Defy (The Blades of Acktar Book 3)

by Tricia Mingerink

  She forced herself to smile and continued walking. The cave entrance was a narrow slit in the rock, the edges rounded. Big Brown balked at the opening, but Brandi tugged him forward. He ducked, his ears brushing the ceiling, and jumped as the stirrups scraped against the walls.

  The entrance seemed to narrow farther. She yanked her horse another yard inside. The tunnel turned and opened up. She and Big Brown popped out the other side.

  Slabs of rock piled along the walls, some rounded, some still jagged. Dry dirt created a level floor while the ceiling rose above them in a blank, orange-brown color. Someone had lit some of the candles they’d packed with them, spacing them out on top of the boulders. After all their hard work to get here, it seemed rather plain. Weren’t caves supposed to be a bit more elaborate than a rocky hole in the side of the cliff? Like with crystals and fancy formations and stuff like that?

  Glancing around, she tried to spot any looks sent her way. Lady Alistair and Lydia huddled under a damp blanket. Lady Lorraine had her hands on her hips as she studied the cave. Jolene perched on a boulder and worked beeswax over her bowstring and oiled the wood of her bow. Good. Maybe they’d stay so busy they wouldn’t pester her.

  She led Big Brown to the corner of the cave where the other horses had been tied in a line. Tugging the saddle from Big Brown’s back, she draped it over a rock to dry out. Big Brown shook, flinging a few droplets into the air from his mane and tail.

  Gathering the rest of her things, Brandi found an unused boulder and laid out her blanket roll and spare set of clothes. She shivered. The cool air inside the cave wrapped around her. As much as she longed to change into a dry set of clothes, everything in her pack had been soaked through.

  Not that the cave provided much privacy even if she could change, though Lady Lorraine would probably change that promptly enough. She already stood in the center, dividing it into sleeping sections for the men, women, and horses.

  Brandi inched into a dark corner. She didn’t feel like pretending to be cheerful if Lady Lorraine assigned her a chore.

  With the last of them inside, Shad led his own horse in and organized a rotation for guard duty. Several guards were sent into the rain to gather what they could find for dry firewood and fodder for the horses.

  Brandi sank onto the floor in her corner and closed her eyes. Maybe she’d be able to hide in this corner all night.

  Someone plopped to the ground next to her. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know Jamie leaned against the rock next to her. Of course he would pester her. He was rather good at doing that.

  “Leith’s going to come back.”

  Brandi hugged her stomach. People who left never came back. Not when they left like this, anyway. Leith wouldn’t come back. Renna wouldn’t come back. Brandi was all by herself. “No, he won’t.”

  Jamie heaved a huge sigh.

  Brandi waited, but Jamie didn’t say anything more. Why not? Was Jamie not as sure as he sounded? Did he also think that Leith was going to die?

  15

  Leith woke to cold shivers on his spine. The world seemed darker than it should be. He squinted at the sloped peaks rising around him and Blizzard. The sky pressed down in a strange, blue color, like sunset but darker. The mounds of clouds rumbled as they collided.

  Something cold touched his forehead. He reached up, swiped at the spot, and studied his fingers. Wet. His fingers were wet.

  Water. Where did the water come from? He stared at the sky. Another drop splashed onto his face.

  Rain. His mind dragged the answer from the canyon-like depths of his head.

  The drops plopped down harder. He stuck his tongue out and managed to catch a few.

  “Feel that, Blizzard? Rain.” His voice croaked in his throat. He heaved himself to his feet, every limb shaking.

  Dark clouds piled on the western horizon. More on the way. There was something he should remember about rain in the Waste. Something an old Rover told him and Vane years ago.

  Lightning flashed. Thunder roared. The rain sluiced from the sky, soaking through the shirt tied around Leith’s head and washing down his face.

  He and Blizzard should find shelter. He studied the hills surrounding them, their surfaces covered with widening, dark blue-gray spots. He and Blizzard lay in the gully between the hills.

  A gully that’d channel the water in a flood.

  He had to get to higher ground. He tugged on Blizzard’s bridle. “Come on. We need to move.”

  Blizzard’s eyes flickered open. His nostrils flared pink.

  Leith knelt and pulled the soaked shirt from his head. Propping Blizzard’s nose on his lap, he wrung the fabric, squeezing a small stream of water onto Blizzard’s mouth.

  Blizzard chomped at the water. His tongue slurped in and out between his large teeth.

  When Leith had forced every drop from the shirt, he tottered to his feet and grabbed Blizzard’s bridle. They couldn’t stay here much longer. “Time to move, Blizzard.”

  Blizzard’s ears twitched and his tongue continued lapping at the rain.

  He and Blizzard had defied the Waste this long. He’d been ready to lie down and die, but not now. “Get up.” He yanked on Blizzard’s bridle and took a step back. Blizzard’s neck stretched. The horse snorted louder but didn’t move.

  “Get up.” Leith leaned backwards. “Get up.”

  Blizzard gathered his legs beneath him, but he didn’t stand.

  “Get up!” Leith took another step back. “You are not dying on me. Get. Up.”

  Blizzard groaned and lurched onto his front feet. Leith heaved as Blizzard dragged his rear legs beneath him and surged upward with his powerful haunches. He stood on shaking legs, but he was standing.

  Leith patted his horse’s neck, gripped the reins, and stumbled forward. The rain turned the dust into a sloppy muck that squished into his boots. The water soaking his clothes and sliding over his skin cooled his heated body. He let his mouth hang open and tilted his head toward the sky. Water trickled into his mouth, seeping into his parched tongue.

  When he and Blizzard had slogged up the slope of a hill, Leith stopped. Blizzard lowered his head, snuffling at a puddle collecting in a small depression.

  Leith tugged his horse’s head up. Once the rain touched the ground, the harmful minerals in the dirt would contaminate it. He and Blizzard could get sick, even die, if they drank it. He couldn’t risk it, even as desparate as they were.

  Digging in a saddlebag, Leith pulled out his pot and set it on the ground. Rain plinged against the iron. Blizzard huffed and slurped at the water as fast as it filled.

  Lightning shattered in the sky. Thunder cracked the clouds and shook the ground.

  Leith knelt and opened his mouth. Rain pooled on his tongue. He relished the coolness slipping down his throat and into his shriveled stomach. The fog in his mind washed away like the dust dripping from his clothes. Rain was a miracle he’d never understood until he’d been in a place where God withheld rain, withheld life, like He did in the Waste.

  When he’d caught enough water in his mouth for several gulps, he shook himself. Once the water hit the ground and became contaminated, they couldn’t drink it anymore. He had to catch enough of this rain to fill his canteens and the waterskin if he could. While Blizzard still slurped at the pot, Leith pulled out his canteens and propped them between of couple of rocks. Some rain plunked through the openings, but not enough.

  He searched through his saddlebags, looking for something he could roll into a funnel. His black pants wouldn’t work, nor would his spoon and extra knives. Nothing in his saddlebags was both flexible and strong enough.

  The saddlebags. He studied the leather top. It was both stiff enough to hold a shape and channel water, but flexible enough to be shaped. Drawing a knife, he hacked at the leather until the top came off in his hand.

  Holding it up to the rain, he scrubbed it with his hand, washing away as much as the dust and trail grime as he could. The soaking turned the leather squishy
and pliable in his fingers. When it was as clean as he could make it, he curled it into a wide funnel and jammed the small end into the opening of his canteen.

  When he was satisfied the leather would stay, he worked at the saddlebag dangling on the other side until its top ripped away. After placing that leather funnel in the mouth of the second canteen, Leith sprawled on the ground and gaped at the sky again.

  At least he and Blizzard wouldn’t accidentally drink too much and make themselves sick. The downpour produced only so much water at a time, forcing them to drink slowly.

  A roar rumbled in the distance, coursing along the ground instead of the clouds overhead. Leith braced himself on an elbow as a foaming torrent of blue-grey water bellowed through the gully he and Blizzard had lain in minutes earlier. The porous slopes shook with the force of the water, some giving way and sliding into the heaving mass of water.

  Their hill held against the onslaught of water, only the edges crumbling. Leith leaned his head onto his hands and drank the rain.

  He spent the night huddled under the saddle blanket and his cloak. He kept his pot in the open so he and Blizzard could drink their fill without touching the water stored in his canteens.

  As dawn crinkled across the horizon, the rain died away. Leith wrung out his clothes and the saddle blanket. Both items were too dusty to get clean water from them.

  Blizzard’s ears flattened as Leith placed the wet blanket and saddle on his back and tightened the girth strap. He patted the horse’s neck. “Don’t worry, boy. I’m not going to ride until everything’s dry.”

  Blizzard shook his mane and wiggled his back like he wanted to shed the uncomfortably damp saddle and blanket. Leith didn’t blame him. His own clothes scratched as he grabbed his horse’s reins.

  He scanned the horizon. Not that he expected to see the other Blades. They’d disappeared from sight long ago. If they’d continued trailing him, they would’ve run out of water long before Leith and Blizzard had. Even with the amount of water they’d had, Leith and Blizzard had come within a snake’s skin of dying.

  Where was he, exactly? While he’d been fading from thirst, he’d lost his sense of direction. What way had Leith wandering during that time?

  He faced west, placing the sun behind him and slightly to the left. As long as he headed in this direction, he’d find the Ramparts. He could follow them to the gap to the north. Once through, he’d be free to find Shad, Brandi, Jamie, and the others in the cave.

  Had they arrived safely? Leith urged Blizzard forward. For a while there, thirst had driven every other thought from his head. But now his missions drummed into him. Find Shad and Brandi. Travel to Eagle Heights. Gather an army. Rescue Renna.

  First, he had to find his way out of the Waste.

  In the wake of the rain, the Waste thrummed with a life that had been hidden by the heat and dust. The patches of grass swelled with the hint of green while the damp earth crawled with insects and lizards coming out to feed. He stopped several times to allow Blizzard to graze on the green-tipped grass. He chewed on his own soggy piece of meat.

  That afternoon, he halted Blizzard near a patch of grass and turned his horse loose to graze. He spread out the saddle and blanket on the heated boulders, keeping a wary eye out for snakes. The sun snapped up the water until nothing remained to mark the deluge of the day and night before.

  When the hottest part of the day came and went, Leith saddled Blizzard and rode along a grassy slope that wound between the canyons of jagged, grey rock. The slopes displayed new patterns carved into them, spidery etchings across the layers of grey, blue, purple, and red.

  A large, black shape shimmered and moved on the ground in the distance. Dismounting, Leith approached the form cautiously. A harsh cawing filled the air. A wing flapped out from the form before tucking back into the huddled mass.

  Crows. Feasting on carrion.

  He dropped Blizzard’s reins and dashed forward, waving his arms and shouting. With a thumping of wings and raucous cawing, the crows launched into the sky. They settled onto the rocks and scrub brush a few yards away, watching him with glimmering, black eyes. The sun cast rainbows along their sleek feathers.

  A mangled form lay on the ground, bits of black fabric shredded around what had once been the body of a man. Only the leather belt, boots, and knives remained intact.

  Leith must’ve drifted more south than he’d intended. He was supposed to be farther to the north, well away from the other Blades.

  It didn’t matter. This Blade had died, and Leith had spotted no sign of the other one. He must’ve turned around after this one died.

  Grimacing, Leith eased one of the knives from the dead Blade’s belt. The fading sunlight glinted on the initials GC etched into the hilt.

  Galen Craven. When First Blade Vane and Second Blade Hess died, Craven became the Second Blade under Leith.

  Leith dropped the knife into one of his saddlebags and swung back into the saddle. After Respen had learned of Leith’s defection to the Resistance, Craven would’ve become the First Blade. He hadn’t lived long enough to enjoy the rank.

  Nudging Blizzard, Leith turned his back on the dead Blade. He didn’t have time to give the man a decent burial, even if he had the means to chop a grave into the crumbling rock of the Waste.

  As the black birds returned to their meal, a weight settled onto Leith’s shoulders.

  Martyn Hamish, the man he’d once considered his best friend, was now the First Blade.

  16

  Renna swept her hair onto her head and attempted to pin it into place. She frowned at her reflection. The bun looked more like a porcupine than a tasteful hairstyle. Why couldn’t her hair cooperate?

  With a sigh, she took out the pins and let her hair fall down her back. Thanks to her efforts, her hair now sported frizzy crinkles.

  Her door rattled. That would be Martyn coming to escort her on her morning walk. Abandoning the mirror and her attempts at doing something with her hair, she walked to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open.

  King Respen stood in the doorway, a bouquet of flowers gripped so tightly in his fist the stems squeaked.

  Renna swallowed at the skittering in her stomach. What was he doing here? She’d kept her end of the bargain and dined with him every night. She hadn’t tried to escape.

  Had the Blades captured Leith? Or Brandi? Had Respen come to gloat?

  He thrust the flowers at her. “Here.”

  A bouquet. Even Leith hadn’t given her flowers.

  No, she couldn’t compare Respen to Leith. Leith had given her a knife to defend herself. And that was so much better, right? He cared about her safety. Respen only wanted to use her either as bait for Leith or a bride to secure his crown. Nothing more.

  She snagged the flowers and stepped back to gain a few feet of distance. “I need to put these in water.”

  Stumbling, she grabbed the glass next to the pitcher on the washstand, filled it with water, and jammed the flowers into it. She let the methodical actions keep her moving. If she paused, she might freeze. Placing the glass of flowers on the table in the center of the room, she plucked at them.

  Why had Respen given her a bouquet? He never did anything without angling for something. He couldn’t be trying to be romantic, so what did he want?

  When she couldn’t think of any more reasons to keep rearranging the bouquet, she trudged to the doorway. Respen still stood there, fingers tapping against the door frame. As she approached, he held out his arm. “Walk with me.”

  He was courting her. Or, at least, attempting to court her in his own fashion. Was he getting impatient with her for taking so much time to decide?

  She slid her shaking fingers into the crook of his arm and let him lead her from her room and down the brick staircase. He began a slow promenade on the path surrounding the Queen’s Court.

  When they rounded the first corner, she gathered her courage. Last time she’d asked about his dead wife, he’d flown into a rage and hit her.
Would he do it again? “What was your wife’s name?”

  His muscles stiffened beneath her hand. His dark eyes smoldered while his hands clenched into fists. She cringed. Would he still hurt her, even though he was courting her?

  His chest heaved in and out in a long breath. “Clarisse. Her name was Clarisse.”

  Renna blinked. He’d controlled his rage. Was he doing it to convince her to marry him or was she having a good influence on him? She forced herself to smile. “That’s a very pretty name. She sounds like she was quite the lady.”

  He meandered along the bluestone path, and his eyes stared into the distance. Glimmers of something—longing, perhaps even love—flitted in his dark eyes.

  Respen had killed so many people. He’d destroyed so much of Acktar. Yet he had loved, once.

  Had this Clarisse loved him too? Had she understood what he’d become as she lay dying? Was the bitterness of her loss enough to turn Respen’s love into such hatred? Or had his hatred always lingered there, hidden below the surface of her love for him?

  The answers felt important, but how did she go about getting them? She needed to understand this man who’d taken so much from her. Was it possible to reconcile the image of him as a loving husband with the man who’d manipulated fears and weaknesses to turn boys like Leith into killers?

  Respen’s arm tightened beneath her hand, trapping her wrist between his elbow and ribs. She held her breath as he strode forward, eyes focused somewhere in the past. “She promised everything would be all right. She promised happiness if we followed the rules.” His voice dropped into a growl. “But it didn’t get her anywhere, did it?”

  A chill drifted down Renna’s spine. She could picture the young lady Clarisse encouraging her husband to attend church, to hold family devotions, to pray before meals. He’d do it to please her. The more he threw himself into the outward trappings of Christianity, the happier she’d become. Her happiness made him happy, but it was a false happiness, a happiness easily ripped away with her death.

  Would Respen do the same thing if she agreed to marry him? Would he stop his persecution of Christians, perhaps even support the rebuilding of the church buildings, to make her happy?