Entwined Paths (Swift Shadows Book 2)

by M. L. Greye

  “Turn them into warriors, hopefully,” Ruffus answered.

  Emry gasped. She couldn’t help herself. Ruffus hadn’t even tried to deny it. Even Krynto looked taken aback. The Quirl king truly approved of the Stolen.

  “You have no remorse over capturing Heerth citizens?” Krynto demanded.

  “Not when I’m paying for their training.” Ruffus reached for his goblet again, taking another swig of it. He seemed utterly unaffected by this conversation.

  “Training?” Onyx repeated.

  Ruffus nodded, the goblet still to his lips. He lowered it and swallowed. “A preemptive step in dealing with the predicament in Perth.”

  “What predicament?” Onyx voiced Emry’s question.

  “There is no predicament,” Krynto barked.

  “That champion of theirs – the Silver – has more power than anyone I’ve ever seen,” Ruffus retorted. “So much so that I doubt even a Gold as mighty as yourself, Krynto, could take her down if necessary.”

  Krynto bristled, but said, “Varamtha rescued Perth from the grasping hands of the Ship Lords – in a war that you didn’t deem important enough to bother with. Perth was fortunate to have her.”

  “And yet, who will be our champions when she grows bored of her fame and wishes for more?” Ruffus shot back. “A woman with that sort of power does not settle easily.”

  Emry flinched. Just how much power did this Varamtha have, and how did it compare with Emry’s own reserve? If the Quirl king knew Emry was learning to be a warrior in her own way, would he have tried to stab her while he was here?

  “So you are training our Stolen to be strong enough to defeat Perth’s champion?” Her father’s voice brought Emry’s attention around. “How?”

  “By pushing them to go faster, to be stronger, to expand their unique abilities every day,” Ruffus responded.

  The Heerth king scoffed. “You expect us to believe that your training is any more efficient at creating warriors as strong as Varamtha than that of our own militaries?”

  “Yes, because it’s working.” Ruffus gave them a smug smile that twisted up half his face. “I receive monthly reports. Slowly, your Stolen, as you call them, and mine, are becoming creatures of unmatched abilities.”

  “How?” Krynto demanded, repeating Onyx’s question. “How have you possibly managed to accomplish such a feat?”

  “Backwards Rubys can be very persuasive.” Ruffus saluted them with his glass.

  The other two kings were silent for a moment. Then Onyx said quietly, “Through pain. You push them with pain.”

  “It has worked wonders,” Ruffus confirmed.

  Krynto was stunned – gawking like a child. Emry was mirroring his reaction – at the gall the Quirl king had to sit here in her palace, in her family’s refuge, in her favorite chair, and tell them he’d been enslaving and torturing their peoples. All three countries. Did the man have a death wish? Krynto looked about ready to pounce, and Emry found herself trembling. At the outright horror of what the Quirl king had done – was still doing.

  She felt violated by his lies. He’d celebrated with them all – had dined with them in a seat of honor. She had danced with him!

  Meanwhile her people suffered at his hand. Emry was disgusted. With him. With herself. With her father and the Heerth king for letting Ruffus within a hundred yards of them.

  Emry was going to be sick. She turned to her father. Was he as disturbed as she was? If he was, he didn’t show it. He was watching Ruffus pensively. After a moment, he eased up to his feet. As this was his home, the other two kings did the same.

  To Ruffus, Onyx said, “I think you should take your leave tomorrow.”

  That was it? Emry blinked. That was all her father had to say to him? And he was permitting the king to stay another night? Emry would have had him thrown out by his ears. She was going to have to spend another night under the same roof as that lunatic?

  Krynto didn’t look impressed by her father’s words. He glared at Ruffus. “But you should take your leave of this room immediately.”

  The Quirl king caught the wild look in Krynto’s gaze and set down his goblet. “As you say. Just remember, I’ve done this for us. To protect us. It’s why I’ve taken from each of our nations, raising us up an army of champions.”

  Neither king said a word as Ruffus exited. Once gone, Onyx glanced at Krynto. “Perhaps you and I should reconvene tomorrow.”

  The Heerth king stiffened. “I think I will begin my own preparations to depart in the morning.”

  Onyx nodded and crossed to the door. “Of course.” He twisted the knob and held the door open for the Heerth king to pass through before he went out as well.

  Emry watched them go. She waited a good ten minutes after they’d shut the door before she solidified, releasing the shadows.

  She stepped to the table, picked up Ruffus’s glass, and flung it into the fire. It shattered, and the fire blazed brighter. Emry stared at the shards, her fists clenched. She didn’t stop the darkness from oozing out of her. Her rage took shadow form, spilling into the small room, filling it.

  Her people were suffering, and her father did nothing. The Heerth king did nothing. And Emry couldn’t do anything about it. She was useless and helpless.

  All her power, all the training she’d done … What was it good for? She didn’t have an answer, so she simply stood and glared into the flames until her emotions ceased seeping out of her. Until she’d calmed enough to shift back into shadow and head for Trezim’s room to report on what she’d seen.

  :::::

  Declan balled his hands into fists and stepped onto the red clay round once more. He’d been in this filthy camp for a week. A week of observing and coming back with nothing. He was no closer to discovering how to escape than he was his first day.

  It’d been a week of constantly being in some sort of pain because the Rubys wouldn’t heal him entirely. A week of taking a beating with that wooden staff. A week of sleeping outside with only his coat to keep him warm. A week of absolute misery. A week of wondering what his parents had been told – of how his mother had taken the news. A week of playing with others in the camp, leaving him limping.

  This duel he was about to have, though. He knew it would be a different sort of torment. It wasn’t meant for him. It was meant for the girl across from him, and he was to be her tormentor.

  The Anexian woman from his first night was already there at the opposite side. A yellowed bruise took up one side of her face – as if a Ruby had almost healed it. Declan was beginning to wonder if that was just the way it was done here.

  The Rubys left them just enough pain to remember their torture, but healed enough to fight again – so that they were constantly in some sort of agony.

  Kearns moved directly in front of the girl and cocked her head to the side. Like a bird of prey. The girl just stared at Kearns’s feet, clearly trembling. Kearns spun around and exited the round. To Declan, she tossed over her shoulder, “Make the Brown bleed, Teal.”

  Declan winced. He had no desire to fight a terrified wisp of a woman. When he made no move towards the Brown, Kearns narrowed her eyes at him. “Begin!” She barked.

  Still Declan hesitated. The Brown had taken one limping step forward. Her arms were so thin. Frail. A punch from him and she’d topple like a house made of cards.

  Kearns snarled and suddenly the Brown straightened, going stiff as a board, hands at her sides. Her eyes went wide and her mouth opened in a silent scream. Her body twitched and her eyes lulled to the back of her skull. Declan stared in horror – at what Kearns was capable of – the pain the Brown endured.

  He could never cause that sort of torment – not even if he broke her bones. That was exactly what Kearns wanted him to know – that whatever he’d do to the girl was a mercy in comparison.

  Declan gritted his teeth. Kearns was watching him expectantly. She was waiting for him to catch the meaning behind her horrid actions.

  He had to hit the Anexian
– to free her from this psychotic display of power. Declan recoiled, shrinking inward. He couldn’t hit her. The two of them were so ill matched. He’d destroy her.

  “You can put an end to this, Teal,” Kearns taunted.

  Whatever hold Kearns had over the girl slackened just enough for her to scream – high-pitched and ringing. Declan flinched at the sound.

  Her shrieks didn’t cease – cascading one after the other in a waterfall of terror and anguish. Tears flowed down her face as her entire frame quaked. Declan stared in horror.

  “Anytime, Sharpe,” Kearns laughed.

  Declan had to end this. End her screaming. Even if it meant–

  He swore and swung his fist at her face. The Brown flew backwards, released from Kearns. Blood sprayed from her nose. He hadn’t broken it – he’d checked his blow at the last second. Still, the Brown moaned as she landed on the clay.

  Disgust flooded his insides at the Brown’s whimpering, threatened to bring him to his knees, begging her for her forgiveness. But that would do her no favors. Not with Kearns.

  As Declan slowly stepped closer to her, he threw up a wall within himself. Like drawing a curtain across a window. Like snuffing out a light and allowing the darkness to envelope him.

  He let go of his emotions. Blocked them out. Separated his mind from his body. He told himself it was for her own good – like the bastard he might have always been – and kicked her in the ribs, sending her to the very edge of the round in a heap.

  Kearns let out a low cackle of glee. “Now, make her beg. I want her so hideous that no one will take her in tonight.”

  Declan turned in surprise. Kearns knew the Brown had been spending her nights in various tents? He wondered how she knew – if she had spies or could sense it from whatever power she’d obtained over them when she’d tasted their blood. What Kearns wanted him to do, though…

  The Brown still hadn’t moved from where she’d landed. Her breathing was a wet, raspy wheezing. If Declan did anything else to her, she could die. And Kearns didn’t care – seemingly reveled in it. Probably got off on it. Declan fell back a step, shaking his head. He couldn’t.

  The Backwards Ruby watched him for a moment. Then, “Finish her off, and you’ll be rewarded with a tent of your own.”

  A tent of his own? Declan’s head whipped around to stare at her. No one was ever offered a tent after only a week. What had this woman done to incur Kearns’s wrath against her?

  But a tent of his own … He’d been sleeping on the ground out in the cold. To have even some sort of cover from the elements would be a serious improvement.

  But was it worth this woman’s life? Was it worth his own soul? Because somewhere deep inside of him, he knew. He knew that this was one of those rare defining moments in life. A moment that would either shape him into something more or destroy him. Twist him.

  Yet, he already knew what his choice would be. And it was going to hurt.

  “I’m done,” he said with a shake of his head, dropping his hands to his side.

  Kearns’s gaze shifted from bloodlust for the Brown into something entirely feral. She snapped her fingers and two Rubys – real ones, not backwards like Kearns – retrieved the Brown, dragging her off the round so that Declan was left alone. Kearns stalked towards him like an animal circling its prey. Declan’s heart began to beat in his chest at the memory of how she’d fractured two of his ribs that first day.

  Still, he held his ground. Refused to look away. Even though fear now gripped him.

  “Has anyone told you the problem with Teals yet?” Kearns asked, her voice barbed and low. They hadn’t, but Declan didn’t say a word. He waited until Kearns went on with, “Teals are the opposite of Rubys. Our counterparts. Our balancers. You wouldn’t think it, but Teals can inflict damage faster than Rubys can heal. For us Backwards Rubys, though, Teals are like a sweet wine. Your blood.” Kearns moaned. It was noise that made Declan’s skin crawl. She grinned, as if she knew just how much she unsettled him. “When we make someone bleed, we can taste their blood anew. So, just know, I truly enjoy this.”

  Hundreds of thousands of cuts sliced open Declan’s chest and back, soaking his shirt in blood.

  Declan fell to his knees. His shirt burned him – rubbed against the raw flesh. He cried out, his scream a low rumble in his ears.

  Off. He had to get his shirt off!

  He was on fire. Every movement seared through him as he yanked at his shirt, tearing it from his body.

  Blood – there was so much blood. Seeping through his fingers. Drenching the clay beneath him. His blood. It was everywhere.

  Finally his shirt was gone. He glanced down at his chest fully expecting to see his skin torn to shreds, only to find throbbing, bloody muscle tissue.

  His skin was completely gone. Skin still covered his hands, arms, and face. But his torso–

  Kearns hadn’t just sliced him apart. She’d literally skinned him alive.

  And he was still losing blood. It pooled around him, drenching the clay beneath him.

  Dizziness made his vision swim, but he glanced up to hold Kearns’s gaze. In that moment, for the first time in his life, he understood what hatred was. Because he sincerely loathed the woman in front of him.

  Hated her with a passion that rivaled the agony he felt. She was evil and twisted and foul.

  One day Declan would kill her. He would watch the life vanish from her eyes. He vowed it.

  As the world darkened, Declan swore to the dark clouds above that he would one day feel her blood on his fingers. He just had to live through this. Had to survive this. But one day, Kearns would pay.

  Releasing a groan, Declan gave into the growing black, and the pain faded away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Please, no sobbing.”

  Emry rolled her eyes at Trezim. It was midmorning, and the sun was bright above them. They were just outside the front door to the palace. Saying their farewells. Despite his words, Emry didn’t actually feel like crying. Still, she was sad to see her friend go. The past few weeks had been wonderful – making her feel more like that princess in Acoba than the beloved prisoner of Enlennd.

  “Don’t worry.” She smirked. “I'll save my tears for someone who deserves them.”

  Trez laid a hand over his heart. “You wound me.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find someone else to amuse you on your long journey,” Emry replied dryly.

  He gave her that smug smile of his – the one she hadn’t thought she’d ever miss, but had anyway while they’d been apart. “Debatable. No one has skin as soft as yours.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from blushing. After the meeting the night before, she went to Trezim’s rooms as planned. Despite his claim to need sleep, he was wide awake when she’d arrived. Pacing even. She’d never seen him so ruffled. They’d stayed up discussing what their fathers had said to the Quirl king, and Emry had vented how disgusted she was with the whole thing.

  They went over possible outcomes of different steps that could be taken in regards to the Stolen. The political backlash. Possible war. Loss of life. On and on they went, until Emry’s eyes drooped and neither of them could think straight.

  Eventually, while both were curled up on a sofa, their conversation shifted to Trezim leaving the next day – to the next time they’d see each other again. It’d be months. Trezim had his new responsibilities in Acoba and Emry had her own issues to deal with in Enlennd. Yet, they both agreed that if in a year they hadn’t managed to see each other, they’d be sure to set time aside for a visit. Either Emry to Heerth or Trezim to Enlennd. Emry hoped she’d be able to go back to Heerth.

  They’d spent the night on Trezim’s sofa. They’d stayed up until neither could keep their eyes open any longer, curled up within each other’s arms – unwilling to say goodbye when they’d be having to do so the next day. As Emry had drifted off to sleep, she’d realized she cared deeply for Trezim. He was her closest friend. There were things he knew that not even Cit
did. She wasn’t sure what it was like to be in love, but it had to be something like this.

  Trezim was a good man. Beneath the facade he wore, he was kind, generous, even thoughtful. It was too bad Trez feared her. They could have possibly been happy together.

  The sun woke her the next morning, though, with a kink in her neck. She’d woken a second before Trezim had rolled over, shoving her onto the rug with a thump that roused him. Emry swore at him, realized the time, and decided to return to her own rooms before anyone came looking for either of them.

  Just as Emry closed the doors to her rooms behind her, Cit had barged in, demanding Emry tell her where she’d been all night. When Emry said with Trezim in his rooms, her sister harrumphed out as if not the least bit surprised.

  Now, a long, hot shower and quick breakfast later, Emry stood not two feet from Trezim, staring up into his shiny gold eyes. And suddenly she was fighting back tears. She was going to miss him terribly.

  “Trezim,” his father spoke his name like it was some sort of a command. He’d finished sharing whatever last words with Onyx and was mounting a beautiful horse the color of dark chocolate.

  “Coming,” Trez called without turning from Emry.

  She forced a smile. “I’ll-”

  Trezim closed the distance between them, rested a hand at her waist, and lowered his mouth to hers, cutting her off. He kissed her like he should have done weeks ago, like he should have done last night. He kissed her like they were indeed saying goodbye – firm and hungry and fast. This time, Emry didn’t care that both of their fathers and much of their courts stood as witness. She was vaguely aware of Cit gasping somewhere nearby. Emry ignored her – ignored everyone.

  But then Trez was pulling back, looking as haughty as the peacock he’d given her. She narrowed her eyes. “So, is this how it is to be with us?” She asked. “We kiss farewell, but never in greeting?”

  He blinked in mild surprise. “Come visit me in Heerth, and I’ll kiss you as much as you’d like, Emry.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” She grinned. “Until the next, Trez.”