by Megg Jensen
Snap! Leo stood in front of her, his fingers together. “Wake up, chouchou. Practice is over.”
“No.” Tressa put a hand on his arm. “I must keep practicing until I’m ready.”
“You will never be ready for what you will face.”
“But –”
Leo laid his hand over her mouth. “Physically, you are ready. You are never ready mentally. Not even after you make your first kill.”
“It doesn’t get easier?”
“Never.”
The sun had sunk below the buildings, bathing them in shadows. Night descended too quickly when they were practicing. “I have to get back to the inn for the evening meal. Ira needs me.”
“I know. I’ll make an appearance there tonight as well. What I did to you had to be done, but it weighs heavy on my heart. A girl like you shouldn’t ever have to face an enemy like Stacia. You should be at home, with a man and children to love you.”
“I never had a chance at a normal life. If I ever want to live life my way, it’ll take freedom from tyranny.”
“That’s not a small order,” Leo said as they walked back to the tavern. He stopped a few paces away from the bustling people headed out for an evening meal or back to their homes after a long day of work. “You never did tell me how you planned to stop Stacia once you joined the Black Guard.”
Tressa looked at her feet. She didn’t have an answer. That scared her more than fighting for her life in the arena.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Swords clanged in the damp air. Bastian's crossed with Adam's, over and over again until their forearms ached. Adam dropped his to the ground and held his hands in the air.
"I'm done. For today, at least." Adam rubbed his hands up and down his arms. "I'm not sure if you're getting us ready for war or trying to systematically wear us down."
Bastian laughed. "You're stronger now than you were a few weeks ago."
"True. True. When do you think we'll be ready to head out?" Adam nodded at the fog.
Since the day Bastian argued with the townspeople, everyone had decided to stay. Those who could pick up a sword spent a couple of hours each day practicing. The rest of the time they packed. Deciding what to bring and what to leave was hard. They didn't know if they'd ever make it back into the village.
Bastian encouraged them to pack light. To only bring what was necessary. It didn't make it any easier. Adam had a rough time. As the only healer, he had a variety of tools and instruments at his disposal. But they were iron, and heavy. Bringing them could save someone's life, but he wasn't sure how to carry everything himself. Udor had promised him an apprentice. Yet no one had shown interest.
"In a few days," Bastian answered. "I don't want to wait too long or people might forget what we're training for. It's too easy to fall back into familiar patterns." He clapped his uncle on the back. "I'm glad you're training. It's important for you to be protected because we desperately need your skills out there. But if you should be attacked, you must be able to defend yourself."
Adam stretched out his arms, swinging them side-to-side. "I think I'll be ready for anything tossed at me."
Bastian sighed. "I don't want anyone to be cocky. None of you know what's out there. This village," Bastian looked around at the simple homes, "is nothing like what's out there." He walked ahead, Adam next to him. "The buildings are made out of the same materials, but the people are far more ruthless and dangerous. They make Hutton’s Bridge look like it's populated by simpletons."
"Bastian!" Kaima ran toward him, her skirts lifted up to her ankles to keep her from tripping over herself. "We need your help. Over here! Yours too, Adam."
The men took off running after Kaima. A howl of pain came from the back of the town hall.
"Hurry," Kaima yelled over her shoulder.
Two men struggled behind a building, their arms wound around each other. A child lay on the ground, covered in blood.
"Get away from him."
Bastian wrested the two men apart, pulling on their arms until they let go.
"He tried to kill my nephew!" Tom, the butcher, yelled.
Bastian looked down to the ground, where the young boy, Lukas, lay holding his arm.
"The boy wanted to train. I was only helping him out. It was an accident." James, a farmer, screamed back.
"Both of you, back off," Adam ordered through gritted teeth. He tore off a strip of his shirt and placed it on the boy's arm, staunching the wound. Blood bubbled on the side, then slowed to a trickle. "Someone could have taken the time to stop his bleeding instead of fighting about it."
The two men looked sheepish, their eyes toward the ground.
"Look," Bastian said, placing his arms around the shoulders of the two men, "you must learn to control your anger. If you don't, innocents will die. Focus solely on the enemy."
"He shouldn't have been fighting with my nephew," Tom insisted.
"Why not? It’s possible he'll be in as much danger as the rest of us. It won't hurt him to learn some combat techniques," Bastian said.
Lukas puffed up his chest.
"But you should know better than to strike a child,” Bastian said. “Control. That's the one thing everyone needs to focus on. Not the strength behind the swing of your sword. Not the angle of the sword's entry. All of that comes together if you have control."
Bastian dropped his arms and stood in front of both men. "You're going to need it out there." He pointed toward the fog. "What's out there will test your mettle. It will push you to the breaking point. It will force you to choose between life and death, between love and pity. You will be tested. And you will be changed."
He turned his back on the two men, done with them. They wouldn't listen. He knew that. Until they saw it for themselves, their closed minds wouldn't accept anything Bastian said. The only credibility he had came from his return. He was the only one. Ever. It held some weight, but stories couldn't even outweigh experience.
"How is he?" Bastian dropped to one knee next to Lukas.
"He'll survive," Adam said. He helped the boy sit up and prop his back against the side of the meeting hall. "But he won't be able to lift a sword. Maybe not even a pack."
Tears streamed down the boy's cheeks. He wiped them away angrily with his sleeve, leaving a streak of blood on his face. "I only wanted to learn. I want to fight."
"Lukas, I am proud of you for wanting to fight. But the children aren’t going to come with us into the fog."
Lukas nodded. The tears slowed. “But if something comes here again, another dragon or a beast, like the one you’ve warned us about, I want to be able to fight!”
Lukas’ eyes were wide, full of hope. At the same time, they were fierce, willing to fight. Bastian recognized that. He’d seen it in his own eyes. "I need someone to protect my daughter. Not a grown man. As you can see, their petty disagreements get in the way of what's important," Bastian said.
The boy took a quick glance at his uncle.
"What I need is someone who will be with her all the time. Make sure she’s safe. Maybe even hold her hand. Can you do that?"
"Hold hands with a girl?" Lukas’ nose crinkled at the thought.
"I'd consider it a great favor if you'd help me. I can't fight if I'm worried about her. If I know she's with you, I'll feel much better."
Lukas’ back straightened. He sat up a little taller. "I'll do it, sir."
"Bastian. Not sir. I've done nothing to deserve that title." Bastian ruffled Lukas’ sandy hair. "Now head home with your uncle. Tell your aunt what happened and how you've been rewarded for your bravery."
Lukas stood up, a little shaky. Tom placed his hand on his nephew’s uninjured arm.
"I am sorry,” James said.
"It's okay," Bastian said. Everyone knew he didn't mean it, though. He'd said it for Lukas’ benefit. "Control yourself and we won't have to have another discussion."
The men, Lukas, and Kaima walked away in silence. After only a few steps, they split up, heading
back to their respective homes.
Bastian let out a long sigh and ran his hands through his hair.
"No one ever said this would be easy," Adam said. He wiped his hands on his shirt, smearing blood all over the light fabric. "I'd better get home and wash up. Do a little laundry too."
Bastian laughed at his uncle covered in red hair, red freckles, and red blood. "I know, I know. I meant what I said, though. Until they actually see what it's like out there, they can't understand."
Adam nodded. "It's like having a cold bucket of water dropped on you after a long night of drinking. Very sobering."
"Yes." Bastian looked out at the misty forest, wondering if the beast was lurking just at the edge of the fog, awaiting his return. Soon enough they'd meet again, and this time Bastian was prepared to kill it.
Chapter Forty
Bastian pulled off his shirt and settled into bed as the sun set. He was already missing the freedom of the life he'd tasted outside of Hutton's Bridge. He thought of the sunset he and Tressa had seen as they made love in the grass. He felt a familiar throbbing. He groaned, whishing she was there with him. Their reunion had been too short.
Adam only questioned his haste to get the army ready once. He'd asked if Bastian was hurrying them along only so he could find Tressa. Without hesitation, he'd admitted that was his plan. He knew going into the fog would fruitless. If the map Udor showed him was to be believed, then Tressa could be walking in circles. If Bastian hadn't thought to climb the trees, he wouldn't have known to go straight through.
But without knowing where she was, diving into the fog without a plan was a waste of time. He needed an army. Not just to fight the beast or protect themselves once they found their way through fog. No, he needed them to be able to fight the people in the trees. The guardians.
He'd seen enough to know the woman was dangerous. It was likely the other two were just as lethal. If he could destroy them, then the fog would disappear. Only then could he find Tressa.
If she was still alive.
He couldn't even stand to think of her body laying dead, or consumed by the beast wandering in the forest. She wasn't stupid. She'd figure something out. Tressa always did.
A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in," he said. Before he could stand and pull his shirt on, a young woman walked in. She held a shawl tightly around her chest, her hands trembling.
"My mother asked me to see if you needed attending. Your wife is dead and you've been injured. I'd be pleased to help you." She dropped her shawl to the floor, revealing a loosely tied chemise and breasts straining to be let free.
Months ago, Bastian would have been tempted. He wouldn't have hesitated to pull the string, letting her blouse fall open, so he could fondle her breasts. His life with Vinya was unfulfilling, sexless, and depressing. Any time a woman wanted a dalliance in the back of the forge, he was willing to oblige. It was his way of drowning out the fact he couldn't have the woman he wanted and was stuck with one he didn't. He let the other girls dress the wounds in his heart with tongues, nipples, and gasps of pleasure, despite unsanctioned coupling being against their laws.
She stood in front of him, her breasts heaving. In the past it was a turn on. Now Bastian saw it only as desperation.
"If I send you home, will your mother be angry?" Bastian bent over, picked up her shawl, and held it out to the trembling girl.
She nodded. Taking the shawl from him with shaking hands, she wrapped it back around her shoulders, tighter than it was when she'd walked in. Her mother had probably forced her to loosen it up. Before he stepped into the fog, Bastian was the bad boy none of their mothers wanted their daughters around. Now, as something of a hero, he'd been elevated to the man who mothers wanted to sell their daughters to.
It was unfortunate he'd changed or the night ahead would have been far more interesting.
"Take my bed." He gestured to the rumpled mess of sheets. "I'll sleep on the floor. In the morning, you can tell your mother whatever you'd like."
The girl nodded, and scurried to the bed without saying a word. She sat down, unsure what to do next.
"Do you have a name?" he asked her, finding it ironic he was getting to know more people in his village since he'd come back than he had before leaving.
"Christa." It came out as a whisper.
"You can lay down, Christa. There aren't any bugs in my bed."
A smile crossed her lips, but quickly fell away. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Sure," Bastian said. He settled into an upholstered chair. Over the years it had been patched many times. The damask fabric had once been luxurious and rare. Bastian's grandparents were wealthy merchants before the town was trapped in fog.
"Did your wife really die out there because of some beast or did you kill her?" She covered her mouth and her shawl slipped down, revealing ample amounts of forbidden skin.
He tore his eyes away. "I didn't kill her." Bastian stood up and paced around the small room. "Is that what they're saying?"
"A few. My mother didn't believe it. It's why she sent me here. She said if she believed the rumors, then she would have kept me home."
"And why, exactly, did she send you here?"
Christa's cheeks grew pink splotches. "To see if you needed a nurse for your daughter."
Bastian raised an eyebrow. "Not to seduce me?"
"Maybe. Only if you found me pleasing." She shifted on the bed, leaving room for Bastian. "Do I please you?" She dropped the shawl again and began untying the remainder of her laces. Eyelashes fluttered as she looked up at Bastian with deep brown eyes.
He fought his instincts as her breasts spilled out of her top.
"Is this what you want, Christa?" Bastian forced his eyes to look at hers and not one bit lower. "If you pulled my ribbon at the next ceremony, would you be happy?"
"Of course. I'd be proud to be your mate. I know I could produce more heirs for you. A boy this time. I promise I'd give you more than Vinya ever did." She slipped her arms out of the sleeves and let the dress fall to her waist.
Bastian couldn't help but look at her. She was beautiful. So young and pure. He could teach her so much.
But she wasn't Tressa. Bastian shook his head. "Pull your dress up. I won't do this."
"It's too soon, I understand." Within moments she'd covered herself again.
But she didn't understand. None of them did. Just Adam. Only he knew how desperate he was to rescue Tressa. Maybe Udor, but he never understood love. To him, Tressa would have been a possession.
In the end, it would be better for none of them to know everything he was doing in Hutton's Bridge was for Tressa. He no longer cared if the villagers stayed in the fog or left it. As soon as he found Tressa, he'd turn his back on everything and everyone in the village.
"Dada." The voice as small as its owner pushed open the door.
"Farah." Bastian squatted and scooped the little girl up in his arms.
"Who that?" Farah pointed one fat finger at Christa, who thankfully, was fully clothed and presentable again.
"That's Christa. She came over to play with you and help you get off to sleep. Didn't you Christa?"
She stood up and curtsied. "Yes, I did." A smile spread across her face as she sat on the floor next to Farah. "Why are you still up, little one? Do you want me to tell you a bedtime story?"
Farah clapped her hands together and giggled. "Oh, yes! Momma no tell stories. I like stories!" She grabbed Christa's hand and pulled her back into her bedroom.
Bastian sank into his bed, relieved Christa was gone. If she'd gone too much farther, he might have had to leave the cottage and spend the night at Adam's. He was in love with Tressa, but he was a man too. He'd never been any good at saying no to a willing woman.
He let his thoughts drift to the night he and Tressa had reunited. He slipped one hand under the covers and let the memories overtake him. When he was done, he rolled over and fell into a sound sleep.
Chapter Forty-
One
Tressa woke before the dawn, sleeping only in fits and spurts through the night. She had to be up and ready for the competition to join the Black Guard before the sun lit the ground to the west. Leo told her to get good sleep and he’d make sure she was up early enough. She’d tried to follow his advice, but nerves got the best of her. The night was spent in a fitful sleep. Nightmares punctuated by real concerns. Images of her death. Blood. Severed limbs. Connor’s face floated in and out of the haze, reminding her why she was going ahead with her foolish plan.
Or lack of a plan. She had nothing more than a vague idea of how she was going to get close to Stacia, much less kill her. The woman’s braid and its deadly spikes shredded through every scene, ripping apart everyone in her dream.
Leo still slept in the bed across the room. His arm rested on top of his head. Tressa analyzed him, determining she could kill him with one strike of a sword under his arm. She shook her head and threw off the wool cover. It landed on the wooden floor without a sound.
She tiptoed over to Leo and reached out to touch his arm. He leapt up, grabbing her shoulders. Tressa stumbled backward, balanced only by the grip he had on her.
“You scared me!”
Leo chuckled. “You must be ready for everything.”
“I thought you were asleep.”
“Hardly. After listening to you moan in your sleep all night? I couldn’t have slept even if I’d been awake for the previous five days.” He tilted his head to the side. “Are you going to be okay today? You don’t have to go through with this.”
She spun out of his grasp. Every moment with him was a test. It was one she wasn’t willing to fail. “Yes, I do.” She slipped behind the screen, took off her bedclothes, and pulled her leather battle clothes on. Leo had purchased them for her from a local merchant with the money she’d earned working for Ira. A man could buy combat clothing without anyone batting an eyelash. Tressa would have been noticed. Talked about. It could have ended her plan before she had a chance to place it into motion.
