“When my mother lived, she also worshipped the goddess of the Wood Witch and claimed her to be more powerful than the Christians’ God. Father, on the other hand, would sooner burn the witch than trust her. He refused to allow her help. For my part, I am willing to try anything.”
Raven stared at her hands. She’d been making her way to Gregory to tell him she was done with her life as a reaper. She’d only had two lives left to save, but believed she could find a way to accomplish the task and be his wife at the same time. Provided that the trip to the Wood Witch went well, the task would be complete within a week or so. Her debt would be paid and wouldn’t be hanging over her head. But if the Wood Witch failed, would she ever be able to settle down with Gregory? She decided to visit him before attempting the venture.
The baron’s voice came in a pleading whisper. “It’s you or no one. If you do not attempt this task, my brother will die.”
“I could take him to the Wood Witch, but I am unsure of a further commitment.”
“I don’t want to lie to you, Miss Steele. If the Wood Witch fails, and you return Darius to my father's court, he is as good as dead.”
She couldn’t let the boy die. The thought of it seized her chest, and it was as good as reaping him herself. She wouldn’t let it happen. With caution, she made a slow nod.
“Excellent." The baron turned his attention to the butler. "Gorman, have you made the arrangements?”
“Yes, Baron Solomon. The lady’s attire and accompaniments have been placed in the quarters provided.” The butler stood between them, his eyes fixed on the floor.
“You should leave tonight. We want to give you a solid start before Father arrives. Travel as far and as quick as you can. Because of my brother’s condition, I’m sorry that I can’t provide you with the fastest brass horse we have . . . ”
“No, that’s fine. I do not trust automated horses.”
“Oh, right. Then I will provide the fastest flesh horse we have. Can you be ready within the hour?”
Raven stood as the butler scrambled to pull her chair. “I’ll be ready in half.”
~*~
Folding the top flap of the saddlebag into the pouch, Raven made sure that her crossbow could be easily drawn if the need should arise. When riding a horse, the bow could slip from the magnets on her corset. She nocked an arrow into it with her thumb safety engaged. The line of sight was straight and true. She attached her quiver to a ring on the side of the saddle. If there was trouble, she needed her equipment at hand. The night had fallen while she had been entertained by Baron Solomon, and the gaslight lamps along the stable wall provided a soft glow. A reaper’s senses needed to become more acute at night. She scanned the shadows for danger, and her hand fluttered to the night-vision goggles on her head.
Two sets of footsteps clipped across on the cobblestone. Before they rounded the bend to the stable door, her fingers twitched over her knife. When she saw Gorman and the younger baron, she relaxed and continued attaching her weapons.
“Can I trust you?” Baron Darius’s voice rose hesitantly as he approached.
She smiled. “I’ve saved your life once and promise to do it as many times as necessary.”
“Why?”
“It’s the reaper’s way. A life for a life.”
“How many have you killed?”
Raven clinched her jaw. “Too many.” Her gaze met the butler’s. “Will he have his own horse?”
“No. The young master’s condition makes him subject to untimely fits. He would be in danger of falling.” His ice blue eyes held a fire unmatched by his frozen features.
“Right. I expected as much.” She placed her boot in the stirrup and mounted. “Hand him to me then.
The butler lifted him to the front of her saddle. She knew it would be an uncomfortable place to ride for a long period of time, but he’d only have to make it to Gregory’s house. On a horse, it should only be about four hours if they took it slow, less than three if needed.
A horn sounded, and the butler paled. “It’s him. The duke approaches.”
“Father is early.” The boy sounded happy but tentative.
Gorman gripped the horse’s rein and turned it toward the other stable exit. “We must leave by the north gate. The duke approaches from the south. You may have as much as an hour’s head start before he commands a pursuit.”
Raven swallowed hard. “That’s not enough time.”
“Follow me.” He released the rein and jogged forward.
The horse trotted in response. Even in the jarring up and down motion of the trot, the young baron remained silent. He gripped the chestnut mare’s mane with both hands. His knuckles glowed white under the lamps. Raven pulled gently on the reins to slow the horse to a more tolerable speed but followed the butler closely.
“Guards!” Gorman reached the gates, speaking in breathless tones. “Baron Solomon orders passage for this woman and the young baron.”
Raven recognized Grant’s red band before he turned around. He narrowed his eyes at her and barked the order to open the gate. Before she could urge her horse forward, Grant gripped the bridle by the cheek piece. He called back toward the butler, “Will she need guard?”
“That will not be necessary. She is capable of caring for the young baron on his errand.”
Even in the half-light, Raven could see the guard’s jaw tighten and nostrils flare in indecision. “Baron Solomon trusts this woman?”
The butler frowned and stiffened in disapproval. Still he answered softly, “Yes, with his brother’s life.”
After a curt nod, the captain released the bridle. Raven nudged her horse forward into a canter. In her rush out the gate, she lost her bearings. Which way? Finally, with a turn to the east, she headed for Gregory’s home.
In measured beats of three, the cadence of the horse’s iron shoes beat against the cobblestone. Anxiety drove her headlong down the empty road from the city. They’d been cantering for nearly an hour and the horse’s sides heaved. Its sweat had made her reins slippery. She pulled it up for a respite.
She scanned the shadows. A movement along the tree line to her right caught her eye and she drew a sharp breath. No one in their right mind would be outside the city at night. Bandits frequented these dirt roads to the country. She shifted her reins to one hand and shifted the dozing prince to her elbow crook. Staring hard the direction of the movement, she reached behind her for the crossbow. The even cadence of the horse’s heaves and soft steps against the dirt road echoed through the silent woods. She pointed the arrow in the direction of the shadow and took a shallow breath to steady her hand and develop a rhythm with the horse for an accurate shot.
The shadow ran under the gaslight, revealing a large tan Great Dane running alongside her. She swallowed. Even killing an animal left a bad taste in her mouth. She replaced the crossbow in her saddle bag. From the corner of her eye she kept an eye on the animal until it veered off.
At that same moment, her horse stumbled to its knees. With her eyes squeezed shut, Raven hugged Darius to her chest and spun herself in order to land on her backside instead of on the boy. Her elbows skidded across the dirt, burning in response.
When her momentum came to an end, she set the boy to the side and leapt to her feet. The chestnut horse scrambled to stand, but refused to put weight on its left foreleg. In the limited glow of the half moon, Raven found the dip in the road that caused the stumble. A rustle in the undergrowth drew her attention, but she didn’t look directly at it. The noise came from the tree line opposite the dog, and she knew if she looked, the attack would begin. Young Baron Darius stammered, “Miss Steele?”
She made eye contact with the boy and put a finger to her lips. From her periphery, she counted the shadows of three men. Feigning care for the horse, she rushed toward it. “Big Red, are you all right?”
Raven leaned toward the horse’s leg and rested a hand on its shoulder. She turned her body to draw closer to the saddle bag. The crossbow’s wood and brass handle protrude
d, but the quiver was on the other side. She gritted her teeth. She only had one arrow. One shot. She’d need to make it a good one.
“Oh no, what are we going to do? This doesn’t look good.” She said it in a lilting, sing-song voice to hide the unsnapping of her knife’s sheath. Two weapons. She’d always been good at throwing. Another rustle in the woods came, closer this time. Her night vision goggles would limit her peripherally, but enhance the rest. She pulled the goggles over her eyes.
Raven counted out a rhythm in her mind. Four seconds, four beats measured, in a dancing step. She separated her stance to ready herself and jerked up, yanking the crossbow from the saddlebag.
One. She aimed at the first of the three shadows. He broke from the woods with rope in his hands and headed for the boy. She hit him precisely where she aimed, in the meat of the flesh above his kneecap. He fell down screaming. In time with the rhythm, she snapped the now useless bow to the magnets on her back.
Two. She grabbed the knife from its sheath on her thigh and tossed it in the air to catch it again by the blade. The other two men headed for her, the first one had a gun in his right hand. With a flick of her wrist, she threw it into that shoulder just below the collarbone causing him to drop the weapon. He stumbled backward with a curse.
Three. She ran for the last man who stopped, stunned, and looked at the first one. He turned toward her just as she’d reached the man with the knife in his shoulder and kicked the gun into the woods. She wrenched the knife out and he wailed, but she silenced him with a knee to the groin as she tossed the knife up again.
Four. Blood on the blade made her fingers slide down a quarter inch before she tightened her grip and brought her hand over the shoulder. The third man screamed before she threw it, but she was too busy counting to acknowledge it. The throw buried the knife into his thigh.
One, two, three, four.
She kept the cadence in her head. Her adrenaline heightened her senses, and her heart beat in time. The count continued as she surveyed the men. At the slightest provocation she needed to be ready to dance again. The first man began dragging himself back toward the woods. Raven strode over to him, counting her steps in the tempo.
He raised his hands up in a plea as she approached. “Please don’t kill me.”
“If I’d wanted you dead it would have already happened. All three of you.”
“I...I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
“I’m sorry we tried to rob you.”
“I suggest a career change for the three of you. If I come through these woods again and find you still in this line of work, I won’t be so merciful.” She spoke through clenched teeth and stepped on the man’s thigh. Gripping the crossbow bolt just under the feathers, she yanked it free.
The man’s scream ripped the night air.
Raven turned toward the man who still had her knife. He blubbered, tears running down from the side of his face, and blood soaking the thigh of his pants. His eyes grew wide as he realized why she was coming for him. He gripped the handle of the knife himself and yanked it free with a squeal and grunt. His face grew pale as he stammered, “I’m sorry.”
She stepped forward, accepted the knife he offered her, and started for Darius. The boy scrambled back from her, eyes wide, as she approached. Tears streaked down his face and he yelped. She pulled the night vision goggles from her face and put them on her head again. Still, the boy retreated in fear.
The Great Dane broke from the woods across the road and trotted to the boy. It licked his cheeks. Darius buried his face in its tawny fur. “Nikki, you came!”
Blood covered her hands, and she still held the knife and crossbow bolt. Her heart sank as she looked at them. After so many years instilling fear and respect from every man she met, when had she lost her ability to soothe a child?
A gunshot sounded like a thunderclap in the woods.
Chapter 4
The pistol is an idiot’s weapon.
One does not need to be faster than a bullet.
One only needs to be smarter than the one who holds the gun.
Distance, a moving target, light, and the gun handler’s fear can all be
used against him. Outsmart the idiot.
PAIN RIPPED THROUGH Raven’s upper arm. The chestnut horse spooked and took off in a gimpy gallop back toward the city, her quiver still attached to the saddle. Raven bit her lip, grabbed her arm, and turned around.
Viscous blood oozed between her fingers, mixing with the drying blood on her hands. The three men ran back into the woods. Part of her wanted to chase them and finish the job. Instead she ground her teeth against the pain. Luck would have it the gun toting bandit was a lousy shot.
Darius’ eyes grew wide as worry replaced the fear that had been there a moment ago. He peeked over the dog’s neck. “Are you all right, Miss Steele?”
“I’m fine, it just grazed me.” She used her teeth to hold the cuff of her purple jacket sleeve so she could rip the fabric from the wrist to her wound.
It was deeper than she thought it would be. She used the sleeve to wrap around the injury hoping to staunch the blood flow. Gregory. It looked like she would be injured after all. Concentrating on slowing her breathing, Raven determined to calm herself. She’d bleed out faster if she let her blood keep pumping this hard.
She reached over her back and gripped the crossbow, pulling it free from her corset. She took the bloodied bolt and nocked it in the bow. One arrow for now, she needed to be prepared. Just in case. The blood on the blade of her knife had begun to dry, so she spit on it as she wiped it on her other sleeve.
The baron watched her with curiosity. “Why are you doing all that?”
“If I don’t keep the blade clean, it will rust.”
“Do you think we’ll get attacked again?”
Raven bit her lip. Should she tell the boy the truth and have him worry? Would a lie be a more appropriate response? She decided that a lie would be worse. Nodding she said, “It’s possible, but I hope not.”
“Me, too.” The boy pulled himself to his feet and dusted himself. He stood next to the Great Dane, and seemed almost small enough to ride the animal like a horse.
Raven’s arm throbbed with every beat of her heart. Prickles of pain shot up and down her side. Blood seeped through the linen she knotted around the deep wound. “Let’s go.”
The couple started down the dirt road at a forced march with the dog walking beside the young baron. A subdued banter between boy and dog played in the background of their walk. Finally Darius turned to Raven and asked, “What’s a reaper?”
She glanced down at him, and tried to sound cheerful in spite of the pain. “Reapers used to be part of the duke’s elite guard. They worked in the capacity of bodyguard and assassin for his highness. It was a great and noble tradition.” Her eyes grew misty. “The fastest, strongest, and most accurate warriors were the only ones in the guard. But they also had to ascribe to the reaper’s way.”
“What does that mean?”
“If a reaper took a life in the capacity of assassin, he was required to actively save a life. It is necessary to keep the scales from tipping him into oblivion.”
“Why do you say he? You’re a girl.”
Raven smiled. “Almost every reaper in history has been a man.”
“Oh. What’s oblivion?”
“It’s a state of mind. Some people loathe the act of killing a person at first, but as they continue to do it, it can feel like a game. They can begin to feel superior, like the winner of the game. But, if the reaper has to save a life for every life they take, it keeps them humble. It’s a matter of subservience so the reaper doesn’t begin to think of himself as stronger than he is.”
“Why are the reapers no longer my father’s guard?”
Raven took a deep, pain-filled breath, but the conversation was working to distract her, so she continued. “When I was a little younger than you, the duke demanded that my father kill a woman, the duch
ess in fact.”
Darius sucked in his breath. “My father demanded the death of my mother?”
“No, it was your uncle and aunt.”
The boy looked relieved. “I never knew my uncle.”
“He died before you were born, but your brother might remember him.” She shook her head and continued, “Your uncle chose my father for the task because he was the captain of the thirteen reapers. The duke claimed that his wife was unfaithful with no evidence, and the woman denied it flatly. There were no witnesses either way.”
“So did my uncle ban all reapers because your father refused?”
“No, he commanded my father to fulfill the act or the duke would execute my mother and me.” Raven paused for a breath, wincing from the pain.
“What happened?”
“My father took us and fled. The duke had another reaper kill his wife and ordered every reaper to give chase and kill the three of us. No reaper would be allowed in New Haven again until the deed was finished, or he’d kill each reaper’s family. Then he imprisoned all of their wives and children.”
“Did they attack the Duke’s Court in rebellion to get their families back?”
Raven shook her head, a lump tightening her throat. “No. They came after us.”
Darius walked in silence for a few moments, kicking the occasional rock. Raven watched him, trying to soothe the lump before continuing. He seemed taken in by the story but gave her a moment to rest before she continued.
“After only a few months, they found my mother at our new house while my father and I had gone to market. She was shot in the back with a crossbow bolt while she was making dinner. Before we made it back to the house, my father could tell there was something wrong.” She swallowed hard, seeing the scene play out as if she were eight years old all over again.
“He never went anywhere without his weapons. Some reapers used guns, but not my father.” She smiled at Darius. “He always said you don’t have to be faster than a bullet, you just need to be smarter than the man holding the gun.”
Raven’s smile disappeared as she continued, “While he made me wait in the woods, he hunted the men down who’d surrounded the house and killed them. There were eight who died.”
Riot Girls: Seven Books With Girls Who Don't Need A Hero Page 63