Entwined Paths (Swift Shadows Book 2)

by M. L. Greye

  “As for the Mountain Thunder,” she added, “I can show you the basics of it for now.”

  “That would be lovely.” Emry smiled as her eyes caught on a swatch of dark blue fabric studded with black beads. She was walking towards it before she realized her feet had moved. Emry gripped onto it with both hands.

  “That’s very beautiful,” Llydia commented from behind her.

  It was smooth and soft beneath her fingertips. And it shimmered. Emry grinned. “I suddenly am in need of a new gown. I don’t even care how much it is.”

  She plucked up the bolt of fabric and brought it to the front desk. A tall, buxom – it really was the best word to describe her – woman with pale eyes and long red hair braided up into a coiffure on top of her head stood behind the counter.

  Upon seeing Emry, the Pale smiled, revealing straight teeth. Kruth was filled with such pretty creatures.

  “What be you in need of today?” The Pale asked, her voice melodic.

  Emry returned her smile as she set down the fabric. In her Anexian accent, she said, “I’ll take the whole bolt.”

  The Pale eyed Emry and then the fabric. “Alright. That be thirty for the bolt.”

  It had to have only been about eight yards of fabric. Thirty sounded on the high end, but Emry loved it and was willing to pay. She nodded but before she could open her mouth to agree to the purchase, Llydia made a sort of choking noise from behind her. Emry turned in surprise as the Teal scoffed, “Thirty? You be jesting, then?”

  There was Llydia’s Kruth accent. Although, she didn’t need to step in on Emry’s behalf. Emry didn’t mind paying a little extra to have a new dress with the glorious fabric.

  “No, it be thirty.” The Pale’s gaze hardened, her smile dissolving into a thin line.

  “For just a bit of cloth?” Llydia cried out, loud enough that the other patrons had looked up from their shopping. Llydia ignored them and tossed a glance around the shop. “Did we make a wrong turn and end up at the jewelers? Because unless that be studded with diamonds it be not worth such an exorbitant fee.”

  “You be insulting the quality of me goods?” The woman retorted. “They be the finest in Wexric.”

  Llydia grunted. “We be not needing the finest in Wexric. The shop down the road be good enough with far more honest folk.”

  Emry stared at Llydia.

  It was nice of her to be so concerned over Emry not paying too much, but Emry didn’t want to go to the shop down the street. She wanted this fabric. The fabric that reminded her of a shimmering night – of shadows and moonlight.

  “Now you be insulting me integrity?” The Pale blurted loudly. “I be as honest as thunder after lightning.”

  Declan’s mother tapped her fingers on the counter. “You care to prove it? Throw in the cost of making me friend a dress from the fabric, and we might be willing to pay twenty.”

  “You be trying to rob me blind!” She exclaimed. “To make the dress alone it be twenty.”

  “Fine,” Llydia drawled. “Twenty-five.”

  The Pale glared at her but stuck out her hand. “Fine. Twenty-five for the fabric and a dress.”

  Llydia clasped wrists with the Pale. “I would have done it for thirty.”

  “I would have done it for twenty,” she grinned smugly.

  In response, Llydia laughed and the rest of the patrons went back to their shopping, no longer interested. “I haven’t done that in years,” she said to the Pale, returning back to her Anexian accent. “Thank you.”

  The Pale laughed. “I always be up to bargaining.” She glanced at Emry. “You can pay now or after we discuss what sort of dress you be wanting.”

  Emry’s eyes darted back and forth between Llydia and the Pale. “What did I just watch?”

  Llydia winked. “In Kruth, never accept the first price you’re given. You can always barter for either less or something more.”

  :::::

  Declan sought out Rand after his beating on the round with Fiona. He needed Rand to help translate for him. Even though Fiona had begun to learn his language, she didn’t know enough to fully be able to communicate. Declan found Rand beside one of the camp’s fires within the tent section. When Declan asked for him to translate for Fiona, Rand nearly laughed in his face.

  “No.” Rand snorted. “I won’t go near that blue-eyed temptress again.”

  “Not exactly the sort of description I’d use for her,” Declan replied dryly.

  “Being refused once by her was more than enough interaction for me,” Rand retorted, poking the fire with a stick. “I know when to walk away so as to maintain some level of dignity.”

  “Dignity,” Declan let out a short laugh. “I didn’t realize Stolen had any of that left.”

  Rand chuckled darkly. “Good point.”

  “Just come with me.” Declan ran a hand through his shaggy hair, regretting it instantly as he realized it’d been a week since he last dared enter the icy river. “What will it take for you to translate?”

  The Gray sighed loudly. “Fine. No need to beg.” He tossed his stick into the flames and straightened. “Where is she?”

  Five minutes later, they found her coming out of the mess hall. She’d just finished her meal for the day. When she saw Rand and Declan approach her, she halted in place and frowned. Declan tossed a glance at Rand and noticed a similar expression on his face, except his was really more like a scowl.

  “Hello, Fiona.” Declan decided to dive right in. “Will you teach me your Turanga? The way you move is unlike anyone I’ve seen – even Semrez.”

  “It’s the Turanga,” Rand corrected, half under his breath. “She doesn’t own it.”

  He blinked. “Can you just ask her?”

  Rand muttered a curse before rambling off in Heerth to Fiona. She quipped something back to him and he grunted. To Declan, he said, “She says that’s because Semrez moves like a Kruth ox. He lacks finesse and clearly never practiced before coming here.”

  “Tell her I want to learn finesse.” Declan watched her face as Rand translated.

  Her eyebrows lifted, and in his own language, she asked, “Why?”

  Declan offered her a bitter smile. “For the same reason why you do everything again.”

  Once again, Rand repeated his words in Heerth. Fiona eyed him for a moment, but then, still in his own language, ordered, “Follow me.”

  She spun around and headed toward the nearest round. Declan exchanged a glance with Rand, who rolled his eyes and trailed after the Blue. Declan followed. At the edge of the round, Fiona stopped in front of a rack of staffs. She turned to Declan and said not in Heerth, “Pick short one – one for girls.”

  Frowning, Declan selected the size she suggested. Fiona nodded once and said something in Heerth. Rand interpreted, “She says the Turanga is more than just swinging around a stick, and yes, Fiona, I know the Turanga.”

  “You do?” Declan raised a brow – his breath clouding the air in front of him.

  “I had to learn it as part of my past Quirl military training,” Rand replied, a bitter bite in his voice. “I’ve since perfected it, thanks to this quaint little camp.”

  This was the first Declan had heard of Rand being in the Quirl military. “I’ve never seen you fight with staffs.”

  “That’s because the Back Rubes only have me fight with staffs when I’m meant to torment some poor soul,” he retorted. “I can’t be bested.”

  Fiona laughed, surprising both Rand and Declan. She rattled off something in Heerth, and Rand clenched his jaw. “Apparently, our dear little Blue understands us better than we thought. She says I can help her show you a proper Turanga match. She also thinks she could beat me easily.”

  Declan grinned at Fiona. “I would love to watch you knock Rand off his feet.”

  Swearing loudly, Rand ripped the staff out of Declan’s hand and stepped onto the round. He then dropped down onto one knee, his arms holding the staff out in front of him – level with his eyes. Fiona was smirking as sh
e sauntered up to Rand. She’d grabbed an even smaller staff than Rand’s – the same size Declan had seen her using earlier. She paused in front of Rand, standing above him, and tilted her staff so that it crossed his down its middle.

  The pair were frozen that way for a moment – glaring into each other’s eyes. Then Fiona broke the silence with something in Heerth and Rand mumbled a reply back, an edge to his voice. She merely winked and it began.

  Round and round the Gray and Blue went. Thwacking and twirling and bending. Up and down, in and out of positions. Faster and faster until it became a rhythm, a drumbeat – a dance. Declan realized what Fiona had meant.

  All the fighting he and Semrez – and the other Stolen Kearns had made him face in staffs – had been doing was primitive. He really had been swinging clubs around like an ox. This match between Rand and Fiona was smooth and crisp and nothing like the rough, jerky movements Declan had picked up. This was beautiful. Rand and Fiona were equals on the round, exuding finesse.

  Until at last Rand flipped Fiona over him onto her back. She looked pinned but then Fiona shifted her staff, sliding over it and Rand so that she straddled him on the clay. She locked her staff beneath his chin, over his neck, and grinned down at him. “You lose.”

  Rand didn’t reply. He just laid there staring up at her, an unreadable look in his eyes. A mix of surprise and hunger and fear? But then Fiona jumped to her feet, releasing Rand. Twisting to Declan, she gestured to the round. “Come.”

  Slowly, Rand sat up – his eyes never leaving Fiona. His gaze took on a look of anger, awe, and frustration rolled together. Once he was on his feet again, though, it dissolved into a scowl.

  Fiona didn’t seem to notice. Or she pretended not to. Instead she said something in Heerth to Rand. With a grimace, Rand finally glanced at Declan. “We’ll begin with opening stances.”

  Two hours later, Fiona was called away by her Main and Declan by his. It was time to duel the Gray – Naria. Declan stretched out his arms above his head as he stepped off the round – before he had to move onto another. Naria was waiting for him with Kearns three rounds down. Declan frowned at them. He tried not to curl his upper lip in disgust.

  Rand pulled up alongside him, watching Declan’s Main and Naria as well. “Use Naria’s weaknesses against her. Kearns’s precious Gray could use a little humbling. If all else fails, just remember how fast you’ve become.”

  Declan winced. “I’m not faster than lightning.”

  “No, but you’re fast enough she won’t be able to see your fists coming,” Rand shot back.

  “Great.” He snorted. “My one ability worth anything on a round is speed, and Naria can summon a storm to her fingertips.”

  “Just because some talents don’t show up in your eyes doesn’t make them any less real,” Rand replied, his voice low. “Sure, Naria can make a storm, but can she see the angles? Don’t be afraid to knock her out in the first punch. Use your head, Declan. Honestly, I don’t understand how you still lose any of your duels.”

  With that, Rand walked off towards his house among the permanent structures, leaving Declan to watch him go.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Naria and Kearns both wore smug smiles. Naria looked as though she assumed she’d win her duel with Declan – almost as if she actually wanted to fight him, to be an inflictor of pain. That was a desire Declan had never shared.

  Declan knew why he still sometimes lost his duels, why he ended up suffering. Because Rand was right, Declan had become fast. Faster than any Teal he’d ever come in contact with. Each new day he was even faster than the last. Yet, he didn’t always show it in his duels because with every hit he dished, he hesitated. He didn’t want to bring pain like what he’d endured. Rand’s words from weeks ago were accurate – Declan wasn’t thinking like a Stolen. Deep down, he still held onto that little part of him that recoiled at harming another.

  “I think I’m going to enjoy this.” Kearns grinned. “Naria, bring him down, and I’ll give you a new fur to keep you warm tonight.”

  “As you say,” Naria ran her eyes up and down him, like she was scanning a piece of meat.

  He blinked. Was Naria trying to copy Kearns? Because only Kearns ever looked at him like that. He had to hold back a bark of laughter as he glanced at the Back Rube. “What will I get if I win?”

  Kearns tilted her head upward to one side, permitting more light to filter through the clouds onto her scar. “Did you have something in mind?”

  “I want a stove.”

  “Stoves can’t go in tents,” Kearns grunted, “unless you want to burn it down.”

  “I know,” he replied, keeping his tone even.

  His Main stared at him, realizing what he meant. “You think you deserve an elevation to your living quarters just from dueling with Naria?”

  The Gray’s eyes narrowed at the slight to her importance from Kearns, but didn’t say anything. Declan lifted up one side of his mouth in a crooked smile. “You’re the one who said today I’d be humbled.”

  Kearns’s own mouth hardened. “To get an elevation, there’s a different Gray you must play.”

  “I’ve already beaten Rand,” Declan retorted.

  “In swords,” Kearns hissed. “Not ability to ability.”

  He shrugged and waved a hand toward Naria. “I can fight him instead of your pet Gray if that’s what it’ll take to get me a place with a stove.”

  Naria was glaring, and Kearns’s ruby eyes flashed. “Fine, Sharpe. You somehow best my pet Gray, and I’ll advance you into a permanent. But lose, and you’ll be out in the snow.”

  Declan grinned – contorting his face into the sneer he’d seen Rand wear before his duels. A look that spoke of confidence and pain. A look that said no one could best him. Because when Naria reached a hand above her head, calling down a bolt of lightning with a simultaneous clap of thunder, Declan felt a trill of panic. He forced it back, hiding behind the sneer on his lips.

  As she walked onto the round, her fingertips sizzling, Declan thought of Emry. Her face came to him unbidden, but the flicker of lightning between Naria’s fingers reminded him of a dream he’d once had – of Emry, her hands shrouded in clouds of swirling black mist. Of what she’d asked: “Do I scare you?”

  “Never,” Declan breathed, repeating the answer he’d given his dream Emry. With that one word, his panic dissolved into a cold calm – colder than the air around him.

  “Begin.”

  Before Kearns even finished the word, Naria started lifting her hands toward him, readying to fire the bolt contained within her fingers. But Declan had already tapped his speed. He bolted across the round, sliding to his knees just as Fiona had done with him earlier, and kicked out his leg, hooking it behind her ankles. She toppled backwards, but because she’d already called out the lightning, it erupted out of her as she fell, arms flapping at her sides. Startled screams from nearby Stolen followed as they tried to flee her unchecked lightning.

  Declan ignored them. With his speed flowing through him, his mind moved faster. His eyes caught more movement. More possible outcomes. He might not have been faster than light but he was faster than Naria. He ducked around the steady stream of lightning she was throwing out through her flailing arms.

  She was on her back, struggling to draw the lightning back in. He wasn’t sure how much power Naria could hold within her. It was clearly an enormous amount, but she wasn’t strong enough to stop it. Naria lacked control. She was all brute strength. And Declan had to take down that strength.

  He didn’t have the luxury of setting foot off the round to avoid her lightning – Kearns would know through whatever regulator she had over his blood. He would have to somehow not be hit while also trying to land a blow. The fastest way to get her to stop was to knock her out. He knew what he had to do, but it was going to hurt.

  Swearing, Declan crouched down on the balls of his feet, and jumped into the air. Her arms shifted towards him, but they were going too slowly. He twisted sideways i
n the air, slipping through the shafts of lightning, and landed flat on top of her. His hands wrapped around her wrists, and he pinned them down, pointing them out wide – to either side of her.

  She gawked up at him – she either hadn’t seen him coming or hadn’t expected him to be able to pin her. Declan didn’t particularity care what had surprised her.

  Grabbing her charged wrists had made some of her energy flow into him. His muscles in his arms were clenching over and over again – a hundred spasms. It was like having a thousand knives stab his arms at once. His body screamed at him to release her. His grip was beginning to slip from the convulsions up his arms – his muscles finding it hard to comply, to maintain his hold on her.

  He cried out in a mix of a growl and a roar. He had to stop this before his arms completely seized up. Before they refused to work completely.

  But the pain filled his head, his thoughts, his arms, his chest. Everywhere. It was everywhere.

  People had stopped screaming. Or maybe Declan could just no longer hear them. He lifted his gaze from Naria’s, looking past her head, and was startled to see Rand crouching there at the edge of the round. He caught Declan’s eyes and then tapped one finger to the side of his head, beside his eye.

  Declan huffed out a groan. Rand wanted him to use his speed. Releasing another roar, he jerked back his head, squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of the pain, and banged his head forward as hard and as fast as his teal eyes could manage.

  White lights darted across the back of his eyelids as a sickening crunch filled his ears – vibrating inside his skull.

  Something warm and wet and sticky sprayed across his face. Into his mouth. Metallic and sweet and bitter all at once. The pain in his arms ceased instantaneously as he gagged on Naria’s blood.

  “Stop!” Kearns screamed from somewhere nearby.

  Declan was yanked backwards and upwards by several hands – dragging him away from Naria. He opened his eyes, but the dancing lights still filled his vision. Blinding him.

  “No!” Kearns roared.