More sounds of a skirmish echoed through the forest, bouncing off the trees.
Ronin gripped his dagger and resisted the urge to call out to Cora. She was fine.
Footsteps crunched on the intersecting trail.
Ronin tensed, crouched lower, ready to spring.
A dark shadow passed the bush. The air rippled behind the man in an invisible wake. He smelled of smoke and meat.
While his heart thudded and Ronin fought to keep his breathing steady and controlled, he waited instead of lunging. Take another deep breath. Calm down. Control.
He waited another second. And another.
When the shadow man had moved down the path toward the sounds of the scuffle, Ronin emerged from the bushes. He stepped on the path behind the man and stayed low, ready, and silent. The sun had long disappeared, leaving them in the dregs of light until the moon and stars showed up.
Ronin’s injured wing snagged a branch.
He froze.
The branch, ensnared in his feathers, pulled in the gentle breeze. He moved back, lifting his wings. The branch swung free.
Ronin breathed out slowly. With a step forward, he focused on the dark shadow stalking ahead. A twig snapped under Ronin’s foot.
The shadow spun around.
Fuck.
Ronin drew his other dagger and crouched. He couldn’t hide and an ambush attack was out now. Faded light struck the shadow’s face. Deep creases and a scar running down his face emphasized his animal-like snarl. His dark gaze carried no emotion, only death.
The shadow lunged. Ronin spun with the man. Flipping his dagger into a reverse hold, Ronin thrust his fist out, slicing the other man’s arm.
No howl of pain.
The shadow kept moving, pivoting to renew his attack, like some sort of unfeeling machine. They met in a clash of daggers. Their knives flashed under the night sky as they thrust, blocked, and sliced.
Ronin let his instincts and training take over, slipping into that zone reserved for fighting where he turned off all his other worries, focusing instead on stimulus and tells.
Ronin’s training partner called him chaos in motion.
At first, Ronin had been insulted, because it implied sloppy skills, but soon he realized his partner referred to the unpredictable nature of how he fought.
No one was immune to knives, though, and this guy was good.
Shadowman was smooth and smooth was fast.
Ronin ducked and narrowly missed getting kicked in the head. He lashed out in a slashing combination.
Shadowman stepped off the centre line at an angle and eluded Ronin’s attacks. Ronin cursed again. Shadowman was hard to read and didn’t fight like anyone from training. If Ronin was chaos in motion, this guy was a storm of ambiguity.
Everything was angles.
But Ronin practiced patience. He’d outlast his opponent. Keeping his range of motion conserved, tight and controlled, he’d bleed this guy out if he had to. The weapons master always referred to a fighting box formed by the width of his shoulders from the neck to the waist. Ronin kept his attacks within this box, preventing himself from overextending and getting his arm trapped. He also preferred to move off-centre, stepping out at forty-five-degree angles. If anyone watched this fight, they’d think the two warriors were dancing with each other instead of fighting.
And it was a dance of sorts. A dance of death.
Ronin’s opponent broke form and jabbed down. With no warning and no chance of evading, he raised his arm to block. The man’s dagger missed the vambrace and sank into the meaty flesh of Ronin’s arm. He bit back a howl and kicked the guy away. Shadowman flailed backward, taking his dagger with him. The weapon made a sick wet sound as it ripped free from his arm. Blood ran down the inside of his sleeve and pooled inside his vambrace.
Before the would-be assassin had a chance to reset, Ronin rushed him. He covered the man’s face with his hand and with a lightning fast swipe, slashed his neck. Blood sprayed against his hand and face.
Shadowman’s eyes widened and he raised the hand holding his weapon only to have it flop back to his side.
Ronin caught the man’s body and lowered him to the ground as the attacker’s life drained from his body. They’d only heard two men’s voices by the river, but there could be more.
Ronin straightened over the body and cleaned his knife.
“About time,” Cora said.
Ronin whirled around to find Cora, Phil and Karla standing a few feet away with their arms crossed.
“Honestly,” Cora continued. “I wasn’t sure if the two of you were fighting or about to make out.” Cora’s expression was full of sass, as usual.
But the hunters’ held something else—wariness. They’d witnessed him fight and now they knew the level of training he’d received. If it ever came down to a fight between them, they wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating the prince.
Ronin cursed.
He’d just lost an advantage.
30
“Courage is knowing what not to fear.”
Plato
When they stopped their horses outside the small fishing village of Giga, Cora finally gave in to the unease brewing inside her and turned to Ronin. “Are you sure about this?”
The wind flowing off the nearby ocean tussled his hair. His stormy gaze focused on her, swirls of emotion like angry waves crashing against a rocky shore. “No.”
He’d been brooding since the attack by the campsite last night. With the sun now dipping below the horizon, he’d spent almost a whole day stuck in his head and she was done with it.
“But you’re going anyway?” she asked.
“Of course.” His tone brooked no argument.
Fine then. She’d go with him—no point in staying safe when her only assurance of survival was hell-bent on destruction.
What was his deal? They’d taken out the two men who’d followed them from the river. She’d tended his stab wound. Phil had taken out the other man swiftly before he made it to Cora. She was never in any danger, not with Phil and Karla around.
Oh.
Was Ronin jealous?
She glanced over at him again—brow furrowed, mouth turned down, eyes squinting.
Did he wish to be her saviour? Or was he upset that he was the only one injured? Though deep, the cut wasn’t serious as long as he kept it clean.
“We discussed this already,” he said. “I don’t have a choice.”
Phil and Karla rode ahead to the village, probably giving them space to have this conversation, even though they all knew the outcome. The distance was a false sense of freedom. The king’s hunters could catch up to them if they tried to run.
“There’s always a choice,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the empty road behind them.
“We wouldn’t make it.”
“Probably not.” She glanced at him sideways and bit the inside of her cheek. She shouldn’t say this. Bad idea. “I mean, they’re too good.”
Poke.
Ronin scowled.
“So fast and silent.” Poke. Poke. “Lethal.” Poke.
His brow furrowed more.
“Two of the most talented fighters I’ve ever seen.” Okay, she was pushing it now.
He squeezed the reins and his hands turned white from the pressure.
“You should’ve seen Phil take down that other guy. He made it look so effortless. And he did it so much faster than—”
“You’ve made your point,” Ronin snapped.
She twisted in her saddle to face him. “Are you out of your funk now?”
“That was your objective?” His eyebrows almost reached his hairline. “Because I’ve got to say, you went about it in a spectacularly wrong way.”
“Well, at least you’re stringing together more than one sentence. So, success, I guess.”
“Why do you even care?”
The horses sidled close together and his knee brushed against hers. “I care because I’m probably walking to
my death in that town.” She jabbed her pointer finger in the air toward the fishing town just in case he was unsure to what she referred to.
“You’re not going in,” he growled.
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not. You’re staying outside.”
“Outside is not safer for me than inside whatever shell-shucking shack they’ve decided to squat in. At least inside I have a chance to help. You need someone to watch your back and I’m the only option.” Her heart hammered to the point of pain. They weren’t even facing the king yet. She needed to tone it down. She took a breath to calm her nerves. When that didn’t work, she took another one. “Need I remind you, if you die, I do, too?”
Ronin’s glare did little to move her.
“And if I’m going to die, I don’t want my last memory of you to be that pissy face you’ve worn all day.”
Ronin’s face jerked and he straightened in his saddle. No longer filled with indifference, his gaze flashed with something else. Something more calculating. “Is that so?”
She faced forward in the saddle again. “Yeah.”
Whatever she said worked because the scowl was gone, and his normal arrogant smirk returned.
Maybe she should’ve kept her mouth shut.
He nudged his horse forward and after a couple of extra prods, Cora’s horse followed suit. They remained silent as they rejoined the other two and entered the town.
The ocean crashed nearby, and pressure built inside of Cora. The Sea Beast was near, his presence tingling her senses as if ringing a bell to say, “Hello.” She swallowed her fear and pressed her cow horse forward.
The sun had already lowered past the horizon, but the air still held the lingering heat of the day and the last rays of sunshine lit the skies in a palette of pinks and yellows.
The town of Giga sat at the southern end of Carrion Bay. The access to the ocean and fishing grounds, plus its close proximity to Zircaloy’s large market meant better profits and more stable incomes. Though the streets weren’t cobbled, they were hard packed with smooth river rocks and dirt. The group of four made their way down the empty main street.
The lanterns outside the buildings had been lit and though the smell of fish lingered in the air, it wasn’t rancid. Not like the town of Alara. Instead, Cora breathed in savoury scents of nicely cooked salmon with herbs. Her mouth watered. Her stomach growled.
Ronin turned to her, eyes wide. “Was that your stomach?”
She scowled at him and turned back to studying the town as they moved toward the large building with the glow of a roaring fireplace and laughter bursting from the windows.
A pub.
The location for their meeting with King Aeneas. No big deal.
Hopefully, the pub still served food.
A curtain fell back into place from the upstairs window of the house to the right. The hinges creaked as a door clicked shut on the house to the left.
A lock slid into place.
Though the majority of the townsfolk appeared to have turned in for the night, Cora and Ronin’s presence had not gone unnoticed.
Her skin prickled and she turned to Ronin. He nodded. Yeah. He’d seen it, too. If this meeting didn’t end well, they were unlikely to make it out of the pub alive, much less the town. Maybe they huddled inside their homes sharpening pitchforks.
More laughter filtered down the street. The lingering sunlight faded away, drenching the streets in darkness. Streetlamps created glowing pockets of warmth in the night, and the air quickly lost its heat.
With a blazing fireplace so bright the light cascaded down the street, and smells of savoury food so tantalizing her mouth watered, the pub at the end of the road became more appealing with each step of her cow horse.
Maybe they could spend the night in a real bed.
On cue, her sore aching muscles screamed in protest. Logging long flights, injuries, poor sleeping conditions, an unruly mount and a nutrient poor diet had taken their toll. They’d have to add conditioning training to their agenda if they ever hoped to make the flight back to the Eyrie in the next decade.
Without a word, they dismounted outside the pub and tied their horses to the hitching post. Ronin redid hers, changing it to a slipknot.
Ava had told them MAS betrayed the king, but was she telling the truth, or was it one last attempt to betray them—her lies carefully laid to lead them into another trap? And Phil and Karla were in on it?
Cora sighed and patted the cow horse’s neck. The animal turned to her and snorted. Well, that was something. At least the beast didn’t snap at her.
“Have you changed your mind?” Ronin asked.
Lifting her chin, she spoke with more confidence than she felt. “I’m coming.”
Maybe her life wouldn’t be forfeit if she returned without Ronin. If they believed the words from Ava’s silver tongue, Ronin was the king now, not his father. That meant Edgar couldn’t carry out his vengeance if she failed.
Sasha’s cruel smile popped into Cora’s mind.
If Ronin perished now, his sister would become queen, and nobody wanted that. Not even Sasha. Where the previous king would quickly and effectively eliminate Cora and her father, Sasha would exact revenge with pain. Public torture seemed likely. Sasha loved her brother and would tear her grief out of Cora’s skin in strips.
Cora shuddered.
Gaze intense with emotion, Ronin stepped close and stared down at her.
“What?” She straightened. If he planned to give her tips on dagger grips or warn her about the seriousness of this meeting, she was going to—
Ronin reached out, lightning quick and gripped her face in both hands. Before she could screech obscenities, he leaned down and kissed her. Warmth spread through her body along with potent need. The unresolved tension from their last encounter rose and clenched her muscles. Ronin angled his mouth on hers and deepened the kiss, stirring her need with his naughty tongue.
She moaned into his mouth and pressed her body into his, slathering herself along his armour as if he were the cake and she the icing.
Ronin pulled back, gaze smouldering.
“Wha…what was that?” Damn it. Her voice was breathier than she would like. He didn’t need to know how much his kiss affected her. He’d never make it through the pub door if she inflated his ego further.
“You said you didn’t want your last memory to be of me sulking.” He turned away from her and walked into the pub.
Phil waited a few feet away by the door and held out a rag.
“What the fuck is that for?” she asked.
“The drool.”
She walked past him and ignored his offer, wiping her mouth on her sleeve instead. Just in case.
Phil chuckled behind her, but the heat of the room smacked her face and stole her attention. She stopped just inside the room to avoid running into Ronin.
The once lively room full of boisterous laughter, booming chatter and clinking glasses fell silent. Only the crackling of the fire in the grand hearth in the middle of the room continued as if two foreign sapavians with giant wings hadn’t just stepped into the pub.
Cora shifted to the side where she could see past Ronin’s broad shoulders and wings without standing on her tiptoes and hopping up and down like a bratty little kid.
On the far side of the room, at the centre of a long table, a man sat with his back to the wall. His dark skin still held the smoothness of youth, yet wrinkles creased the corners of his mouth and eyes, ever so softly, making his age hard to determine—not young, not old, anywhere in between. His black hair was cut close to the scalp, but it held no gray. His brown eyes studied them with intelligence and a spark of recognition. He didn’t wear a crown, but he didn’t need to.
The men in full armour with the Court of Iom colours stood to each side of the man. The way the townspeople in the pub kept glancing nervously between them and the man told Cora all she needed to know. King Aeneas had shown up for the meeting.
And so fa
r, they weren’t dead.
Finally, some good news, even if it was short-lived.
King Aeneas commanded attention and obedience. His handsome face probably got him in all sorts of trouble when he was younger. Cora glanced at Ronin. Then again, if the king of Iom was anything like her comrade, his good looks probably got him out of a lot of trouble, too.
“Leave us.” The man’s voice was deep and growly. It reminded Cora of a bear.
The townspeople deserted their ale and bread and scurried from the pub. Cora and Ronin stepped farther into the room to avoid getting trampled. While patrons streamed past them, Cora eyed the abandoned food and swallowed.
Phil and Karla also moved out of the way as the crowd left, pressing against the walls. Though the warriors had acted honourably during their travels, and gave Cora no reason to distrust them, her body shook with unease. The two highly trained killers now blocked the only exit. With Phil and Karla behind them, and the king and his men in front, Cora and Ronin stood in the middle of a room, trapped by humans.
Ronin’s expression reduced to something more akin to stone.
Yeah, he didn’t like their situation, either.
“Please.” The king waved at the bench seat across from him. “Join me.”
Ronin walked across the room. He didn’t hesitate. He sat down on the bench and folded his hands on the table as if he had no concerns about his precarious position.
A smile tugged at the king’s lips. “I’m sorry about the bench. They didn’t have any sapavian seats available and we didn’t have the time to make them.”
Just as sapavians designed shirts with buttons, snaps, or ties at the back to accommodate their wings, they built specialized furniture. Sapavian seats had a single piece of wood up the centre as the backrest. The slender piece fit nicely between the wings without squashing them and made sitting back in a chair a lot more comfortable. The wider backrests of human chairs required sapavians to spread their wings out to the side and crushed the wing bones with bodyweight. The king had made a point to think of Ronin’s comfort for this meeting. Maybe this wouldn’t go terribly wrong.
Ronin dipped his chin. “The bench is fine, thank you.”
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