by RJ Metcalf
Cole fell silent, feeling a bit stupid, talking to the glowing rock as if Captain Stevens could hear him and respond. But he’d needed to get it out and at least pretend that he still had his mentor. He shook his head and knuckled at his eyes. “I’ll figure it out, sir. I’ll make you proud.”
He dragged himself to his feet and turned away from the marker. Cole took a half step back, surprised to see a slender figure walking carefully around the muted yellow glow of the other markers for the fallen common soldiers. The familiar-looking stranger made his way toward Cole, his top hat a brilliant white in the encroaching darkness.
Cole couldn’t remember. Was this one of the many family members of the soldiers he’d met with this week? A distant cousin?
The man then seemed to notice Cole, and he paused a moment before continuing forward, reaching Cole’s side. He nodded respectfully, his attention on the marker. A flash of emotion crossed his angular face, and he looked up sharply, meeting Cole’s eyes. “I’m sorry to disturb you yet again, sir, but can you confirm for me that this is Captain Stevens’s final resting place?”
Memory clicked, and Cole placed why he recognized the man. Cole had met the stranger at the Crimson Hawk just last week. Had he known Stevens? “Yes.” The words threatened to stick in Cole’s throat, and he swallowed hard. “You found him.”
The man sucked his cheeks in and crouched, not getting his white pant legs dirty as he pulled out a long, sharp, dragon tooth and set it in front of the memorial stone. He lifted his head to the sky and spoke too quietly for Cole to hear, then stood up and stepped back, bowing deeply to the rock. He turned to Cole. “I’m sorry if I intruded yet again.”
Cole shook his head, analyzing the stranger. “Did you know Stevens?”
The stranger nodded, his dark ponytail bobbing with the motion. “Apologies, I never introduced myself.” He held out a pale hand to shake. “I’m Vincent, purveyor of dragon novelties, and”—he cast a regretful look at Stevens’s memorial stone—“friend of his, from long ago.” His eyebrows pressed together, drawing a dark line. “How did he die?”
Cole blinked. “I’m Cole Harris. And he died from a dragon attack in battle.” He gestured at the tooth that Vincent had laid by the rock. “But I’d assumed you already knew that, since you brought that.”
Vincent’s narrow shoulders sagged. “No, I didn’t. I just needed to leave a gift for his spirit. I suppose I’m lucky that I picked well.” He shot Cole a speculative glance. “Did you serve under him?”
A cool evening breeze blew through the cemetery, and Cole inhaled the loamy scent of fresh-turned earth. It helped ground him. “He was my captain and mentor.” Cole shoved aside the sorrow welling up within him, focusing on the stranger. “How did you know him?”
“I met him when I was a kid.” Vincent crossed his arms and looked out into the distance. “My parents were killed in Kilenst in the War of ‘85, and he was there during that time. He helped protect me and even gave me the lut needed to get to Aerugo to live with my uncle.”
Surprise blended with the pang of hurt at the mention of the same war that had taken Cole’s father, leaving him an orphan. How like Captain Stevens, to look after the youth who had been devastated in war’s wake, doing his best to make sure the kids had a safe place for shelter and to eat and grow up in. “So you were one of his rescuees too.” A sad laugh escaped Cole. “He always said he wasn’t a family man, but that didn’t stop him from looking out for us, did it?”
“He was a good man.” Vincent nodded. “Taught me how to look out for others. It’s why I joined the Aerugan military for awhile. I wanted to be like him.”
Interest stirred in Cole’s heart. So Vincent understood army life. But what was he doing here? “You aren’t in the military anymore?”
Vincent shook his head, his jaw tight. “They’re too ruthless and cold-hearted. Not what I wanted to be. So I decided to move back to Doldra, make my home here, get in touch with the captain again.” His expression fell. “I can’t be in the Doldra military, since I’ve served in Aerugo. But I respect it all the same, and when I learned that he’d passed …” Vincent sighed. “I had to pay my respects. My life wouldn’t have been the same without him.”
Cole echoed the sentiment. They’d both be lost without Captain Stevens.
Vincent reached out, gently clapping Cole on the back. “I don’t know if you frequent the Crimson Hawk, or if that was a one time thing, but if I see you there again, let me buy you a drink. From one of the captain’s rescuees to the other.”
Cole clasped Vincent’s hand in a firm shake. “It’s a deal.”
Maybe, just maybe, this could be the connection Cole was looking for. Captain Stevens had pulled through for him, even from beyond the grave.
Chapter Twelve
Slate
“And a point to me!” Sapphire sing-songed with a little hop dance.
Slate grimaced as he turned to face his sister, ignoring the cheers from Zane, Clara, and Andre on the sidelines. Corporal Matthias was silent, as was expected for their trainer. “That was good,” Slate complimented grudgingly. “But what in all of Terrene was that move?”
Her eyes sparkled as she wiped sweat off her forehead and walked back towards the small group of onlookers. “Just something Clara taught me.”
“I should have known.” Slate groaned as he tried to ignore the pang of his shredded dignity at being beaten by his younger sister. She had Adeline barely two months ago, and she’s this good. I’m never going to live this down.
Sapphire laughed, oblivious to his thoughts and bruised ego. She skipped ahead to lean over the short wooden railing separating the arena from the marble steps, where Brandon sat, and she kissed him on the cheek. “When did you get here?” She accepted the jug of water he held out.
“Just in time for this last duel.” His eyes crinkled at Slate. “Going easy on her?”
“You bet. I can’t go all out on her so soon after having a baby. That’d be cheating,” Slate replied, straight-faced. Zane coughed a laugh, and Slate pointedly ignored the Monomi, turning to face the warm breeze that blew in through the open glass doors of the arena. Slate pulled at his sweat-soaked shirt. “Pretty sure we should let her ease back into it all, right?”
Matthias chuckled and patted Slate on the shoulder. “Sounds like fair logic. We’ll let it go for the moment.” He crossed his thick black arms, and the muscles exposed from his sleeveless crimson tunic bulged. Somehow, the royal guard corporal managed to blend friendliness and intimidation into one powerful package that left Slate bracing for a smack-down, while Sapphire always ran up to the man for a cheerful greeting.
Matthias stroked his goatee. “You both did well, though you both need to work on observing your opponent’s tells. If you know what your adversary is going to do, even a half second before they do it, it can save your life.”
Sapphire nodded, a faint line formed between her eyebrows as she leaned against the short railing. She reached behind her head and released her red hair from its ponytail. Frizzy curls instantly flowed around her face, and she wrinkled her nose, vainly trying to flatten them before gathering it together again and re-tying it with her customary blue ribbon.
Matthias turned to Slate, who winced, waiting for the anvil to drop. A glimmer of amusement shone in Matthias’s eyes.
“Overall, not bad. Your speed has improved. But she did get you in the end. If it had been a real enemy, you’d be dead. You need to work on your awareness to your surroundings. I know you were checking your strikes at the beginning with her, but don’t get into that habit. Always follow through.”
Matthias’s review was much kinder than Slate had expected. He nodded with a relieved grin. “Thank you.”
“Mmhmm.” The swordsmaster surveyed the small group watching them. Clara and baby Adeline had been with them from the very beginning, and now Andre sat next to Clara, while Brandon and Zane leaned against the short rail. Matthias gestured to Clara. “I don’t suppose you wou
ld want to join in? I want to see how the Lady Sapphire and Slate would do with two-on-two.”
Clara’s reaction was instantaneous. She bolted off the seat, clutching Adeline to her chest. With a wide grin she tapped Zane on the elbow, then handed Adeline off to him, a small smirk lifting the corner of her lips as he fumbled for a split second, then pulled Adeline close. Clara paused, unbuckled her sword belt, and carefully laid it out on the step before moving around the rail to join Slate and Sapphire in the training ring.
Adeline giggled from Zane’s arms, and a large sappy smile split his face as he talked to the baby in a high-pitched, very un-Zane-like voice. “Uncle Zane gets time with his little princess! Let’s watch Uncle Slate and Mommy get beat up by Miss Clara.” He sat on the wide step and settled Adeline on his lap, the pastel pink of her dress contrasting against his dark leathers.
Slate snorted at his friend and niece as he waited for their second opponent. Matthias looked to Brandon, and Brandon backed away from the railing with his hands raised. “Not happening. I want a happy marriage, thank you very much.” He clapped his hand on Andre’s back. “I’ll happily volunteer Andre, though. Watching him and Clara fight as a team is something I’ll never grow tired of.”
Slate shifted his weight on the balls of his feet and mentally calculated their odds of survival. He and Sapphire had sparred together for years, but she was still out of practice and getting used to her post-baby body. Andre and Clara sparred together at least twice a week, and they’d been bodyguards for years. Odds were not in favor of Slate and his beloved little Sap. Slate looked over at Clara as she twirled her wooden sword, and he felt a chill travel down his spine at her predatory glare. I take it back. Our deaths will be swift.
Clara stood there, smirking as Andre came up to her side. She didn’t look at him, just handed him her sword, then swiftly braided her long blonde hair back. Slender yet sturdy brass chains brought her skirt up to her knees to allow for a better range of motion, and only once she finished the last clasp did she look at Andre and accept her sword back.
The two aides looked at each other, communicating without words. Slate stepped closer to Sapphire, pleased when she leaned in toward him.
“We’re about to be schooled,” she whispered, futilely trying to push her stray strands of hair back into her ponytail while keeping her focus on the pair before them. “What’s our plan?”
“Plan?” Slate echoed. “Our plan is not be killed immediately. If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll even take one of them out.” He grimaced as Andre took a few practice swings with his wooden sword, acclimating to the different weight. “Stick together to protect each other’s backs as long as possible. After that … dignity. We die with dignity.”
An unladylike snort broke free from Sapphire. “There’s no such thing as dignity in our death. Not when it’s them as our opponents.”
Andre and Clara saluted as one, their movements fluid and precise, cutting off Slate’s sarcastic reply. He and Sapphire saluted in return and settled into their ready stances. Slate raised his sword to defend his chest as Andre drew closer. Confusion and a bit of panic sang along Slate’s nerves as Clara and Andre seamlessly swapped places. Now Slate faced the diminutive Clara. And Sapphire was paired with the much taller and stronger Andre.
Bloated whales! Can she even last twenty seconds against him?
And then he was out of time for thinking.
Clara popped up right in front of him, her crystal blue eyes devoid of mercy as she slashed toward his head. Slate blocked, vaguely aware of Sapphire moving away from behind him. But he couldn’t keep an eye on her. Clara was attacking.
Petite though Clara might be, her strikes were precise and jarring. Time seemed to slow like molasses; everything that existed outside their duel vanished. Her skill and footwork far surpassed his own. Even though he knew she was guiding him into a corner, there was nothing he could do about it. If he tried to dodge to the side, she’d side-step in front of him. Utterly relentless.
Matthias’s voice broke into Slate’s concentration, nearly costing him a whack to the arm. “Look for her tell! Everyone has a tell when they attack!”
Sweat dribbled down Slate’s face as he focused anew on Clara. Her blonde hair swished as she pulled back minutely before lunging forward. He parried two quick strikes before he noticed her pull back again. That must be it!
Elated with the idea that he could predict her moves, he interrupted her lunge with a strike of his own. The edge of his sword barely grazed her side, but sweet victory sang through him. He’d nicked her!
Clara twisted away with a hiss. Her eyes narrowed. And Slate knew he was in trouble.
She glided into his space and used her off hand to grab at his hands before he could step back. Slender, strong fingers dug into his wrist. She yanked down. Slate grimaced even as she raised her pommel to his chin, and though she clearly checked her strength, the strike left him reeling. Cool wood slid across his neck before he could blink away the sparks of pain from his vision.
The first thing he saw was Clara’s narrowed gaze. She spoke, her tone flat. “You’re dead.”
“So I noticed.” He rubbed a hand against his jaw. “Good match. Ow.”
She smiled, her entire face brightening as she dropped into a casual curtsy. “You’ve improved since last time, sir.”
“You’re being kind; I’ve clearly not improved nearly enough,” Slate groaned. “Whales, Clara, where did you learn to fight so well?” He worked his jaw and searched for Sapphire and Andre. His sister already sat on the floor, leaning against the railing, face flushed as she drank water. Andre stood by the railing and rubbed at welt on his forearm.
“Back home, but you wouldn’t have survived my brothers,” Clara replied, her tone light. Her voice lowered. “Sir.”
Slate looked back at her. “Yes?”
She walked with slow, deliberate steps, and he slowed his gait to match hers. Her cheek puckered, and she looked at him from the corner of her eye, her gaze hard and calculating. “Have you heard any rumors recently?”
He’d heard many rumors, which one was she thinking of? His sister and Brandon trusted Clara implicitly, and so did he, but she held her own secrets close to the vest. “What kind of rumors?”
“Just let me know if you hear anything in regards to the royal family, please.” She offered a firm nod and increased her speed abruptly, leaving him behind to blink at her swishing skirt. Rumors about the royal family? In what regard?
Slate pushed the thought to the back of his mind to consider later, and he noted Sapphire’s smug smile as he walked up to the group. Recalling Andre’s arm, Slate put two-and-two together. “Did you actually land a blow?” he asked Sapphire, catching the towel Brandon tossed him over the rail. He swiped at the sweat dripping down his neck.
“Right as he got me, yes!” Sapphire beamed. “And that was impressive. Best I’ve seen you do against Clara.”
Slate touched at the tender spot on his jaw. “Doesn’t feel too impressive from this side of things, if you ask me.”
“But it was still good,” Matthias interjected. “Find your opponents tell earlier on in the battle. That will help. And your endurance is flagging. Improve that.”
Clara nodded as she stretched her arms. “He’s right.” Her friendly demeanor hiding whatever thoughts she’d been having earlier when she’d asked Slate her strange question. “You only have a handful of tells now.”
Matthias turned to the two aides, his bearing becoming rigid and stern. “As for you two. You act as an aide, but you’re their hidden shields. You cannot let any enemy anticipate your moves; you need to be unstoppable. Andre, you would have lost your arm. Clara, you were nearly bisected. Sloppy work. Tighten it up.”
“Yes, sir.” The aides spoke in unison.
Slate dropped to sit on the cold floor next to Sapphire. He leaned his head back to look behind him, watching Brandon and Zane upside down with Adeline. “What do you all say to food after this? I’m starved
.”
Sapphire laughed and shoved against Slate’s shoulder. “Showers first. You stink.”
“If I smell, then so do you.”
“Do not! I smell sweeter than you.” She raised her arm and sniffed at her armpit, then wrinkled her nose comically. “Barely. Still sweeter than you.”
Brandon laughed from behind and Slate scooted around to face his brother-in-law. Brandon scooped Adeline from Zane’s arms. “How about everyone gets cleaned up, and then we all go into the city and grab something to eat from the Hawk?”
“Deal! Last one there pays,” Slate called out as he clambered to his feet.
His brother-in-law turned a slow, evil smile his direction. “Oh no,” he said, his voice dripping with false kindness. “I think the loser should pay. Whoever lost the most battles in practice, that is. Motivation to be better next time.”
Zane and Matthias both snorted as Sapphire patted Slate’s back sympathetically. Wait … “I’m not rich!” he exclaimed indignantly.
Everyone burst out laughing. “Sounds like a deal to me,” Sapphire replied as she turned toward the palace. “Let’s meet within the hour.”
Slate groaned. Clara glanced over her shoulder before following Sapphire, and Slate quieted, watching the bodyguard. What rumors about the royal family did she want to hear about? What did she know that he didn’t?
Chapter Thirteen
Brandon
Brandon stared at the pink blossoms on the tree and desperately tried to wrack his mind for the name. “This one is a …”
“You forgot again, didn’t you?” Sapphire giggled as she stepped around a damp patch of grass, cautious to not get mud on her knee-high dragon-skin boots. She made a face at her dress, even though she’d fastened it up earlier to prevent the hem from getting dirtied. She looked lovely with the azure embroidery and embellishments—but she’d never act fully relaxed in such formal finery. Sapphire raised an eyebrow at him when he didn’t respond. “Crepe myrtle,” she supplied.