Entwined Paths (Swift Shadows Book 2)

by M. L. Greye

  “Let’s have some fun,” she said to herself, half under her breath.

  They began with a series of thwacks and steps. He was lighter on his feet than anyone else she’d encountered thus far. He was also far stronger. He snapped out a blow with his staff and it smacked into one side of hers, right over her hand. So hard Emry cried out. Her hand throbbed and trembled, but she didn’t dare let go.

  Trez and Eagen had both drilled into her the importance of never releasing her grip simply because it hurt. Emry twisted and turned with the Orange – their footwork forming the intricate steps of the Turanga. Emry finally managed to hit his ribs, but a moment later she took one to her thigh, nearly knocking her to her knees. Trez had given her worse, she told herself, gritting her teeth together. The phrase on repeat in her head. Her mantra to keep her moving.

  But having an injured leg against someone so huge was making her sloppy. She ducked a blow but still got the tail end of it to the side of her face, causing her to bite her tongue. Emry stepped back just enough to spit out the blood in her mouth. To her surprise, in Heerth fashion, the Orange waited for her to step forward again. It was Turanga etiquette, and Emry couldn’t help but like the man she was fighting.

  The crowd was now a raging cacophony, but Emry shut it out as she saw what stance the Orange had taken. She doubted he even realized what he’d set up for her. It was an advanced move Emry had seen only a handful of times. She’d practiced it with Trezim while he’d been in Enlennd, but she only managed to pull it off half of the time. Today, though. Today she’d land it. Because the Orange didn’t have as much on the table as she did. He didn’t have a country to save.

  Emry brought her staff back up in front of her, signaling she was ready to continue. Then she leapt forward.

  In the first step, she hooked her staff behind his, making an X. Her next two steps were the tricky part. She didn’t hesitate as she angled her body and ran up his – one foot on his thigh, the next on his chest. Then, using the foot on his chest, she kicked off of him with all her strength. In the air, using the momentum of her kick, she flicked her legs backward over her head, flipping her body over his head as well. Keeping her grasp on her staff tight, she yanked him backwards even as she finished her rotation above him – as she twisted her body so she’d land facing him.

  She dropped onto the clay in a crouch as the Orange landed flat on his back, arms stretched up above his head. She then yanked her staff toward herself as she stood – through his staff, breaking his grip. His staff flew free, off the round.

  And the crowd roared.

  Whistles, shouts, stomps, cheers, applause. All of it. Deafeningly loud. For her.

  For their new champion.

  Emry grinned at the Kruths around her, chest heaving. She’d done it. Even though her injured hand was shaking. Even though she was sure she’d have to limp off the round thanks to her battered thigh, she’d done it!

  The Orange was still on the round. She offered her hand to help him up. He glanced at it for a moment then clasped wrists with her, accepting her offer. She helped him up the best she could, but he still had to use a hand on the clay to push himself back to his feet. He gave her a lopsided smile then wandered off toward his staff. Accepting his loss.

  The announcer appeared at her side. He took her hand in his and raised it above her head. “Yer Champion at Staffs!” He hollered, but Emry was sure she was the only one who had actually heard him.

  Her eyes landed on Levric and Llydia. Both were beaming and clapping.

  Joy and triumph flowed through her. She realized in the long run, this was a small victory, but it was a victory all the same. One she’d claimed for herself.

  “What be yer name, lass?” The announcer asked.

  At this question, Emry shifted her smile into the one she’d practiced. Taking on her new persona, she yelled as loudly as she could so he and the closest to her could hear, “Call me The Mistress.”

  “Mistress?” He blinked.

  It’d taken her until the week before to come up with her new title. But it suited her perfectly. The Mistress was to become the leader of the Rioters. The woman to distract the Rioters from the Jewels. They’d give her their loyalty when they should have been giving it to the king. She’d be their Mistress … and their master.

  But to the announcer she merely nodded. He shrugged. “Very well, Mistress.” He swept a hand toward the now empty rounds. “Start us off.”

  Emry handed him her staff with a sly grin and moved to the middle round, holding back her wince. Gratefully, she wasn’t quite limping, as long as she walked slow. The drums began the introductory beat to the Mountain Thunder. Emry turned to the crowd.

  As was customary, the champion was to choose his or her partner for the dance from the audience. Her eyes landed on the Orange she’d just fought. She dropped into her practiced pose of angles and extended her hand to him. An invitation.

  The cheers died down so that the only noise now were the drums. The Orange gave his staff to the man at his side and joined Emry, taking her hand with a squeeze and a grin.

  Then, together, they began the Mountain Thunder.

  :::::

  The Orange’s name was Hammond Rithard. He was a falconer, specializing in harriers. His father had trained him in them, having learned them himself in Heerth. Apparently, his father had lived in Prythius for three years. While there, he’d spent a great deal of time learning the Turanga – something else he’d passed onto his son.

  Hammond told Emry all of this after spending half the night dancing together. Emry had intended on leaving the square right after the Mountain Thunder, but Hammond had pulled her into one dance after another. Until the sun had long since set and Emry grew dizzy with hunger, realizing she hadn’t eaten anything all day.

  When she told him she needed food, he asked if he could join her. Levric had told her to make friends, so she’d agreed. Over sticky rolls and hot cider and thick juicy turkey legs, Hammond told her his name and how he’d learned the Turanga. He praised her last move against him as pure savage, which Emry gleaned meant that he loved it and had never seen anything like it.

  As they sat there on the outskirts of the square, Hammond eventually asked Emry her name. She chuckled and switched to her Anexian accent. “I go by more of a title really.”

  He blinked. “What be yer title?”

  “I’m The Mistress.”

  “You not be Kruth,” he said slowly.

  “No.”

  “To be Champion at Staffs, you be needing to be Kruth.” Hammond frowned.

  She shrugged. “Then disqualify me.”

  “You not care, then?” He looked startled. “Why fight at all?”

  “Because I needed to catch everyone’s attention,” she replied.

  He stared at her. “For what?”

  Emry glanced out into the celebrating Kruths. It hadn’t missed her attention that there were no nobles in attendance. “Are you happy with the Jewels, Hammond?”

  The Orange hesitated. “Why you be asking?”

  She turned back. “Because I’m not, and I want to do something about it.”

  His frown somehow deepened. “Like what?”

  “The Royals don’t listen to the Rioters because they see us as a bunch of complaining peasants.” Emry watched her breath puff out in front of her, catching on the light from a nearby lamppost. “I plan to fix that.”

  “How?”

  “By leading them, of course.” She smirked and took a deep gulp from her cider, warming her insides.

  “You? Unite the Rioters of the five regions?” Hammond spluttered.

  “I just beat the best fighters Kruth has to offer, and still you doubt me?” She tsked her tongue and stood, cup in one hand, turkey leg in the other. “I’ve enjoyed our time together, Hammond. I hope to one day see you again. Possibly even work with you. But, until the next.” She inclined her head in farewell and headed away.

  She took all of three steps when Hammond’s
voice stopped her. “Mistress, wait.”

  At the sound of her new title being used, she felt a little giddy inside. She had to force back her grin. Glancing over her shoulder, she slowly spun back around. “Yes?”

  “People will be talking about today,” he said. “About what you did.”

  “And?” If she could lift only one eyebrow, she would have.

  “I danced set after set with you, they be noticing that, too. They’ll be coming to me asking about you.” Hammond swallowed, pausing.

  “And what will you say?” Emry asked quietly, slipping on Sabine’s signature smile – the look that invited secrets.

  “I think I’ll be telling them you be uniting the Rioters, leading them into a new era.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “An era, I be intending on being a part of.”

  Her smile shifted into a pleased grin. “Then, welcome to the new and improved Rioters, Hammond. I’m glad to have you.” She spotted Declan’s parents off to the left, watching her from a distance. “Until the next.”

  Hammond dipped his head. “Until the next, my Mistress.”

  Emry nearly stumbled as she headed to Levric and Llydia. At how Hammond had addressed her, and at how much she liked the sound of it. She forced herself to keep walking without turning back – embodying the Mistress persona she was in the midst of crafting for herself.

  When she neared Levric, his eyes flicked past her, probably at Hammond. “I see you’ve made a friend.”

  “Sometimes I do as I’m told.”

  Levric’s mouth twitched upward. “I remember it being more of a suggestion than an order.”

  “You were wonderful!” Llydia exclaimed, pulling Emry into a hug.

  “Impressive.” Levric nodded.

  “Well, I was going for memorable.” Emry chuckled.

  “I think you’ve succeeded,” Levric mused. “When we collected the winnings on your victory, news of your name as The Mistress had already begun to circulate.”

  “I hope you buy yourself something nice with that,” Emry replied. She meant it.

  Llydia shook her head. “The money doesn’t belong to us.”

  Emry opened her mouth to protest, but Levric explained, “The Mistress will need funds to support such an enormous endeavor as leading the Rioters. Funds that cannot be traced back to a Jewel.”

  Which Emry’s funds could be traced back to her. She bit the tip of her tongue. “Fine. But how much did you win?”

  Declan’s mother smiled, her Teal eyes sparkling. “Enough to buy a townhouse fit for a Jewel.”

  “What?” Emry blurted.

  “We were the only ones to bet on you, as I’d hoped,” Levric told her. “As this was a competition involving all of Kruth, the winnings are quite a sum.”

  “I must admit,” Emry let out a short laugh, “I admire your foresight.”

  Levric laughed. “You were the one to do the work, my Mistress.”

  “You heard Hammond say that, didn’t you?” Emry pulled a face, but she still felt a small thrill at the title.

  “I heard every word you exchanged.”

  “How-” She stopped herself, remembering she spoke with a Brown. He could have been ten feet away and she probably wouldn’t have noticed. “Oh.”

  “Will you be staying much longer in Kruth?” Levric asked.

  She shook her head. “I think for now my work here is done.”

  Llydia lifted a brow. “Where next?”

  Even though Pritchl was closer, as they all knew, she responded with, “Glavenryl.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Declan was having a weird day. This morning, he woke up anxious but had no idea why. Nothing was wrong. Well, other than his usual issues. Then, after completing his laps, he’d had an overwhelming wave of smugness wash over him. Even though he’d been near collapse, panting and heaving at Simon’s feet.

  Then, later in the afternoon, right in the middle of eating his rationed midday meal in the mess hall – across from Fiona and Rand, who were both putting a ridiculous amount of effort into trying not to brush elbows – Declan had filled with relief and joy and triumph. The emotions were so strong that Declan couldn’t stop himself from grinning broadly. Thanks to the fat lip Fiona had given him earlier, the gesture had caused his whole face to ache, but he couldn’t help it. His smiling had been involuntary.

  His friends had stared at him like he was mad, but he hadn’t been able to shake those feelings the rest of the day. Not even while he dueled with another permanent – a Bronze who could take on the characteristics of a bear, like its strength and size and fur. Unlike the wolf girl, who was still in the tents, this Bronze couldn’t make a complete transformation. His face stayed mostly human, which was always disturbed Declan.

  During their duel, the Bronze had swiped a paw across Declan’s shoulder, deep and painful, tearing flesh that the Rubys had scarred over already. His shoulder was still sore and aching, but he did take the Bronze down. Eventually.

  Declan stared up at his slanted ceiling. The wind howled outside, shaking his Stolen A-frame, rattling his one window and door. A blizzard had descended from the Kruth Mountains. The sort that would thin out the population of the camp. He wondered how many frozen bodies there’d be in the morning. How many poor souls would never return to their families – their families never knowing what had happened to them.

  For the millionth time, Declan cursed the leaders of the nations surrounding him – the king of Heerth, of Quirl, the Jewels. Every single one of them. They had to be aware of the camp’s existence, of their taken youth. Yet, they did nothing to stop it. They infuriated Declan.

  The Jewels rarely did anything, though. He thought back to Ewan’s death. The bandits responsible had never been found. Had never really been searched for. Probably all because Ewan was Anexian. The Royals didn’t care about Anexians. The Rioters. Not even when the king’s consort had been one of them.

  Declan’s thoughts drifted to Emry. Again. He wondered what her life was like now. If she was happy. If she was glad to be alive. One day he’d find out. One day – if he ever got out of this camp…

  He pushed down the panic that he might never be free again – that he’d die here like countless others had. Like the poor souls left out in the snow might tonight. Declan rolled onto his side to glare into the flickering embers of his stove. He’d get out. He wouldn’t die here. The words were his lullaby as he drifted off to sleep, listening to the wind.

  :::::

  The full moon drew Emry to the edge of the river. Onto the pebbled beach. It wasn’t a particularly wide river – more like a very large creek or stream. Yet, it was wide enough to catch the moonlight. It shimmered over the somewhat calm, flowing water.

  Emry smiled to herself and dropped onto the riverbank. She picked up a handful of the smooth, cold rocks along its bank and began tossing them into the black water one after the other, watching them plop beneath the surface.

  She knew he was there – just beyond the riverbank, at the edge of the tree line. She could feel him there, observing her. Without even turning. She didn’t glance back at him, though. He’d come to her when he was ready.

  A moment later he was at her side, dropping onto the rocks beside her. “Having fun?” He asked amusedly.

  She’d run out of pebbles. Emry picked up another handful and began tossing those into the river. “Not exactly,” she replied dryly.

  Declan chuckled and ran a hand through his shaggy hair. She’d never seen his hair so long. It was to his bearded chin and curled at its ends in various directions. “What do you do for fun, Emry?”

  She thought of her shadow blades and grinned. “Lately, I’ve been combatting strangers.”

  He stared at her, the moonlight reflecting off his eyes. “Have you become a soldier?”

  “No.” She let out a short laugh. “Not every battle involves steel. Sometimes words can be just as effective.”

  His smile faded, and he picked up his own handful. Instead of tossing the ro
cks into the water, he transferred them from one hand to the other and back again. “I can agree with that. Have you won any of your battles?”

  “A few.” It was true. She wasn’t as nervous about what was ahead as she’d been when she’d first arrived in Kruth. Rumors of what The Mistress had done had spread across Kruth, even into the Midlands.

  Levric was spreading her fame himself in Anexia. As he’d asked, she was leaving rallying Anexia up to him, and she was focusing on the other regions. Like Glavenryl. But she didn’t want to think about that right now. Declan was here beside her.

  His arms had grown thicker since she’d last seen him. She suppressed the urge to reach out and squeeze the tight corded muscles beneath his somewhat drab shirt. Trez’s arms were just as big, but she’d never suddenly wanted to grab them.

  He’d noticed her staring. “Do you like what you see?”

  She winced and felt her cheeks grow red at the humor in his voice. “What about you, Dec?” She asked instead of answering him. “What do you do for fun?”

  A shadow passed across his face, his eyes dimming. But then it passed, and he was giving her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Do you mean other than spending time with beautiful women such as yourself?”

  Emry loosed a startled laugh. “What?”

  He chuckled and glanced down at his hands, watching the rocks pass between them. “A friend of mine is teaching me how to dance.”

  “Dance?” Emry repeated incredulously. “I’ve watched you dance before. You seemed to do just fine.”

  “It’s not that sort of a dance.” He smiled crookedly at his hands.

  “Oh.” Emry could feel her cheeks burning now, humiliated she’d not picked up on his innuendo sooner.

  Declan glanced up at her just as she turned away, and laughed – a loud, deep sound. From the way he kept going, Emry wondered when the last time he’d let himself do so.

  She narrowed her eyes. “It wasn’t that funny,” she said flatly.