by Shea Godfrey
“Jess?”
Jessa seemed caught somewhere else entirely and perhaps beyond her reach, though the heat of Jessa’s body burned against Darry’s hand. The entire world seemed to move in Jessa’s eyes, though not a breath was taken, nor the blink of an eyelid given. Darry could see nothing in her expression, and yet there was everything. The moon and the stars raced behind her lover’s dark eyes, and a depth of such strange wonder that Darry could actually see it. Darry could feel the pulse of Jessa’s majik flow beneath the glow of witchlight.
Jessa’s right sleeve was soaked with blood and the tunic clung to her arm, though the blood was not hers and Darry knew it. “Jess, it’s me.”
When she received no response, she pushed forward and kissed Jessa, her lips soft at first and then more forceful, her hand at the back of Jessa’s neck as she forced Jessa’s lips open.
Jessa’s shoulders gave a hard jerk, and her thoughts tried to reject the foreign energy that filled her mouth. The power radiated inward and though she tried to throw it back, it swept down her throat and filled her chest with familiar ease. This new fire was different than the one she already sought to control, and her concentration broke beneath its heady flavor.
Jessa struck out in a burst of fear, and Darry turned her face beneath the unkind blow, forced to protect herself.
Jessa saw the blood first, and then Darry’s face beneath it.
Darry accepted the arms about her neck, took Jessa about the waist, and lifted her until they both found their feet. When Darry moved back, Jessa followed with an awkward step. “It’s all right,” Darry said. “Let go, my love. We have to leave this place.” Jessa released her and Darry smiled. “You see? It’s all right.”
Jessa touched Darry’s face. “It was all…it’s all very big.”
Darry’s eyes were uncertain but she kept her smile. “It must’ve been.”
“I cannot see the bottom of it,” Jessa whispered. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” Darry answered and leaned down to pick up her sword. “But we have to—”
The narrow blade sliced along Darry’s left shoulder as she stood up, the knife finding but a piece of its target. Darry squared her shoulders and threw her sword in response. The weapon flipped twice before it found its mark and the assassin stumbled and fell straight back, the sword deep within his chest as he hit the floor.
The watch bells from the barracks rang out, and their call was deep and strong as Darry stepped over their would-be assailant and pulled her blade free. “Jessa, we have to go.”
Jessa obeyed and Darry took her arm in a firm grip when she neared. They sidestepped the bodies that blocked their way. An arrow buried its head in the door frame, and Jessa felt its heat as it sliced the air before her face.
Darry hissed in anger. “The other way, go!”
Jessa raced back through the chamber, and though her boots slipped in the blood beside the bed, she kept her feet. The handle turned and she threw the door open, only to have a man rise up before her. The sword came down but Darry was there, her left hand upon Jessa’s chest as she pushed Jessa clear and met the weapon with her own.
The blade slid along Darry’s and she grabbed a wrist as his knee hit her thigh and she buckled into the corridor. Darry pushed at his face and growled not unlike Hinsa as they fell to the floor. She dragged the edge of her sword beneath his chin and she brought her strength to bear, lifted his head by the hair, and straddled him. His upper body was pulled from the stones as she turned her grip and brought the sword back around.
Jessa recognized Hinsa’s presence, and as she scrambled across the threshold to her lover, the man’s head came free from his body. Darry cursed as Jessa grabbed her by the shoulders, and they fell back, Darry between Jessa’s legs as they sat down hard.
“Darry,” Jessa said, and she could smell the panther within her lover’s blood. She pressed her face close. Akasha, come back.
Darry shouted, and Jessa knew the voice moved in her head, but Jessa held strong. “Akasha!”
Darry coughed roughly as she wiped a torn sleeve across her eyes and blinked into the moment. “Up,” she ordered in ragged voice. “Up, Jess, let me up.”
Jessa obeyed and Darry got to her feet.
“Emmalyn.” Darry held out her hand and Jessa took it, pulled up beside her.
“They are Serabee’s men, they are Fakir.” Jessa kept pace as Darry ran. “We must find Radha, Darry, we must find her now.”
“They are Sahwello Clan.”
Jessa’s eyes went wide as her lover gave name to the most brutal class of warriors within the Fakir tribe.
“We bloody well need the guard.” Darry looked into the shadowed distance before them and then glanced back. “I need light, Jess, can you give me light?”
Darry slowed as Jessa pulled up short and slid to the balcony rail. She spoke fast in a language that Darry found unfamiliar, and then it mattered not, for Darry was spun to the right as her sword met another. A scream sounded in the distance, and Darry shouted Emmalyn’s name as she parried, thrust, and moved faster than she ever had before. Hinsa’s blood fought through her veins for dominance as Jessa called out the last of her spell.
Every torch along the corridor popped and gushed forth with flames along the inner balcony from east to west, the upper tier flooded with sudden light. Jessa turned as another scream pierced the air, pulled into action by the sound.
Darry shouted in disbelief and pressed forward as Jessa left her behind, her opponent pushed to the wall as her sword came down and forced his to the floor. Darry reached across her body, ripped the torch from its sconce, and swung it back in a fierce arc. The assassin lifted his sword to block it and Darry stepped into the opening, her sword buried in his shoulder but an instant later. He stumbled awkwardly to the side and Darry followed him with a long stride, the torch set against his tunic. She kicked out as his clothes caught fire, pulling her sword free as he flipped over the balcony rail and fell to the stones below.
“Darry!” Jessa shouted and set her hands upon Emmalyn’s door.
She closed her eyes against the breaking of glass behind the door and tried to summon the words for even a simple spell that would throw the latch. Not a single command moved within her mind, and she took a breath. Concentrate, Jessa…
The wood about the lock casing cracked.
“Move!”
Jessa leaped to the side as Darry threw her right shoulder against the heavy door from a dead run, the wood splintering even further from the blow. Jessa caught her breath as the scent of the panther was released, her eyes wide as Darry’s majik was unbound in all its fury. Her own blood stuttered, and Jessa stumbled back as the power of the Vhaelin surged in response. She could almost see Darry’s strength erupt and swell; she could see Hinsa’s essence within her hair, within her eyes, within Darry’s very body.
Darry smashed through the door, and the frame about the latch broke free upon the other side. Darry shoved through without pause as witchlight exploded from Jessa’s hand and blazed into Emmalyn’s chamber.
Darry’s eyes were wild as she reached for the man who struggled with Emmalyn upon the bed, Emmalyn caught beneath him. His hair was in Darry’s fist, and Jessa saw Emmalyn’s bloodied face and exposed breasts through a flash of hard light.
When a second man rushed into the fray and struck Darry upon the back of the head with his sword hilt, Jessa shouted, her cry filled with rage. Darry stumbled to the side but did not lose hold of her sister’s attacker, her hands about his throat as she dragged him from the bed.
The second man swung a killing blow.
Jessa’s hand intervened and caught the sword as she wove her spell. The steel rose back and bent within her grip, the man’s dark eyes going wide beneath the blood that covered his face from a cruel wound upon his forehead.
She took from the life energy around her, though most especially she drew upon Darry’s strength, the panther’s power overwhelming all others.
A s
trange sound blossomed beneath her touch as the steel began to change, and its high-pitched transformation filled the chamber as Darry took her enemy to the floor. She landed on his back with his head in her hands, and she slammed his face against the floorboards.
As if it were made of molten steel, Jessa folded the blade over double as the runes danced along the metal. She turned her wrist and the tip of the sword melted neatly against the weapon’s tang. Jessa removed the useless blade from his hand and touched his cheek, her fingers open upon his skin. She felt his breath against her wrist, though only for an instant before the runes she spoke burst into flames within her head. They demanded payment, and his body jerked and spun harshly in answer. The bones of his neck snapped, and as he fell away, Jessa accepted his life energy into the runes, her chest filled with a now familiar dark rush of power.
An unexpected wave of nausea swelled upward, and Jessa stumbled beneath its influence as Emmalyn crawled to the opposite side of the bed. “Emmalyn,” she said and dropped to a knee. “Sheeva.”
Emmalyn pushed onto her right arm and though it shook, it held as she dropped her legs over the edge of the bed. “I’m all right,” she said in a strained voice.
Jessa tried to find her own strength as Emmalyn swayed toward the end of the bed and pulled at her torn shirt. Her hands trembled as she found one button, then another, and Jessa followed Emmalyn’s gaze along the dark trail of blood that Darry left in her wake, only to find a man beyond the overturned desk chair. A dagger stood low in his abdomen near the undone buttons of his trousers.
Jessa’s attention shifted yet again as Darry let out a savage yell as she heaved and lifted the body over the rail of the terrace.
Jessa struggled to her feet and tried to focus, each movement terribly specific. Use your hand…yes…your feet now, one foot…watch your skirt. Stand up. Her mind began to swim forward through the fog and see clearly once more. Radha, you should have told me…
A sharp crack of sound. Emmalyn wrenched up straight, and Jessa’s focus was drawn to the balcony arch where a fresh quarrel had buried itself in the oak.
Jessa rose, clean in her strength, the spell furious upon her tongue.
The man within the doorway smiled at Emmalyn as he slid his boot into the bow stirrup, pulled back the cord, and set a fresh quarrel. When he looked up, Darry’s right shoulder hit him square in the chest.
Jessa’s spell was on its way, and she cast her eyes from her beloved, staggering as she tried to turn her power.
She lost control instead.
The floor at Jessa’s feet split with a terrible scream, the wood blackened as the spell raced beyond her command. It blazed a path until it hit the stones of the wall and leaped upward. The mortar cracked and the entire room shook as Emmalyn grabbed for the bedpost, fear on her face as the stones of her wall split open and debris exploded outward. She turned and fell to the floor amidst the blast.
Jessa pushed along the bed toward the door through the violent cloud of fragmented stone and dust.
Darry and her opponent grappled and slid across the floor until they slammed into the balcony rail, whereupon the wood split with a screech. Jessa stumbled beyond the brawl and found the railing as Grissom Longshanks, commander of the High King’s elite guard, shouted out his presence. He slid to a halt in the east wing foyer of the residence, his gaze lifted upward.
“To the king!” Jessa shouted in command. “The king is here!”
Grissom reacted to the tone out of habit and bellowed the order as Captain Kingston Sol passed him at a dead run with a dozen men behind him.
Jessa saw Darry’s oldest and dearest friend. “Bentley! Bentley, to Nina!” Her breath caught and she spun to her left as thoughts of Darry’s cousin were replaced by something more immediate. “Fakir bastard…”
Witchlight exploded along the upper balcony amidst a heavy cloud of dust, and blue lightning crackled along the beams of the high ceiling, the smell of a summer storm pungent in the air. Bentley had never stopped, Etienne Blue and Arkady Winnows beside him as he raced up the sweep of stairs.
Darry’s opponent broke through the rail and fell over the edge as Darry twisted onto her stomach and grabbed for what remained of the balusters, his hands violent upon her left leg as she followed him over.
Emmalyn grabbed Darry’s hand, dug her boots in, and sat down hard. “No you don’t.”
What was left of the nearest spindle broke in Darry’s other hand and her upper body went over. Unable to stop the momentum or the weight of two people, Emmalyn was pulled forward onto her stomach and dragged to the edge. She cried out from the force of it as her arms snapped out straight and her body began to follow.
Jessa watched as Etienne Blue dove onto Emmalyn’s legs as they rose from the stones and wrapped his arms about them. He rolled his weight onto the back of her thighs and held tight as a brilliant light exploded near the stairs. Bentley leaped over them both and sprinted beyond.
Grissom Longshanks seized the crossbow from the man beside him, aimed, and released. His shot was true, and Darry’s adversary fell away and dropped with a thud to the stones, even as Arkady scrambled to the edge and grabbed hold of Darry’s shoulders.
Grissom tossed the crossbow, the soldier beside him having the good sense to catch it. “Secure the residence and the Keep, clear the Great Hall,” he ordered in a hard voice. “All of it. Only the main arch and the gardens are to be left open, with access to the kitchens. I want everyone in there.” He looked to a second man. “Call up the City Guard and find as many healers as you can.”
Chapter Five
Nina Lewellyn took the blow across the cheek and spun into the bedside table. Light exploded behind her left eye, and the pitcher on the table fell to the floor and shattered. Her hands closed hard upon the basin and she gave a fierce growl as she turned. The porcelain bowl broke against her assailant’s face and he fell back, pushed into the man behind him as Nina pulled up her skirt and leaped onto the bed. She stumbled across the covers and jumped to the floor on the opposite side, desperate to reach the door before they could recover.
She cried out as the bolt pierced through the flesh of her upper right arm, spun about until she met the floor. She kicked at the hands that grabbed her legs. Her head banged against the floor and, dazed, she reached out blindly as her skirt was ripped.
She gave a sob at the heavy weight that slammed between her thighs, and she felt a surge of strength within her fright. Her left hand took hold of the bolt still in her arm and yanked it through. Her new weapon struck true as the steel tip met flesh with a vengeance.
Fingers closed hard about her throat and she gasped for breath.
Blood sprayed across her skin and she jerked her face away, the choking hand suddenly gone. The weight disappeared from between her legs, and she coughed as she rolled onto her side and began to crawl even as her gaze was drawn to her rescuer.
Bentley Greeves, Darry’s second in command, tossed the dead man aside even as he ducked with speed and grace beneath a new attack. The sword strike came from his right in a wild lunge, and Bentley knocked the man’s weapon aside as his own sword sliced across the man’s exposed belly.
Nina’s fierce heartbeat filled her head with noise as her eyes focused upon the mud-stained boots just inches from her face. Her last attacker towered above her as she tried to look up without drawing his attention. His mask was torn off and he stared down a loaded crossbow.
“I will still kill you,” Bentley promised. “For touching such a woman? I’m going to cut your head off.”
Silence followed Bentley’s declaration, and Nina felt the utter stillness within the chamber as if it were a living thing. There was pain and there was shock and confusion, but most of all, there was outrage within her thoughts and it blossomed like dry tinder beneath a hungry flame.
Nina grabbed the nearest boot and Bentley moved faster than Nina had ever seen him, the Fakir pulled off balance as he pulled the trigger. Bentley twisted to his right as the q
uarrel’s tip cut a shallow channel across his chest before it passed beyond. He stumbled to the side and fell to a knee.
The assassin rushed him and Bentley rose up, the dagger drawn from his belt as they collided. Bentley brought his head forward as their arms tangled, and the man’s nose broke beneath the blow. Bentley sank his blade to the hilt beneath the Fakir’s ribs. “Did you touch her?” His voice was intimate as their struggle began to fade. Nina could hear the question despite the quiet tone, and it filled her with fear and satisfaction both. It was a strange combination. “Did you?”
Bentley let him drop to his knee and stepped to the side. He picked up his sword, moved in a tight circle, and swung smoothly as he came back around.
Nina let out a jagged breath as the man’s head rolled to the bricks of the hearth and his body flopped to the floor. The front of Bentley’s shirt had darkened with blood from his wound, and it clung to his stomach as he sheathed his sword.
Nina cradled her wounded arm and met his eyes as the blood seeped through the fingers of her left hand. “Lord Greeves,” she greeted in a wavering voice as he came for her.
Bentley knelt and slipped his arms beneath her knees and back. He gritted his teeth as he lifted her, but that was all the discomfort he showed.
Nina grabbed at his collar, his face close as he looked in her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered and her eyes filled with sudden tears.
Bentley pulled her close and she pushed her face against his neck. “Don’t cry, my pretty.” He lowered his face to hers. “Please don’t cry.”
Nina swallowed and cleared her throat. “Fucking bastards.”
Nina remembered when she had last seen him, standing tall among his comrades, shirtless, his skin glowing with sweat from the practice yards. Practice that had just come in rather handy, now that she thought about it. She remembered the sharpness of her tongue as she had commented on his lack of clothes. “I like your shirt,” she whispered.