots and lots of stuff in my satchel,” I start. “Maybe we can trade for my… mistake?”
“We aren’t interested in trades, thief,” Nash spits back at me. “Besides, I already raided your satchel and took what little interested me.”
“Great,” I say with faux good humor. “Then when is my release date?”
“There will be no release,” Nash snorts. Then he turns to face Leith. “You know the law, Leith. Follow it, or I will.”
“Watch your tongue,” Leith barks at him.
I clear my throat, nerves starting to eat at me because I can see by Leith’s clouded expression that he’s torn. And if he’s torn, that means he can be convinced by Nash. But I’m still not really sure what it is Nash is trying to convince him of. “What does the law say?”
Leith’s expression is tight. “Our law states that anyone guilty of stealing the Ambrosia must pay with blood and flesh in recompense.”
Um. What?
> “What does that mean, exactly?” I ask tentatively.
“It means you will receive ten slashes of bear claws from each member of the royal clan, and if you survive, you’ll be put to work to pay back your debt,” Nash says coldly.
“How many members of the royal family are there?” I ask, scared for the answer. And how long, exactly, are their claws?
“Three,” Leith answers. “Nash, myself and Sorren makes the third.”
Ice drops into my stomach and I have to hold my breath, lest I begin to hyperventilate as his meaning sinks in. Ten slashes from bear claws from the three members of the family? That’s thirty swipes. Leith’s earlier words float back to me and I now understand the truth of them. I won’t survive even half of that punishment.
“I won’t survive,” I croak, shaking my head.
“Exactly,” Nash responds.
“I understand you think I’m just some thief,” I start, shaking my head as the urgency of my predicament weighs down on me. “But I’m much much more than that.”
“Save your speeches, thief, we aren’t interested,” Nash says.
“You don’t understand!” I rail back. “I can’t abandon my brothers to the fight that’s coming.”
“Prepare to face your punishment, little Goldilocks,” Nash continues and by the glint in his eyes, I can see he’s going to enjoy this.
He seizes me by my undershirt and spins me around, shoving me roughly against the stone pillar. It’s so cold against my skin, I almost scream. He holds my cheek against the ice-cold pillar while he tears my undershirt all the way down my back and the flimsy thing slides down my arms, fluttering to the ground. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to cover my nudity, even though I’m facing the stone. I then brace for the pain I know is coming.
How am I going to get myself out of this? My mind races.
Kassidy, think of something! Otherwise, Nash is going to kill you! You have to think of something!
I’m trying!
“Nash,” Leith starts.
“It’s the law of our clan,” Nash interrupts him, anger tainting his voice. “I didn’t make the laws! They’ve been in place for a reason so we aren’t going to be the ones to break them!”
