Slight and Shadow (Fate's Forsaken: Book Two)

by Ford, Shae

  Her eyes were open; the bright green of their centers blazed a hole through Elena. She tried to wrench her arm free, but the Dragongirl’s grip was too strong. So she swung the poisoned knife at her face.

  Elena hadn’t felt the Dragongirl’s feet in her middle — and by the time she realized what had happened, she was already sailing through the air.

  Her body flew out of the tent and her back struck the glass floor. She sprang to her feet, but the Dragongirl jumped on top of her. She was much heavier than Elena had expected, and in her moment of surprise, the Dragongirl forced her shoulders to the ground.

  Elena decided then that it was time to end the games. She drew Slight and lunged for the Dragongirl’s heart.

  With a twist and a flick of her arm, the Dragongirl dodged her blow and hit Slight in the hilt — popping him out of Elena’s grasp. When she twisted back, Elena drove a knee into her ribs.

  It was a move she’d used often. The angle and force of her blow should’ve been enough to crack the Dragongirl’s ribcage. Elena waited for the familiar crunching sound, the feeling of bone popping against her knee. But it didn’t come. Instead, Elena felt as if she’d driven her knee into the side of a castle wall.

  For half a breath, she thought she might be in trouble. Then the Dragongirl grunted, tipped sideways — and gave Elena the split second she needed to turn the tide.

  Her elbow flew into the Dragongirl’s ribs, into the exact spot she’d struck before. While she was off-balance, Elena grabbed her by the shoulders and used their difference in weight to shoot out from under her. The glass bucked and waved so badly that she flew off-course, almost missing her chance to grab Slight. She managed to get a finger on him before the Dragongirl kicked him out of her reach.

  She grabbed Elena around one leg and jerked her backwards — leaving the other leg free to deal some damage. Elena twisted around and swung her foot in a deadly arc for the Dragongirl’s face. It connected, and she fell.

  Elena was on her in a second. She wrapped her legs around the Dragongirl’s waist and squeezed hard — cutting off the flow of her breath and at the same time, pressing her organs painfully against her bones. Once she had her pinned, Elena drew Shadow.

  The Dragongirl stiffened. Her green eyes watched Shadow’s fall; hot blood leaked out from her busted lip. At the very last second, she jerked her head to the side with lightening speed. Elena grunted in frustration when Shadow missed her neck and struck the glass instead.

  She leaned against the Dragongirl, using the weight of her body to hold her still. She had to hunch over to dodge the desperate flailing of her legs. Elena’s next thrust would find its mark. She would make sure —

  Pain … and then a strange numbness began to creep across Elena’s body.

  It started at her hand — where a hairline cut on her knuckles bled freely. She felt the numbness ride through her bloodstream, weakening every limb and filling her mind with a dense fog. Her muscles lost their strength. She glanced down and saw the weapon gripped in the Dragongirl’s hand: the last poisoned knife, the one she’d had hidden in her belt.

  And it was perhaps because she watched the knife that Elena didn’t see the Dragongirl’s fist … until it was too late.

  *******

  When she woke, Elena was confused. The Countess’s poisons never failed: she ought to be dead. How could she possibly be alive?

  Numbness still crippled her limbs and she didn’t dare open her eyes. She could feel the rough bonds around her wrists and ankles. They were made of simple rope. She ought to be able to break them easily. She strained and pulled against them, concentrating on the feeling of snapping cord — a feeling she knew well.

  But it was as if her arms couldn’t remember their strength. No matter how she fought, her bonds held tight.

  Frustration burned Elena’s throat, but she swallowed it back. It would do her no good to start squirming and call attention to herself. She leaned heavily against what felt like a pole in the middle of her back … perhaps they had her tied up in a tent. She used the word they because she could hear three voices a few strides away from her. And from what she could tell, they were arguing.

  “I can’t believe neither of you heard me fighting for my life,” a woman’s voice said. It was rough and low — making her sound all the more cross. Elena guessed it was the Dragongirl.

  “We had full bellies and warm beds,” a man replied. He carried his words strangely, letting them roll off his tongue in a purr. “I don’t think a thunderclap could’ve woken me.”

  “Oh? And how about a sharp kick to the rump?” the Dragongirl growled. “Did that work for you?”

  He made an annoyed sound. “Well obviously it did.”

  “Fat lot of good the two of you are. What if there had been more —? Stop it, Jake!”

  “I’m only trying to help,” the man called Jake said. He sounded a bit hurt.

  “It’ll heal on its own. I won’t look half as good with a beard as you do,” the Dragongirl added wryly.

  “Actually, I think I may have figured out what went wrong —”

  “Hush,” the first man purred, and Elena tensed as she suddenly felt the weight of eyes upon her. “I do believe our captive is awake.”

  Quick steps, and then a strong hand jerked Elena’s head up by her chin. She realized there was no point in pretending any longer, so she opened her eyes.

  The Dragongirl’s face was close to hers, and she looked very cross, indeed. She had her dark hair pulled back in a pony’s tail, though a few wisps still fell across her face. And those eyes — Elena swore she could see fire burning behind them.

  “Who sent you?” the Dragongirl said.

  Elena didn’t answer.

  After a moment, the Dragongirl’s red lips bent into a smile. A thin cut split the bottom one, but it wasn’t nearly as bloody as it ought to have been. Elena thought the wound looked at least a day old — but judging by the rise of the moon, she’d only been out for an hour. Maybe two.

  How had she healed so quickly?

  “Never mind,” the Dragongirl said, as she followed Elena’s searching gaze. “You don’t have to tell me anything. I know you’ve come from Countess D’Mere.”

  She scowled to hide her surprise. “You’re wrong.”

  The laughter behind the Dragongirl’s eyes made Elena want to gouge them out. “Is that so? Then tell me: how is it that you’ve come to have mindrot poison on your blades? Only the Countess knows the formula.”

  Curiosity was making it more difficult for Elena to hide her emotions. She forced herself to shrug. “I often use poisons —”

  “Not like this, you don’t.” The Dragongirl let go of her and leaned back. All of Elena’s weapons had been spread out across the floor of the tent: Slight and Shadow, the bandolier of throwing knives, and the three poisoned blades. “I don’t know how she tricked you into working for her, but let me offer you a warning: D’Mere is not at all what she seems. If she draws you close, it’s only to bring you within range of her dagger. You’ve been warned,” she added with a glare.

  Then she grabbed one of the poisoned knives and held it up to her face. “D’Mere is also a very accomplished alchemist. I don’t know exactly how mindrot works. The poison is useless against humans and mages, but if it’s used on a whisperer … well, the result is rather crippling.”

  A muscle in Elena’s jaw twitched as she tried to keep her gaze steady.

  “Once D’Mere discovered the formula, every weapon in Midlan was tipped with mindrot,” the Dragongirl went on, studying the tiny knife in the dim light. “Some believe that the Kingdom would’ve fallen during the Whispering War, had it not been for D’Mere’s poison.”

  Elena’s throat was suddenly very tight. She had to work to keep the confusion from showing on her face. “Fascinating story,” she said, as haughtily as she could. “Now set me free.”

  The Dragongirl’s eyes glowed with her smirk. Elena winced when her fingertips brushed the swollen skin above h
er eye — the wound that Holthan’s fist had left behind.

  “There aren’t many people who’ve had the honor of drawing my blood,” the Dragongirl said, taking her hand away to prop her fingers against her busted lip. “You’ve been trained well. I don’t think I’d ever like to meet the fellow who wounded you.”

  “Is someone wounded?”

  A thin man poked his head into the tent behind the Dragongirl. Elena recognized his voice, and realized this must be the man called Jake.

  Except for a bare patch around his spectacles, a tangled mat of hair covered Jake’s entire face. He squinted at Elena’s bruise. “I might be able to fix that …”

  He bent towards her, and his stench burned her nose. “Keep your hands off me, mage!” Elena shouted, struggling against her bonds. Anger flooded her limbs. If she could reach him, she’d rip his filthy throat out.

  Jake quickly pulled his hand away. “I’m — I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t realize —”

  “Don’t apologize to her. You’ve done nothing wrong,” the Dragongirl said firmly, though she kept her sharp eyes on Elena. “If you raise a hand to him, I swear I’ll call down such a fire upon your arse —”

  “It’s all right, Kyleigh,” Jake said. He was hunched over to fit inside the tent, and had the long fingers of his hands clenched together. He looked pointedly at the floor. “I’m going to — ah, I’m going to make sure the fire’s still lit.” And he ducked quickly out the door.

  The Dragongirl — Kyleigh — watched after him for a moment before she turned back to Elena. She was too weak to fight back when Kyleigh undid her first few shirt buttons and pulled it open. She figured it was too late to hide it, anyways. She flinched as Kyleigh traced the red mark on her chest, the one that looked like a dagger’s scar.

  “You are a whisperer, then. And your gift is war?”

  Elena nodded. She suddenly felt a wave of hot tears pushing at the corners of her eyes, and had to bite her lip to keep them from spilling over.

  The Countess had betrayed her. She’d sent her away with knives poisoned with the power to destroy her — and sent her to face an enemy that was well beyond her strength. There was no doubting it, no other way she could possibly explain it.

  D’Mere had been trying to get her killed.

  It shouldn’t have surprised her. The Countess was a liar, after all. Elena would’ve had to use all of her fingers and toes to count the men she’d killed — men that D’Mere had been laughing with just days before. She’d seen the Countess smile as she slipped poison into a glass, or joke as she draped an arm about a merchant’s shoulder … all the while clutching a dagger in her other hand.

  Yes, the Countess was a liar. She lied to everyone — even to the King … but for some reason, Elena had never thought the Countess would lie to her. She’d never expected this wound, never seen it coming … and she supposed that’s why the old men called it a dagger in the back.

  But no matter how it stung, Elena was determined not to let Kyleigh see her pain. Tears wouldn’t solve anything. No … there was a better way to settle the score.

  Countess D’Mere would have to think very quickly indeed, to keep Elena’s daggers out of her chest.

  “Release me,” Elena said. A new plan burned in her veins. She was already thinking about how she would do it, already planning her strokes. “I no longer have a contract to kill you.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” Kyleigh said with a smirk. But she did as Elena asked: loosening her bonds until she could pull herself free.

  “Hand over my weapons.”

  “Ask nicely,” Kyleigh countered. And since she was spinning a poisoned knife so effortlessly between her fingers, Elena thought it best to do as she was told. Though she wasn’t happy about it.

  “May I have my weapons back?”

  “Certainly — in the morning,” Kyleigh added, when she reached for them.

  Elena glared at her. “I mean to leave tonight.”

  “Then you must also mean to be ripped apart and eaten. The poison won’t leave your blood for several more hours,” she explained. “Until your whispering abilities come back, I’m afraid you’ll be just as human as the rest of us. So, unless you want the minceworms to gobble you up …” She jerked her chin across the tent, where she’d arranged the furs into a second bedroll.

  Elena knew Kyleigh was right. There was no way she could hope to travel safely without her powers. She didn’t want to share a tent with someone she’d just been trying to murder — it made the air between them a little … uncomfortable. But the strength that usually kept her blood warm was gone, and the night was cold. So she would have to make do.

  She curled up reluctantly on the other bedroll, lying on her back — so she could watch the tent’s entrance and keep Kyleigh in the corner of her eye. She still didn’t trust the Dragongirl. And the feeling was obviously mutual.

  “I plan to keep these,” Kyleigh said, holding up the poisoned knives. “So think carefully before you try to attack me.” She turned over. After a moment, she glanced back. “And if you snore, I’ll make you share a tent with Silas.”

  Elena didn’t know who Silas was, but the way Kyleigh grinned made her think that she probably didn’t want to share a tent with him.

  Chapter 18

  A Giant’s Thanks

  One morning, Finks woke the giants with a bellow. He swooped into the barn a little earlier than usual, flinging his whip about him and shrilling that the fields were dry enough for planting — so if they wanted to keep their hides, they’d better move quickly.

  Once they’d gotten a few sips of water, Hob led them straight to a shed behind Westbarn. “No pushing, no shoving, and keep your blades pointed to the ground!” he snapped.

  Kael thought the mages were being nastier than usual, but for some reason, the giants seemed excited. They grunted animatedly to one another as they crowded around the shed. Soon they were packed together so tightly that Kael feared he might actually be crushed.

  Hob fiddled with the shed’s lock for a moment, muttering curses to himself. When he couldn’t get the key to work, he struck it with a spell. The lock fell into his palm, he tugged the doors open — and then had to spring away quickly to keep from getting trampled.

  The giants rushed inside, squeezing through the doors so forcefully that the frame groaned in protest. One giant slipped in ahead of the others and emerged a few seconds later wearing a large cloth satchel across his chest. As he pushed his way out, Kael saw that he had a vicious-looking weapon clutched in his hands

  He recognized it immediately from the pictures he’d seen in the Atlas. It was a giant’s scythe — a weapon with a wooden shaft about the length of a spear and a curved blade at its top. There were worn, leather grips wrapped around the shaft in a couple of places, so that it could be wielded easily with two hands. The blade looked more like a sword than an actual scythe: it stuck straight up from the shaft, bent just enough to catch the backs of wheat.

  Or a man’s neck.

  Kael imagined that the giants used their scythes for fighting as much as anything else. They warred so often that they’d probably leapt straight from their fields and into battle, so they’d needed a weapon that could fell both foes and crops.

  With their scythes in hand, the giants looked more alive than Kael had ever seen them. Their backs straightened, and a fierce red burned across their cheeks. The dark rings seemed to fade from under their eyes as they studied their blades for flaws.

  As giant after giant emerged from the shed, they smiled at each other — as if they all had a share in the same happiness. Kael watched them grin … and quite suddenly, he felt a pang inside his chest.

  He could see them, now — the shadows of the great warriors the giants had once been. He could imagine how they must’ve looked, all lined up together and prepared to defend their lands. They must’ve been a mighty, frightening force. And couldn’t help but wonder how many armies had simply fled at the sight of them.

 
The crowd of giants shoved Kael forward, sweeping him helplessly into the shed. He took a satchel from a high shelf and grabbed a scythe off the floor. The weighty iron blade made it an impossibly heavy weapon. He wedged the scythe against his chest and stumbled outside as quickly as he could. The blade dragged along the ground behind him, and the satchel hung almost to his knees.

  He was well aware of how ridiculous he looked, but the giants’ heckling still burned him. They laughed as he walked by, elbowing their companions and pointing him out, so they’d be sure not to miss him. Their guffaws burned Kael to the tops of his ears. He was furious by the time he reached Brend.

  “They’re never going to stop clucking at me, are they?” he blurted out, shooting a glare behind him.

  “Probably not,” Brend said with a shrug.

  “Why? I’ve pulled my weight, haven’t I? I’ve done the same work as everybody else. I’ve even done some of their work — I’ve saved them from a flogging! And this is the thanks I get?”

  “Thanks?” Brend shook his head. “A giant never offers thanks — he settles his debt in deeds. One day, they’ll save your hide from a flogging, and it’ll all be ironed out. Thanks are only for great debts, a debt that a giant has no other way of repaying. And even at that,” he added with a wink, “most giants would rather die than ever have to give it.”

  Kael thought that was ridiculous. But before he could say as much, Declan cut in. “Tie your satchel up like mine,” he said to Kael. He’d just emerged from the crowd and was working a knot into the straps, shortening them to a more manageable length.

  Kael mirrored him, tying up his satchel until it hung at his hips. Then Brend led out, and Declan and Kael followed along at his heels.

  “Let me see,” Declan said, reaching for Kael’s scythe. He studied it for a moment, his brows bent down tightly. “Hmm, oh that won’t do. You’ve got a chip in your blade.” He handed the weapon back. “I’ll take you to the smith after we finish planting.”

  “All right,” Kael said. For once, Declan wasn’t looking at him. In fact, he seemed to be keeping his eyes purposefully on the road. Kael thought he might’ve been acting a little odd. But before he could wonder about it, Brend called out: