Queen of Skye and Shadow complete box set : Queen of Skye and Shadow Omnibus books 1-3

by Thea Atkinson

  That had been the crux of my break with Hunter. I'd become all too familiar and accepting of the violence.

  And there had been a lot.

  Justice without emotion was his dream, but I had started to detach far too easily. While Hunter thought it made me prime for leadership, I thought it stunted me. He said it made me capable of delivering a verdict without being tainted by emotion; I said a human being without emotion was in need of her own justice.

  When I broke from the Ruby Skulls, it hadn't been pretty. It was an organization you didn't leave alive. You swore a blood oath to uphold the law, and if you broke that oath, you were executed.

  There was no way I was going to let Hunter catch me unarmed.

  There was a smithy in town. A small blacksmith shop run by a man named Lance. I'd not met him, and feeling that false sense of security that home lent, I had been careless about the weapon I did have. I'd relied on my booby traps and cudgels and hammers to keep me safe and when no one in town came looking to do me harm, I'd relaxed.

  Maybe a bit too much.

  While Hunter and his men started questioning anyone hanging around, I fled around the corner, anxious that the shop too had pulled in its shingle at word the Ruby Skulls had arrived.

  The blacksmith shop smelled of smoke and flame and a good deal of sweat. It was a squat stone building that emitted smoke through its chimney like a belching volcano. The rocks that made up the exterior were remarkably smooth and round like ostrich eggs. The small courtyard in front had a small wooden bench next to a tremendous pile of hardwood logs.

  The doors to the front were barn style and wide open.

  The clanging sound of metal on metal chipped away at the air and I felt the heat of the smelter inside before I got to the door.

  I half expected the broad shouldered man heaving a hammer down onto the flat edge of the blade didn't see me.

  His hair was shorne close to his scalp and the water beaded down from his forehead into a rag tied over his brow. Except for the bib overalls that protected the skin of his solar plexus from the heat, his chest was bare.

  He looked up without breaking into his swing. There was something electric in that gaze. Although I couldn't see what color his eyes were, I imagined they were as black as the charcoal lumps I saw in a heap at his door.

  I had the feeling but there wasn't much that they missed, no matter how engrossed in his work he was.

  He jerked his chin toward the bench outside and went back to his work, plunging the blade into a bucket of water and then pulling it out so that he could twist it back and forth in front for inspection.

  I knew he was losing the light and must have been in a hurry to finish the blade he was working on because he was in no rush to see what I might want or what I might have for barter in return for his work.

  Instead, he turned up the light from the gas lamp and twisted the blade back and forth in the stream of illumination it cast.

  Then he set it down on his workbench and wiped his hands, then his brow, and then he finally pulled the rag from his around his head and dunked it into the bucket of water.

  Without ringing it out, he sluiced it over his face and neck, running the dripping rag over his bare chest. I gave some thought to averting my gaze, but it was rather stubbornly stuck to the sight of his skin.

  When he strode from the shop into the open air, I found it very difficult to meet his gaze without blushing.

  A small quirk of a grin lifted the corner of his mouth. He'd seen me looking at him. In fact, I got the feeling he had given me a bit of a show.

  "Late in the day for a girl to come shopping," he said. "What are you after?"

  It might not have been much, but I was happy that he didn't assume by my gender that I was after something trivial.

  "I need a decent sword," I said and stood up. "Maybe even two if the price is right."

  I had no idea what the barter price would be, but I was willing to swap the deed to my house if I had to.

  He looked me from head to heal, his glance lingering over my throat and neckline. Was he thinking my shoulders were too sparse to hold a weapon? Or was he watching the pulse there?

  "I can make you a sword," he said with a clipped tone and then turned away toward the flame. He reached for a poker hanging from a peg and used it to poke around in the fire.

  "Well," I said. "That's good, because that's exactly what I came for."

  "What you need is a nice katana. Easier for you to swing with those arms," he said.

  He put the poker back on the peg and turned to face me.

  I bristled at that, assuming he meant to insult me.

  "My shoulders are just fine," I said.

  "I never said they weren't."

  He ran his gaze down my throat and traced the line over my shoulders. When he reached out for me, I stepped back, alarmed, but he merely ran his palm over the air behind my back. I felt the heat of his hand between my shoulder blades as though his fingers would splay against the skin.

  He closed his eyes and breathed in.

  "You're a two-handed fighter," he said. "But you favor the right."

  "How do you know?" I said, surprised.

  When he opened his eyes, that black gaze landed on my face in a way that made me believe he could see a heck of a lot more in my features than the truth about my swordsmanship.

  "Call it a gift," he said. "I have three katanas in the shop. Although only two of them are of a weight you can manage."

  "You'd be surprised what I can manage," I said.

  He said nothing to that, but his gaze flicked over me once again. Appraising. Thoughtful.

  "May I?" he said, meaning he wanted to know if he could touch me.

  I nodded, not quite trusting my voice.

  His palm finally lighted between my shoulder blades.

  "Here," he said and pressed the heel of his hand into a small muscle next to my right shoulder. "This knot tells me you're right arm is dominant. And it tells me you've been hefting something too heavy for your size."

  That would be my sword, I knew. A quick image of me hefting it like an axe as I tried to split kindling. I almost admitted as much except the man seemed to have some sort of reverence for steel.

  Instead, I stepped back, out of his reach, uncomfortable with the touch for reasons I didn't want to admit to myself.

  "What do you want for them?" I said.

  "Depends on what you need it for."

  "What does that matter?"

  "If you're planning any violence, then I don't care how much you barter for them."

  Without meaning to, my jaw seesawed back and forth. I didn't plan any violence, but I couldn't promise it.

  "You know Hunter Wolf?" I asked.

  "Lead Justice," he said. "Ruby Skulls?"

  I nodded.

  "He just got into town and there's no way in hell I'm taking a chance on meeting up with him unarmed."

  He lifted one black eyebrow as sooty as the smear of charcoal that swept across his cheek.

  "Doesn't matter," he said. "The man has his own sword spelled. Heard it from a man who seems to know. Blood magic. Won't break. Won't fail him."

  I couldn't imagine any sorcerer who would use blood magic to spell Hunter's sword. It was a costly, dark magic, and it took a toll on the maker.

  "Rumor," I said, dismissing the possibility. "Who would take that sort of risk to help a man like Hunter?"

  A scuffle sounded from behind us and I caught sight of a woman equally as tall as the smithy with a stature that made her look average size until she hefted one of the broad swords from the rack and showed off how muscled her biceps were.

  In the light of the gas lamps her hair looked like the fur of a tawny cat but I couldn't tell if it was reflection from the firelight or her natural colour.

  "You talking about that magician?" she said, wiping her hands on a rag and tossing it onto a wooden table.

  Lance turned around just enough to address her.

  He s
hook his head and a look passed between them that made me think she had said too much.

  "Talking about the Blood Blade," he said.

  The woman's jaw skewed sideways as though she was considering his words.

  "Sure," she said. "The Bloodblade. Hunter's right?"

  "You know of another?" I said.

  She set the sword back on its hanger.

  "Blood Blades are rare," she said.

  "As rare as magicians," I pressed.

  Lance coughed and stuck out his hand toward me.

  "Lance Elliot," he said, adroitly changing the subject. "And this is Gal Eead."

  I took his hand. "I know," I said. "At least, I know who you are." I closed the distance between me and Gal, more interested in what they weren't saying than introductions.

  "You were talking about a magician?" I said to her.

  "Sorcerer, more like," she said. "He's gathering everyone that he believes has some magic."

  "Gal," Lance said under his breath. "Time's not right."

  Meaning they didn't know me. I couldn't be trusted. It was true. All of it. I'd used people's trust before to get what I needed. Both to survive before the Ruby Skulls and since coming back to New Denver.

  But I didn't care about that. If there was a sorcerer out there who might be able to harness enough power to break Hunter's blade, then I wanted to know. If he was out to start trouble, I wanted to know that too.

  "What is he after," I said. "To start a war?"

  Gal looked more interested in talking than Lance and I stood my ground, blinking at her until the silence drove her to speak.

  "No," she said and lifted her boot to the bench so she could scrape off the dirt. "He's peaceful. He wants everyone to help learn from each other and keep each other safe."

  I chortled without meaning to. So had Hunter's credo been to help people. To keep them safe. Look where that got us.

  "I've heard that before," I said.

  The man shook his head. "Not like this. He's serious."

  "And who exactly is this man?"

  "What do you care," Lance said, eyeing me carefully. You have all the look of a woman leaving town."

  I crossed my arms. "I've seen his ilk before, let's just say."

  This time it was his to chortle, which led me to believe he'd known my name as much as I'd known his. He ran his hand over his hair and beads of water flew off in every direction.

  "Darlin' if you ain't stayin' you ain't playing. Don't waste my time."

  He made to return to his forge.

  He was goading me. I hated being bullied.

  "You sure Hunter has a blood blade?" I said.

  Gal answered for him.

  "Seen it," she said. "In the light, it glows red."

  "And your sorcerer?" I demanded. "Why not get him to unspell the blade? Seems the perfect opportunity to me. Hunter's in town, you have a sorcerer—"

  "We don't exactly have a sorcerer," Gal said.

  "You just said—"

  "I said he was gathering folks with magic. Was. Past tense. He's missing."

  I squeezed my eyes closed as I spoke, telling myself I was being foolhardy. But what could I do? Leave the likes of Sadie and the widow and tailor to Hunter's inevitable justice?

  "I'll stay," I said, and hating the words even as they came from my mouth. "Just for a day or so. Just to see if I can help find your missing magic man."

  It stopped Lance in his tracks and he spun around slowly, the way you do when things have just gone ridiculously off the rails and you can't believe your senses.

  His gaze met mine.

  "He said you would," Lance said.

  "Who?" I demanded. "And would what?"

  "The sorcerer," he said and there was a quiet sort of fear on his face, one that said he'd just realized something impossible. "He said you'd stay."

  -5-

  They were simple words, but they had the same effect on me as the dead man back at the library. This time, however, instead of running, I sank down on the bench. My knees just wouldn't stay locked.

  A wicked sense of deja vu whispered over me. I couldn't still the disquiet. Not even when I hung my head between my knees to fight off the strange nausea that flooded the back of my throat.

  "Skye?"

  Gal's voice. Inquisitive, anxious.

  "Just who is this sorcerer?" I said from between my knees.

  "Name is Marlin."

  "Marlin," I echoed and snorted. Wasn't that some kind of giant fish?

  I lifted my gaze to Lance, who was still staring at me with a mix of awe and doubt.

  "Stop looking at me like that," I snapped. "Whoever this Marlin guy is, whatever he's about, it has nothing to do with me. And it's just a day or so. Just to help you locate him. After that, I'm gone."

  "Sure thing, hun," said Gal and she dipped to her knees, passing me a cool rag she'd dunked into the quenching barrel.

  I took it with a murmur of thanks and mopped it across my neck and up to my eyes.

  "It's nothing," I said from behind the fabric. "It's just been a hell of a day. Weird stuff's been happening since this morning. And now this."

  And Hunter, I added to myself. If I was honest with myself, he was the reason the life had gone out of my legs. He was a soulless man bent on shaping the world into something just as soulless in the name of fairness.

  He and his Ruby Skulls had done some horrific things in the name of justice. He'd terrorized the nation far and wide and I'd gone along for it, because I needed a roof over my head, food in my belly, and the occasional chance to seek my own vengeance.

  I hadn't been perfect. I'd done some awful things. But there was something evil about a man who used something good and wholesome in a way that stripped the humanity away.

  And yet had he always been so? Surely when I'd first met him, he'd been a hard shell of a man. But something had softened during the time I'd been with the Ruby skulls. The man who showed no emotion, who prided himself on feeling no compassion pressured me into some sort of legacy. Only men who felt fatherly towards a woman did that. But I didn't want it. He said I had something special. That the cold and calculated part that had smothered my humanity made me useful. It made me critical for the cause.

  And that was why I'd fled and why I chose to remain hidden.

  I didn't want that mantle. It was no use pretending that I'd grow into it and take over the Skulls in some distant future when Hunter finally passed on. The duties just kept racking up and they kept getting worse.

  Knowing that Hunter had found a way to make himself even more imperial, giving himself the means to make his word the rule of law didn't sit well with me. I'd seen what that man could do when he felt invincible.

  "So?" Lance prodded.

  I looked at him blankly. Had he been speaking all this time?

  "What's that?" I said.

  "Do you want them?"

  He brandished two katanas at me. Sometime while I'd been lost in my thoughts, he'd returned to his shop and pulled them out for my inspection.

  I had come for one sword in the hopes I had something worth the barter, but a katana? I wasn't even sure I could afford the barter for one, let alone two.

  "She'll take both," said a husky feminine voice, one with a fair amount of smoke in it and just a hint of sugar. It was a voice that was reminiscent of burning honey and it was strong and sexy as hell.

  I knew the voice well. I'd spent a good deal of time listening to it.

  I turned to see Sadie Shaw striding into the courtyard of the shop. She wore her wide-brimmed pony hat, designed to keep the sun and dust off the face and out of the eyes of her ponies. Her double-breasted leather vest, an article all her riders wore in good weather, had wide pockets and she pulled out a small book as she strode toward us.

  It was rare to see her in full pony garb. Even more rare to see her with the flushed face as though she had been running. Sadie never ran. That's what horses were for, she said.

  She flicked through the pag
es of her notebook with deft fingers but wasn't looking at the pages.

  "Consider those katanas barter for those two letters you owe me for," she said to Lance.

  She spread the notebook wide and held it for his view.

  Lance didn't argue. That in itself was strange enough, but when he avoided her gaze altogether, I watched him closely. He merely inclined his head and slipped both katanas into the scabbards and laid them on the wooden bench.

  "A steal," he said.

  I got the feeling whoever received those letters was pretty important to him. It wasn't unusual for Sadie to have this effect on people. Because of Sadie and her Pony Post, one of the oldest ladies in New Denver recently found out her youngest son had escaped the Ruby Skull's brand of justice and was hiding out in New Washington. Safe. Unharmed. No doubt many people did.

  I'd known the founder of the Pony Post since I'd been a kid. Sadie Shaw had been a hero of mine in those days, taking to her horse and riding the land with a saddlebag filled with letters that held words of hope and love for loved ones separated by distance when the government went underground for good and left the top-world to its own devices.

  I'd wanted to be a pony just like her and I would have done anything to become one.

  Then Hunter Wolfe found me and all that changed.

  "What are you doing here Sadie?" I said.

  "Followed you," she said. "Hunter is looking for you," she said.

  "So I gathered," I said. "How do you know?"

  "I saw you come into town. Watched you scuttle off like a rat."

  She laid her fingers beneath my chin and tilted my head up. My eyes fell on a face with broad features. She was a surrogate mother to me and all her ponies but she wanted to be one for real.

  "It's not like you to run, Skye. But this time, I might agree with you. Sam says she slept with a Ruby Skull. They're serious about your capture."

  I knew she and her lover had been trying to get pregnant for months. Samantha had even taken on a series of lovers as she rode her express routes, dropping off letters and picking up men in seedy bars as she rode from one town to the next. As far as I knew, Sadie did the same, but I had the feeling that Samantha was the more inclined to take on the task.

  I wasn't sure what had happened in Sadie's past that gave her a deep-seated distrust of most men, but I suspected it had everything to do with Hunter and his Ruby skulls. She proclaimed loudly and often that she hated everything they stood for.