Fearless

by Jennifer Jenkins

  Raca dropped her bow into the high green grass and pushed the pads of her hands into her eyes, as though literally forcing back her tears. Murtog closed the distance between them with a few careful steps. “Why do you fight the pain, Raca? You must let it out. Give it a voice or it can never leave you.”

  In barely a whisper, “I don’t know how.”

  More steps. Murtog stopped so close if he reached out, he could easily touch her. “I can help you.”

  Raca lowered her hands and looked up into Murtog’s handsome face.

  Suddenly Zo regretted letting her presence go unannounced for so long. She lay frozen on the ledge, afraid to move and ashamed for not wanting to leave.

  Raca brushed away a tear from her cheek. “I should not cry over him. I … I cannot. For Sani’s sake.”

  “Then don’t cry.” Murtog closed the remaining distance between them and slowly raised his arm as an invitation. Raca didn’t hesitate before stepping into his embrace, swallowed up in the safety of Murtog’s massive arms, her cheek pressed against his chest.

  “Shout your pain, princess. Let the gods know what they’ve taken from you.”

  When Raca didn’t respond, he placed a hand to her ear, filled his chest with air and shouted at the sky with such force, Zo startled and inched backward. Again and again, he filled his chest with air and released it in the most agonizing lament Zo had ever witnessed. On the third yell, Raca joined him, throwing her head back and releasing a heart-wrenching cry of pain.

  Afterward, she tightened her hold on Murtog and buried her face into his chest. Shoulders shaking in silent sobs, she practically collapsed into Murtog’s embrace. He swept her legs out from under her and carried her like a child over to a boulder, where he sat and leaned back with her still swallowed up in his arms. Light reflected off the sheen of tears on his face.

  Zo didn’t know if they were tears for his lost wife, tears for Sani that Raca wasn’t permitting herself to shed, or tears of something beautiful.

  New hope and possibilities.

  Perhaps it was all three.

  Zo backed away from her spot on the ledge, careful not to make sound. She headed back through the canyon, satisfied with Raca’s healing even though it wasn’t by her own hands.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ten days before Gryphon’s planned meeting with Barnabas, the flap of the Healer’s Tent flew open.

  “We need to talk.” Gabe stared down at Gryphon, accusation punctuating every line in his face and every taut muscle in his stance.

  Gryphon pushed up to his feet and followed Gabe out past the sea of tents. They didn’t stop until they reached the practice field on the northern edge of camp. He hadn’t planned to come to this field today. His stitches were only two days old and he’d promised Millie that he’d rest for a few days.

  Gabe wandered over to a barrel filled with wooden practice swords. He plucked two from the pile and threw one to Gryphon. The long sword was a preferred weapon of the Wolves. A weapon Gryphon despised, favoring the short swords of his people that allowed for closer combat.

  Gabe and Gryphon circled one another twice before Gabe finally spoke his mind. “How could you do this to her?” He brought the blade down over Gryphon’s head with more force than Gryphon anticipated, nearly causing him to drop his weapon into the dirt as he blocked.

  Redoubling his grip, Gryphon winced at the eerie tug of his stitches. He blocked another strike and said, “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve been driving myself mad with guilt over my lie to you both,” Gabe growled. He advanced again, with so much speed Gryphon struggled to keep his feet. “I’ve stepped away. Trusting you to protect and honor her.”

  A crowd gathered. A captain of the Wolves fighting the Ram outcast didn’t happen every day.

  Gryphon spun, ducking under one of Gabe’s blows to land a solid hit on the man’s back. “I’ve been trying to tell her. It’s been hard the past few days, since the Ram attack.” A lie. The truth of the matter was quite simple: There was a wedge growing between them, a divide he didn’t know how to cross. And with so little time left, he didn’t want to give her another reason to despise him. “I’ll tell her.”

  Gabe brought down his weapon over Gryphon’s head. He couldn’t block in time. Couldn’t move away fast enough. He leaned away at the last second and wood connected with his collarbone, splitting the sword in half.

  White pain lanced across Gryphon’s shoulders and neck. He straightened, each man panting as they surveyed the other. “You know what your problem is?” said Gabe, the broken practice sword still clutched in his hand. “You think you’re invincible. You’ve escaped your clan twice now. You saved us all from the Gate.” He took a few steadying breaths and dropped the broken sword in the dirt and leaned in to whisper so none of the men around them could hear. “But no man can expect to waltz into a Ram execution and live to see another day. Not even you.”

  Gryphon massaged the spot where Gabe had marked him. Already a large welt rose on the tender skin. “I don’t plan to survive.”

  “You’re going to break her heart.” Gabe rubbed his cheek and let the hand smear down his face. “And it kills me to say this, but you were the one who put it back together after her parents were killed. Losing you would destroy her all over again.”

  She doesn’t trust me. “What are you saying?” said Gryphon.

  “I’m saying that you need to either tell Zo your plans or take Zo and leave this place. Take it from me,” he rested his hand on Gryphon’s shoulder, directly over the rising welt, “lies only bring sorrow and regret.”

  The next morning, Zo found Gryphon sitting alone with his back to her on the bank of a small stream just outside camp. The water gurgled past, rolling over rocks and pebbles on its way. Sunlight reflected off the shiny silt below the surface, casting a spray of black dots in Zo’s vision. She shielded her eyes and took another silent step forward.

  “I want to be left alone,” said Gryphon. He kept his back to her as he tossed a pebble into the stream.

  Zo’s stiffened at his cold tone. Empty. She’d heard that tone before. A long, long time ago. So long ago it might have been a dream. Her father sitting on the grass overlooking the valley while sharpening his weapons. He had wanted to be left alone too, the night before the Ram came.

  Zo tried not to let disappointment creep into her voice. “If that’s what you want.”

  Gryphon’s head whipped up and he was almost instantly on his feet. “Zo!” He closed the distance between them in two strides and took her by the hand. “I thought you were one of Laden’s guards asking me to join another meeting,” he explained.

  “No, it’s all right.” Zo pulled away. “I understand if you want some time to yourself.” He’d been devastated by Sani’s death. And he wasn’t alone. The entire camp seemed to be swallowed up in mourning. Mourning for the loss of a Raven prince, and plagued by the reminder that even inside the Allied Camp, they weren’t completely safe.

  If Chief Naat’s runners didn’t return soon with news of the Gate, they’d be forced to send another team. If a full mess of Ram had found them, there was a chance even Barnabas knew their location. Whispers around camp said a battle was looming, but no one seemed to know specifics, and Laden hadn’t given her so much as a hint of his plans when she’d cornered him on the subject.

  “No.” Gryphon took her hand again and this time held it with more intensity. “I want you to stay.” He cleared his throat as though intending to speak but didn’t. When had things turned so awkward between them? Gryphon was never unsure of himself.

  He led her back to the bank of the stream and together they sat with their backs to a granite boulder as they listened to the gentle flow of the shallow water rolling over rocks.

  “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. Something I’ve wanted to say for a while now,” said Gryphon.

  Zo shook her head. “I’m sorry I doubt
ed you about the fire. I’ve been feeling so strange and insecure.” She sighed at her rushed, jumbled admission. “I know you’re unhappy here and—”

  “Stop.” He turned away and threaded his hands through his hair. “You’re right not to trust me.”

  Zo shook her head. She’d been a fool to even think Gryphon could be anything but honorable. Reaching for his arm, she grabbed him and forced him to face her. “I love you, Gryphon. I trust you. I was wrong to question you before, and I will not make that mistake again.”

  Gryphon reached out and took her face in his hands. His thumb briefly grazed her cheek. Back and forth, feather soft. Gentle, as though he might break her if he wasn’t careful.

  She was stronger than he knew. Much stronger.

  His hand trailed down her arm to her side and rested on the hilt of the dagger. “Why do you carry this?” His breath came quick, like he’d been running.

  She wrinkled her nose, surprised by the change in subject. “For protection, why else?”

  Gryphon shook his head. “You have no business carrying this weapon.”

  Zo sat back, shocked. “I think I’ve earned the right to carry a blade, Gryph! Women of your clan carry them everywhere.”

  Gryphon climbed to his feet and offered Zo his hands to help her up. She stared at them then used her own power to stand.

  “Don’t be offended. I’m not suggesting you’re too weak to carry a knife.”

  Perhaps, but you’re still dodging the question. Zo’s hands shot to her hips and in that moment she knew she looked like Tess in one of her fits. “Then what are you suggesting?”

  Gryphon folded his arms across his chest. His angular face studied Zo as he considered her.

  “What?” Zo’s voice rose.

  “Say a man tries to attack you from behind.” Gryphon slowly took hold of her waist and spun her around. The weight of his hands made her blush. She closed her eyes and fought the urge to lean against his strong frame as he stepped right behind her. Thigh to thigh. Back to chest. The heat of his body at her back acted as a tangible energy between them. “He goes to grab you.” Gryphon wrapped his heavy arms around her. Pinning her arms to her side. “What do you do?”

  Zo took her time to consider, soaking in the moment, resisting the urge to lull her head back onto his shoulder, to find the warm hollow of his neck with her lips. “I fight.” Zo meant to speak with more volume, but only a whisper escaped her wanting lips.

  “Exactly. And when the man realizes you’re not worth the fight … ” Out of nowhere, a dagger pressed to her throat. Her dagger. He turned her around and tucked the knife back in its case.

  “Men wear swords because they are strong enough to keep them. Not because they have earned the right to carry them. You,” he touched the tip of her nose in a playful gesture, “lack a man’s strength and must make up for it in cunning. Ouch!”

  Zo held her hidden knife to his stomach. They were pressed so close together that he hadn’t seen her go for it. “That,” he pushed the blade away from him, “is exactly what I mean.”

  Zo removed the large dagger from the belt at her waist. “I trust your judgment.” She offered it to him with a shy smile. “Here, I doubt anyone will ever have the chance to take it from you.”

  For once she didn’t weigh the ramifications of her actions. Before her mind caught up with her body, she stepped closer to him, threading her arms beneath his to wrap around his torso. Trying to squeeze despair from his frame like she might extract venom from a wound.

  He kissed the top of her head then pulled back a little to find her cheek. Then he paused by her lips. “I shouldn’t—there’s something … ” Then he groaned and gave into the demanding energy between them. Their lips met in a fury of need. His hands ran the length of her spine until they settled on her hips and pulled her even closer. His mouth moved with hers in earnest passion. A fire exploded in Zo’s chest, and a sense of rightness consumed her being. Whatever demons Gryphon battled, they were no match for this.

  After several long, yet entirely too short minutes, Gryphon pulled away, panting, though their foreheads still kissed. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “What shouldn’t you be doing?”

  He took a step back and gestured to the space between them. “Pretending like nothing is wrong.”

  A heavy weight dropped onto Zo’s chest, pressing out all the wind in her lungs. “And what is wrong, Gryphon?”

  Gryphon wrung his hands around the leather casing of Zo’s dagger. “Nothing you or I can fix.” He turned around and growled. “I can’t do this!”

  Zo took a step back. Surprised by just how painful four words could be. Her shaking fingers hovered over lips that only moments ago confessed her feelings for the man before her. The man who admitted that, whatever his feelings for her, they weren’t enough.

  Was living inside the Allied Camp so horrible? In time he might adjust. By wanting him to try, did she demand too much?

  “Gryphon, I’m sorry you’re unhappy.” She wanted to reach out to him and close the disgusting space separating them. But this gap seemed much wider than just the few feet. “Once this blood oath is fulfilled, we can take Joshua and Tess and leave this place. Go wherever you want. We don’t need to live among the Wolves.” She blushed hearing the desperation in her own voice. “That is, if you still want me.” How pathetic she sounded.

  Gryphon’s face turned to a mask of stone. “Where I am going, you cannot follow.”

  A horn sounded in the village. At the same time one of the Laden’s runners broke through the trees, panting, with hands on knees. “The Commander needs you, Ram.”

  Zo and Gryphon glanced north to the gap in the mountain, where a thin line of men jogged down from the slot canyon to the foothills.

  Gryphon wouldn’t look at her. “The Raven scouts have returned. Commander Laden will be making an announcement soon. I should be with him when he does.” He offered her a sad smile. “Can we talk about this later?”

  “Why bother?” Zo battled back tears. “You’re leaving.”

  He offered a slow nod. “Please,” his voice broke, “forgive me.” He took off at a sprint through the trees. Never looking back.

  Zo watched the place where he disappeared, feeling cold with his absence. What kind of announcement would Commander Laden make that involved Gryphon’s presence?

  Too many questions. Too few answers. But one thought came to mind, louder and stronger than any horn.

  I’ve lost him.

  Instead of following Gryphon back to camp, Zo walked in the opposite direction along the stream. Rubbing a chill from her arms, Zo blinked back tears. Here the grass grew long, in some places as high as her knees. She kept her back to the energy buzzing around the camp and focused her attention on the persistent water rolling over and around rocks to get to its final destination at the small lake.

  A breeze swept through the valley, forcing the tall grass to dance and shiver around her shins. With the breeze a rancid, stomach-churning smell drifted toward her, carried down the sloping foothill. The farther she walked away from camp the more pungent the scent became, until she was forced to cover her nose with both hands.

  Zo walked faster. The hair along her forearms stood on end. The rank scent triggered a gag reflex, singeing the inside of her nose. The grass was so tall that she didn’t see the bodies until almost stepping on an outstretched arm.

  The bodies of the four men were lined next to each other on the ground in a morbidly perfect row. They lay bloated, their skin a reddish-gray hue. Blood clotted in deep lacerations across each of their necks. Again, symmetrical. Though the bodies had decomposed some, it wasn’t hard to identify the four men who’d gone missing the night of the fire. The Commander’s personal guard all wore the same notches in their belts. These were Gryphon’s guards.

  Zo gagged, hand still covering her mouth, as she took a step backward. The sun reflected a lone dagger staked into one of the
dead men’s chest. Tied to the hilt with a delicate red ribbon was a glass bottle with a cork stopper.

  In the space between heartbeats, Zo recognized the bottle. Glass the same tinted brown. The height and narrow width.

  Suddenly, the careful arrangement of the men, the ribbon, the exact type of bottle Zo stole time and again from the Ram Medica to send messages down river to the Allies—it all pointed to one person.

  These men were meant to be found. This bottle … this bottle was for her.

  Old fear, sharp as talons, gnawed at her insides as she inched closer to the bodies. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead. The ground seemed to shift from side to side in a dizzying sensation. With a shaking hand, Zo reached down and tugged at the tail of the perfect red bow.

  The bottle dropped and rolled into the open neck of the dead guard, and Zo’s fingers brushed his flesh as she snatched it up and stumbled away, emptying the contents of her stomach in the long grass.

  The stench burned her throat and nostrils, and she crawled toward camp and away from the bodies. When she finally trusted her legs to carry her, she staggered to the stream and plunged her hands into the water, splashing it into her face. Cleansing the death from her body.

  Still shaken, Zo sat back on the bank and concentrated on dragging air through her lungs to calm her racing heart. Only then did she uncork the bottle and slide the rolled paper free of its glass cage.

  You and the traitor will never be free of me. My eyes see everything. My reach is limitless and my revenge will be sweet and terrible.

  -S

  Zo’s head snapped up. She glanced around the thin trees and tall grass, suddenly wary. That woman. That demon could be watching her, even now. But how? Was Chief Barnabas’s Seer so cunning? Were her spies inside the camp? Had they always been?

  Memories of her interactions with the Seer inside Ram’s Gate came flooding back. Her small dark eyes that weaseled into Zo’s thoughts. The woman had an eerie way of knowing everything that happened inside the Gate and was known for her exquisitely brutal punishments for even the slightest infraction. She was the reason Joshua had nearly died in the prizefight and consequently, the reason she was broken as a healer.