by K. F. Breene
The problem wouldn’t be the loss of blood with these wounds, it was the risk of infection.
She felt his shields lock into place with her question, drawing her eyes out of the opening. She couldn’t see his body.
“I decided I couldn’t let you have all the fun,” he said.
“What’s the real reason?” she asked in a firm tone.
He hesitated before answering, “Someone cut a hole through the hedge. People are dying in the Trespasser Village. Word is, someone was taken out of the trials.”
Tingles crept up Shanti’s spine. “Do the Shadow people know?”
“If they do, they’re keeping their mouths shut.”
“They must.” Shanti paused in thought, working through the implications. “They must know he’s gone. They use this as training for their own people. They have their Gift, they track… they must know. Did they kill him?”
“We would’ve heard if they had.”
Shanti bit her lip, a frown working at her features. “Then someone is sheltering him, because they wouldn’t just let him go. There are only a few who have the ability to shelter someone on the Shadow people’s homeland.”
“I think those people are in the Village,” Cayan said before explaining what Leilius had heard the night before.
Shanti listened with growing concern, making Cayan repeat some of the details about the group Leilius had seen, of the man they surrounded, and of the man who walked in mud in silence. By the end, her stomach was in knots.
“It’s him,” she breathed, sweat beading her brow despite the cold. “It has to be. There is no other power like him—no one else who would be guarded by men like that.”
“Surely there could be.” Cayan’s voice remained neutral.
“Yes, okay—there could be another man out there matching Xandre’s description with guards matching the descriptions of Xandre’s Inner Circle. Yes, that could happen. However, why would that person set up camp in a place he would never be noticed while an Inkna is entered into, and then rescued from, the trials…”
“That is why I’m in here with you. The Graygual aren’t playing by the rules, so there’s no reason you should, either.”
Shanti ducked out of the tree to find Cayan setting out materials with which to make a fire. The way he laid everything out, slowly and methodically, before picking up the fire-starting rock and analyzing it, meant he hadn’t much experience.
“Do you need help?” she asked with a grin working at her mouth.
He glanced up at her with a furrowed brow. He shook his head and looked back down. “I haven’t done this since I was fifteen or something, and even then I used slightly more… advanced methods of starting a fire. But it can’t be that difficult.”
“Yes it can.”
“I’ll figure it out,” he said with determination as he struck the rock to see its effects.
The grin turned into a smile as she watched him try to best the rock. A moment later, though, their situation withered her humor. “Xandre must know his Chosen would never make it.”
“Then why go through the charade of putting him through just to raise eyebrows by pulling him out again?”
“Simple. To get me in here. To keep me put.”
Cayan looked up. Those blue eyes flashed. A surge of power sprayed Shanti before she slammed down her mental shields. He said, “Then we’ll find that hole and get out. We shouldn’t be in here waiting for him to come get you.”
Shanti shifted, then winced as her pant leg brushed against her wound. She heaved a sigh, trying to ignore the burning pain. “I can’t. I need the Shadow army, and they won’t follow me unless I get through these trials. If we leave now, he can just scoop me up. I’m sure his men vastly outnumber your own. The Shadow people will do nothing to stop him as long as we are outside the city.” Shanti brushed the hair from her forehead as determination kindled deep in her gut. “No, I have to make it through these trials if I want to make it off this island with my freedom. I may not have much hope, but it’s the duty my people assigned me—I have to at least try.”
“Well, they’ve let me in and tied me to you to help themselves. They changed the rules. We can work together and still get you that title.”
A rush of gratitude stole Shanti’s breath, thankfully hidden behind her shields. She’d always been stronger with him. She’d always evaded death when he worked by her side, even when she worked alone and he picked up the pieces. If she had any hope at all, it was with him. And yes, the Shadow people had changed the rules. They changed the rules. That meant he was right: working together was allowed.
“Maybe Xandre turning up was good news—otherwise you would’ve just lounged in the city and put your feet up, getting fat.”
“Getting fat?” Cayan smiled as he struck the stone above some grasses.
“Yes. That stomach of yours brings all the admirers. A fat man would only bring the money-grubbers.”
“Money-grubbers?” he asked, dimples showing with his smile. “Only until they heard of my prowess in bed. Then I’d have to turn women away again.”
He glanced up. His blue eyes sparkled with fire. The answering heat burned deep in Shanti’s core. Sweat beaded her brow for a second time, but not from fear.
She took a step back.
“How about that ride?” he pushed, his smile showing even, white teeth.
Oh yeah. That. A momentary case of loose lips and now he had ideas.
“I’ll go gather up some things for dinner and something for my wounds, shall I?” she asked, grabbing her ripped coat.
Eyes twinkling in mischief, Cayan held up a coat similar to hers but larger. On his body he wore a slick sort of black, shiny material. It must’ve been something he had picked up in the city.
“They had something to fit you, huh?” Shanti asked, taking the garment.
“No. My shoulders pull at the seams, it won’t close over my chest, and the sleeves don’t reach my wrists. What I’m wearing is fine for the day, and your body heat will be enough for the night. I’ll be fine.”
Shanti’s core tingled before the pain on her side stabbed her. Without bothering to comment, she turned and started off. “Keep mental contact with me. I’ll blast a shock of fear at you if I get in trouble. Otherwise, I shouldn’t be long.”
“And Shanti—”
She turned back. His eyes had lost the heat and humor. Warning now etched his face and dulled his gaze. “They are going to hit us with everything they have—both these Shadow people and whoever is pulling the strings for the Graygual. Everything they have. We have to be able to access my power easily. To do that, we need to work on it. We do, because it would take a lifetime to control that much power, which you have and I do not. We need to work on it if we hope to use it when we need it.”
Uncertainty and fear wormed into Shanti’s body. She remembered the feeling of delving deeply inside him, and then letting him delve just as deeply into her, creating a level, solid balance in which their combined power would build. She remembered that sweet rush of something so powerful it fluttered her eyes and stole her breath. Then the heat; the blistering heat that she wanted to turn into something sweaty and messy until they forgot about their surroundings and just reveled in pleasure.
She also remembered the intense, deep feelings that went with all that. She’d thought about that often. And just like the last time, Romie’s face hovered into view. Not the Romie with the pale, lifeless face, but the one she’d fallen in love with. The sweet, charming boy with a slow smile and soft eyes. She couldn’t remember the same feelings in all her time with Romie. Not the rush of lust, the heat of passion, or the burning, aching need consuming her body. She didn’t remember wrestling intellects, fighting for dominance, or even the confusing arousal of submission.
Shanti turned away, uncertainty eating away at her. She didn’t want to give in. She was still lost, but now she was fighting what that meant. Deep inside, she knew it was a fight she’d already lost.
&
nbsp; “Okay,” she said softly before she was limping away. She’d have to face Cayan soon, and once she’d given away her soul, she’d have to fight Xandre. She didn’t know if she was up for either.
Chapter Six
“Wait a minute,” Marc exclaimed, closing the door to his and Ruisa’s room and turning back to Ruisa. The Captain had left them that morning to go help S’am, and for most of the day Marc hadn’t done much more than study the maps and try to get the lay of the land. Now, at suppertime, Ruisa was trying to talk about how they might best work together. That had also meant revealing quite a few ghastly secrets. “You mean to tell me that women in our city run around, willy-nilly, poisoning guys at random, and you think that’s okay?”
Ruisa sighed as she strung a satchel over her head. “The art of poison has been—”
“The art of poison?” Marc cut her off. “Are you listening to yourself?”
“It’s been passed down for generations. Men can protect themselves, no problem. And sure, they like to say they’ll protect their family, but when they go out and fight wars, who’s left? And who protects the family from the men?”
“The law, for one,” Marc said with his face red and fists clenched. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Back in the day, the men made the law for their family. Is it so wrong that women have a defense?” Ruisa shifted, sticking out one hip and adopting an expression Marc had already come to realize was stubbornness. “You can use swords and knives and muscles, and we’re supposed to… what, be totally fine in our vulnerability? We aren’t allowed to look after ourselves because we have vaginas, is that it?”
Marc winced at the word—female anatomy was still mostly foreign to him. Even the words embarrassed him.
The bigger problem was having to share a bathroom with her. She’d come out wearing just a breast binding and pants earlier. She hadn’t thought a thing of it, and apparently she didn’t realize how aggressive the male imagination could be. Now when he looked at her, all he saw was her toned midriff and the outline of her round, perky—
Marc put a palm to his forehead and squinted his eyes, trying to chase away the image.
“C’mon—we need to get to the food hall before a man poisons our guys.” Ruisa gave Marc a hard stare. And then, apparently thinking Marc was dense, elaborated with, “Because men poison, too. Or didn’t you know?”
Marc scowled as she walked toward him, all temper, violence and mysterious femininity.
An image of her body and round breasts flashed into Marc’s head again. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be picturing that stuff, and didn’t move as fast as he should have. Ruisa reached him and shoved him out of the way. She pulled open the door, glanced to her right looking for lurkers, and then stalked left down the hall.
“So… if you have… that capability,” Marc said as he caught up to her. They took the stairs down to the alley. “Why are you bothering trying to learn to fight?”
Ruisa pushed through the door. When they entered the busy alleyway, she steered them toward the right and hunched slightly, trying to blend in like Leilius said they should.
“I don’t want to be left behind,” Ruisa said in a quiet tone, eyes darting from side to side. “I want to protect my home, not wait until the worst happens and try to salvage a bad situation. I come from a warrior nation, just like you. Is it so strange that I want to take part in training too?”
Marc shrugged, feeling eyes on him. A tingle crawled up his spine as two Graygual passed within five feet, their hard gazes staring Marc down. Buildings seemed to close in, crushing Marc as he and Ruisa made their way. Panic ate at his nerves.
Marc and Ruisa had purchased the raingear sold to tourists in great quantities, now looking like most everyone else, but it didn’t seem to matter. The Graygual and Inkna knew who the Westwood Isles people were, and it was no secret how much they wanted Marc’s crew dead.
“I’d rather just doctor,” Marc said through a trembling voice. “I didn’t want to be here at all.”
“Well, I do want to be here.” Ruisa pushed him to the right, still violent, but her voice shook just as much as Marc’s. The harsh stares, and hands on sword hilts, scared her, too. They shouldn’t have stayed behind to talk about poison. They should’ve gone to the eating hall with the more experienced fighters.
A Graygual, large and broad-shouldered, passed too close to Ruisa. His body bumped hers. A sneer creased his face. He made a kissing noise. “I have plans for you, little girl.”
“Are you sure you want to be here?” Marc asked with a hard hold on his sword, ready to rip it out. He sent a hard scowl after the swaggering Graygual.
Ruisa raised her chin as she placed her hand on her sword like Marc had. “I will not cower. Shanti has seen so much worse, and she’s still kicking ass. I can do it.”
They left the alley and into a thoroughfare. There were all kinds of visitors passing through, from the obviously rich with velvet robes and attendants shadowing them, to those without any means at all, sitting beside poorly erected stands selling their badly created wares. Shadow people stood along the walls dressed in well-made fur coats or animal hide with their light hair and eyes, watching silently. Providing protection.
Marc heard Ruisa echo his sigh of relief. “Okay, here we are,” she said as she pulled open a heavy door to a square, nondescript building. The furniture inside was sparse and simple, durable and well-made, but with no flourish. Marc wondered if it was just for visitors, or these people didn’t put much value on creature comforts.
The eating area consisted of rows of long tables with benches to either side. Rich and poor alike could sit next to each other. A counter at the back sectioned off two people who took orders, and through a door behind them lay a kitchen. Only Shadow people were supposed to be in the kitchens and taking orders, guaranteeing tamper-free food. Still, Ruisa insisted, and Sanders agreed, that everyone should eat at the same time, in case any substances found their way into the food.
“Damn it, they’re all around Sanders…” Ruisa swore.
At the side of the room in the back, a long table was taken up with all the men. Rohnan sat at the end, eating his meal while scanning the room. Burson sat at the other end, chewing while frowning into his plate. The rest of the guys were quietly talking amongst themselves while inconspicuously glancing around the room. Sanders was in the middle with his familiar scowl.
“Why shouldn’t they sit next to Sanders?” Marc asked.
“Because the Inkna know him. Everyone around him will now be targets, too.”
“Were you sleepwalking to get here—we’re all already targets. They know who we all are!”
“Maybe, but the guys are shoving that in the Inkna’s faces,” Ruisa murmured as her gaze swept the room.
Marc shook his head in frustration, but didn’t push the issue. “What are you looking for?” he whispered.
“People who study the art of poison take their craft very seriously. They’re knowledgeable and detail-oriented. And they always have their supply close at hand if they plan to use it. Many only specialize in that one trade. Killing is in their eyes, cunning, but their body doesn’t say warrior. There are a few such people here, one of them a Graygual. He’ll make the first move, I bet. With poison, I mean. Then there are the rich people with staff for hire. They won’t take any customers until they get a firm handle on the different sides, though.”
“We’re outnumbered—I doubt they’ll choose our side.”
“True.” Ruisa bit her lip, honing in on one seedy-looking character with black clothes and a black hat, hunched over his plate, his eyes peering up through his lashes. “He’s trouble—the one with the pockmarks all over his face. That was an experiment gone wrong, I bet.”
“Oh my God, Maggie Jensen has pockmarks—I thought it was a rough puberty,” Marc mumbled.
“Yes, she figured out how to make a certain formula of powder blow up after a handful of seconds. Unfortunately, she hadn’t gotten
the reaction she’d been trying for, and the concoction spit acid at her.” Ruisa shifted, one hand drifting to her sword hilt again. Her eyes took on a worried look. “Look at his eyes—calm but lethal. Cold and distant, but calculating. He is scanning plates and food—dangerous, that one. There is no way I’m as good as him. Not yet. We might be in over our heads, Marc.”
* * *
A few hours after dinner Sanders leaned against a corner of the large building that loomed over the main square in the city. Twilight was falling and merchants within the square were packing their wares, ready to head to the Trespasser Village or elsewhere for the night. Fewer wealthy visitors strolled through the open space as night rolled in. From the mutterings Sanders had heard, the villains came out at night, trying to hide their misdeeds from the Shadow people.
Sanders spat as he watched another group of Graygual saunter through the open gates as if they owned the place. Each had at least two bars on their breast, but only one had four, and none higher. Low-level scum, but with some ability with their swords.
Men like this had been oozing in all day, stepping onto the island by the boatload. Inkna, too, filled out the ranks, walking around like they couldn’t smell the Being Supreme’s shit on their upper lip.
Sanders glanced at one of the Shadow people standing beside the gate and noticed the woman staring back. Pretty little thing, too. Slight and sinewy with long legs and a heart-shaped mouth. Her weapon was shiny, the leather on the handle worn, and her face advertised no-nonsense. She’d give you a wink and slice your dick off, Sanders bet. Deadly and humorless, like the rest of the Shadow people he saw loitering around.
Her gaze went back to the group of Graygual.
She’d been standing there as long as Sanders had been in his spot, taking over from a thin man with a scar across his forehead. If Sanders read her right, she was observing the changing of the tides just as he was. An army leader didn’t stuff all his men into one place without a plan in mind. That plan usually involved either keeping the peace, or taking the stronghold.
