He chuckles. Bastard.
Scowling, I push off, getting nowhere because Beta Sinta doesn’t let go.
“You.” I must manage to look as scornful as I sound because he stiffens, finally releasing me. I drop, landing hard on my bare heels, the strangest chill rattling through me at our sudden separation.
His eyes go from blazing quicksilver to frosty granite. “Having fun?”
“Not anymore.”
“Cat…” Carver warns, dragging his tunic over his head.
“What?” I snap.
“You’re neither a guest nor a friend,” Beta Sinta grates out. “Speak respectfully.”
“If you don’t like my big mouth, then let me go!”
Beta Sinta’s eyes narrow on his brother before swinging back to me. His gaze is dark and unnervingly intense. A muscle pops in his jaw. I have no idea what he’s so mad about. I’m the one getting dragged around Sinta by a magic rope.
I bend down and jerk on my boots. “No? Then just kill me and get it over with.”
“I have no intention of killing you.”
My temper ignites. “You want to use me! You ripped me from my home because you think it’s your right. Beta Sinta can do anything he wants. Ruin anybody’s life he wants. Royals!” I spit. “You’re no different from the rest of them—Sintan, Tarvan, or Fisan.”
“It’s not like that,” Carver interjects. “You’ll have a good life.”
I turn a blistering look on him, only vaguely registering that I detect no lies in either of their words. “A good life? Living in fear? A captive? Waiting for someone to steal me? Torture me? Murder me?”
Beta Sinta’s eyes drop to the scars on my arms, comprehension flitting across his otherwise stony visage. “So that’s what happened to you.”
My chest erupts, a thousand moments of terror and pain suspending my heartbeat and stopping my breath. I reel back, the bitter tang of residual fear splashing in my throat.
“And at the circus?” he asks softly.
My eyes feel like they take up half my face. I swallow, but my mouth is so dry it hurts. “There, nobody knew.”
Most of the irritation vanishes from his expression. “You can relax, Cat. I’m not planning on flying a ‘Kingmaker’ banner from the castle gate.” His voice is level, reasonable, almost soothing. It makes me want to explode. Or vomit. Or both.
“It starts with four people,” I say hotly, waving my hand toward our camp. “And turns into four hundred!”
“It won’t.” He reaches out, gently closing his fingers over mine.
I’m so shocked by the intimate touch and the sheer warmth of his skin that it takes a moment to rip my hand away. I give it a sharp tug, and he lets go. “You don’t know that!”
Beta Sinta unties the rope from Carver and straps me back to him. I feel like a bloody dog. On a leash. With a Gods damn owner! Apparently, the argument is over. He even gets to decide that. Son of a Cyclops! It takes all my minimal self-control not to start kicking him in the shins.
“I’ve already heard from Kato and Flynn. Anything to add?” Beta Sinta is looking at the bruise on Carver’s neck. The others obviously told him about my nightmare. Did they also tell him how they surrounded me like a flock of oversized mother hens?
Carver grins, rubbing his neck. “She packs a mean punch.”
Beta Sinta doesn’t smile back. “Maybe you slept too close.”
CHAPTER 6
Beta Sinta points southeast—at least I think it’s southeast. “Six males. Tarvan. They’re definitely following us.”
“Tarvan?” Flynn scratches the auburn stubble on his jaw. “What could they want?”
Everyone looks at me.
I shake my head. “No way. I haven’t attracted attention in years.” No wonder my guard was so low when Beta Sinta showed up at the circus.
“Four to six.” Carver’s long fingers glide over the hilt of his sword, flexing. “We can handle those odds.”
“One’s a Giant,” Beta Sinta says darkly. “They must have brought him down from the north.”
Silence. Don’t you people know anything? “Giants are easy.” Sort of.
Four sets of eyes turn to me again, and I wonder why I opened my big mouth. We joke about Aetos being a Giant, but he’s really just a very large man. Real Giants are stupid and slow, but with such thick hides, they’re hard to cut through. Accomplished warriors have been pummeled to death simply because they couldn’t get their swords in deep enough.
“Aim for the eyes. If it can’t see, it falls to its knees, panicked. It’s a reflex. Then you have to get to its head. The vertebrae make good climbing holds, and Giants are…lumpy to begin with.” I grimace, remembering gristle, fat-pocked muscle, and tough, weathered skin. “Chop through the spine at the base of the skull, where the skin is thinnest, and so is the bone.”
Hope sparks in their eyes, and I sigh, disgusted with myself. “Flynn’s ax will do.”
“How do you know how to fight a Giant?” Kato looks impressed.
Satisfaction swells in my chest. I can’t help it. I like impressing people twice my size. I shrug. “Maybe I’m lying so you’ll all get killed.”
There’s no reaction, not even a raised eyebrow. How come they never get riled up? It’s not normal.
Kato turns back to Beta Sinta. “How much time do we have?”
“A few hours,” he answers. “At most.”
“So do we ride and make them chase us, or do we wait for them to come?” Carver’s hand is still twitching near his sword. He’s like me with my knives, and I feel a surprising surge of kinship.
What’s wrong with me? I must be coming down with something, like empathy. Gah!
“We wait. We’ll be fresher that way, and there’s a cave just to the north. We can hide the horses and gear in there.” Beta Sinta jerks his head toward me. “And Cat.”
“You are not tying me up in a cave!”
Flinty eyes swing my way. “I can’t have you attached to me while I fight.”
“Untie me, then!”
He snorts, and I roll my eyes.
“Two hours, then the cave,” Beta Sinta says. “Enjoy the sunlight.”
“I can fight. Help even the odds.”
He shakes his head. “You’ll turn on us.”
“You don’t even know if they’re enemies!”
Sternness overcomes his features, startling me with how different it makes his face. “Everyone’s an enemy.”
“Learn that from me?” My frosty, snide tone shocks even me, turning my voice disturbingly like Mother’s. I swallow the panic rising in my throat. What if the olive really doesn’t fall far from the tree?
Beta Sinta levels his hard look at me. “I don’t need a petulant soothsayer to teach me what every conqueror already knows.”
* * *
Frustrated beyond belief, I’m tied to a big, fat rock in a stuffy cave that smells like horse dung. At least I have four feet of rope.
Shouts and clashing metal eventually disturb the murky silence. I hate not knowing what’s going on. I could help, especially if the Tarvans have magic. Not that I want to help, but I can put a dagger into a Giant’s eye from forty feet away, and I doubt any of the Sintans can do that.
Restless, I pluck at the frayed edge of my boot. They’re fighting a Giant, a creature from the Ice Plains. A monster. I’ve seen one in its prime. It was colossal, and as ugly as ugly gets.
Mother glances down the hill, the chill wind tossing her hair and slapping pink across her cheeks. “It’ll either rape you or eat you. Possibly both, so I suggest finding a way to kill it quickly.”
Icy snow stings my face and hands. Looking down the frozen slope into the gaping hole of the Giant’s lair, I shake even though I’m not terribly cold. “Any other advice?”
She arches one perfect
ly sculpted eyebrow, imperious.
“Do you have any other advice, Mother?” I correct.
A thin, hard smile curves her lips before she grabs my shoulders and shoves.
At least she left me my knives. I blinded the Giant on instinct, paralyzed it with a well-placed jab, and then sawed its head off with a throwing knife. I was eleven, and there was nothing quick about it. At least all the gore kept me warm. And Mother got what she wanted. She tested me, and she covered me in blood.
The knowledge of what to do came out of nowhere that day, guiding me. The Sintans won’t have that. It’s not written in their bones.
Anxious, I force my hands to my sides before I tear my boot apart.
Outside, something stomps hard enough to shake the ground. Dirt and pebbles cascade from the cave’s dark ceiling, and I duck, covering my head with my arms.
Did they listen to me about the Giant? I was telling the truth.
My gut churns as I pull on the knot Beta Sinta tied, blind to the battle outside, listening to deep bellows, clashing metal, and growls, and snorts, and pounding. Anything could be happening out there. A victory. A massacre. This could mean my escape. And why that thought makes me feel like there’s blood on my hands is anyone’s guess.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore, and I wrap the rope around both hands and pull on the rock with all my might. It slides a few inches across the dirt. I pull again, and again, slowly moving toward the mouth of the cave until I’m panting and sweating and quietly cursing up a storm.
At last, I can lean far enough out to see the battle. With practiced efficiency, I count heads. Auburn. Blond. Two dark as midnight. Three Tarvans are left.
Then there’s the Giant. It’s hard to miss.
Breathing heavily, I swing my gaze back to Beta Sinta. He’s locked in combat with two of the remaining Tarvans. Carver is taking on the other while Kato and Flynn dodge the Giant’s club, trying to get close enough to blind it. Flynn throws a knife at its head, but his aim is off. Kato shouts something and tosses another knife to Flynn, who’s closer. Flynn tries again just as Kato moves in and distracts the creature with a hard strike to its lumpy calf. They’re coordinated and working together as a team, but they won’t get far if they can’t blind the Giant and bring it to its knees. Its skin is just too tough.
As if drawn by an irresistible force, my eyes find Beta Sinta again, taking in every powerful sweep of his sword, agile step, and cunning feint. He’s impressive, to say the least. So are the Tarvans. These are no ordinary bandits. They have the kind of skills that only come with years of training and real-life practice. Just looking at their weapons and the way they fight, I know a spectacular amount of gold went into buying their services and sending them after Beta Sinta and his men.
But Beta Sinta is still better with a sword. So is Carver. They won’t stay outnumbered for long.
Seconds later, Beta Sinta brings down one of his opponents with a hard slice across the man’s middle. He doesn’t even slow down as he whirls to face the other, blood flying out from the tip of his blade. There’s no emotion on his face, only focus and steely resolve. My breath catches. Chilling determination. Efficiency. This is the man who conquered Sinta, the warlord who could be king.
On Beta Sinta’s left, Carver gains the upper hand in his fight, driving his adversary back and out of my line of sight. Beta Sinta and the remaining Tarvan follow the same path, their swords clashing in a blur. The Giant moves after them, probably magically bound to the mercenaries in some way, and Kato and Flynn disappear as well, still trying to blind the monster with knives.
My hands already raw from before, I haul on the rope again to move farther out of the cave. The heavy rock won’t budge, and I turn to find it wedged fast between two other stones.
Damn it! I can’t see anymore!
I wrestle with the big rock, curse at it, go back and try to lift it, and get nowhere.
Time seems to slow down, and the wait to know what’s happening becomes interminable. The sound of fighting gradually fades. Pacing in front of the wedged rock, I watch the entrance to the cave. Then, strangely hesitant, I tug on Beta Sinta’s knot again. When it doesn’t give, an odd feeling stirs inside of me. I’m not relieved. Definitely not relieved.
A few minutes later, all four men walk in, blocking the light from the cave’s narrow entrance. They look surprised to find me so close to the exit.
My chest deflates as I exhale the breath I was holding. “Really? None of you died?”
“Don’t sound so disappointed,” Flynn chides, grinning like a fool. “And thanks for the advice.” He nods to me, but I don’t nod back.
“A blind Cyclops throws better than Flynn,” Kato teases. “He lost six daggers, including yours, going for the Giant’s eyes before he finally got one.”
One? Who got the other?
Who cares!
“Mine?” I turn to look outside. “I have to find them!”
“It’s a mess out there. We’ll buy more knives,” Beta Sinta says, pointedly adding, “for Flynn.”
“No. They’re mine, and I want them back!” Vasili gave them to me. I threw my Fisan knives down a sinkhole in Tarva four years ago. I was trying to “let go.” It didn’t work, of course.
I give him my death glare until Beta Sinta finally agrees to look for my knives before we leave.
“How do you know so much about Giants?” he asks. His gray eyes tell me he’s wondering what else I know, how much information he can get out of me. I should really stop giving it away for free.
I wave my arms around. “Soothsayer, remember? I know stuff.”
His grin surprises me. Straight, white teeth flash in the shadows, and a bolt of lightning thunders down my spine, splashing warmth along my nerves. I blink and turn away, off balance and alarmingly hot.
“Give me my knives back, and I’ll teach Flynn to throw something other than his ax,” I offer peevishly, my insides in a knot and my fingers itching for a blade.
Beta Sinta unties the rope from the rock and reties it around his waist. “We’ll see.”
At least it’s not a flat-out denial. Surprised, I glance up, my uncooperative eyes snagging on the shadowed planes, angular jaw, and aquiline nose of his arresting profile. He leaves the cave, and I follow, my stomach doing an annoying little flip when he catches my hand and helps me over the brambles at the entrance. I didn’t need help, and he knows it.
My hand still tingling from his warmth even after he lets go, I ask, “What did the Tarvans want?”
He shrugs. “They didn’t stop to talk, so neither did we.”
“Mercenaries are notoriously tight-lipped.”
He nods, and I can’t help thinking they’d only come after a small Hoi Polloi group with a hired Giant to assure the kill. I’m sure they weren’t here for me, so I have to wonder who’s after Beta Sinta’s blood—and who has the coin to buy it.
* * *
We ride north for the next several days, our pace sedate because of the pounding summer heat, our path dictated mainly by sources of water and shade. Beta Sinta gives me my knives back for target practice with Kato and Flynn. It’s a moderate show of trust, and I almost wish he hadn’t done it because I can’t seem to despise him as much since the day he handed over my blades.
I could have stabbed him right then. I thought about it. I really did, but some part of me just didn’t want to. I don’t know why, since Beta Sinta drives me insane. He’s always there, infuriating and practically on top of me, and I hate the fact that I’m getting so used to him.
Weighing the knife in my hand, I judge the distance to Beta Sinta and think hard about what I’m willing to do to escape. I never miss.
He’s alone right now, sitting with his elbow on one knee and his chin propped in his hand. A breeze lifts his hair, exposing the broad, masculine lines of his tanned and somewhat weathered face.
There’s a crease between his eyebrows, and his preoccupied expression gives me the strangest urge to ditch throwing practice and ask him what’s wrong.
Ignoring that bit of lunacy, I turn back to the target, a silver birch with a knot in the trunk six feet up. I take aim and hit the knot. “Vasili has a knife-throwing act. There’s no one faster with a blade. He throws ten knives at his wife in ten seconds. He’s never hit her once.”
Flynn grunts, eyeing the birch. “Sounds like a lethal son of a Cyclops. He taught you?”
For the last three evenings, we’ve been attached at the hip—literally—and Flynn hasn’t gotten much better. It must have been sheer luck that he helped blind the Giant. Or an intervention from the Gods.
That thought raises too many questions, so I shut it down. “I was good with a knife before, but Vasili made me better. It’s about balance and anticipation. Feel where your target is. Figure out how it’s moving.”
“Trees don’t move,” Flynn grumbles.
“They do if there’s wind.”
He gives me a cross look, throws, and misses, cursing when his knife scrapes a chunk of bark off the side of the tree and then crashes to the ground.
“Only let go when the tip points directly at the target. And don’t rush,” I say for the fifteenth time.
“It’s hard not to rush when a Giant is swinging a ten-foot-long spiked club at you.”
I roll my eyes. “You got too close.”
“I couldn’t hit it otherwise!” He rakes his hand through his hair, spiking it into an even wilder mess.
I bat Flynn’s hand down. “You’re going to turn yourself bald. ‘Don’t rush’ doesn’t mean you can’t move, or fight. Just relax, and don’t rush the release. Wait until it feels right.”
His mouth flattening, he concentrates and throws again. The knife sticks a good two feet below the knot and a little to the right. Flynn shouts in triumph.
“Good!” I say. “You got him in the stomach. Belly wounds are the worst.”
He glances at me. “Speaking from experience?”
I arch a brow. “As if I’d let some idiot impale me.”
A Promise of Fire Page 7
