Bloodlust (2 page)

"Arise."

Ivy straightened and fixed her gaze on his chest. This far below ground, the sun dared not risking shining, and so the emblem of their people on his royal tunic — a silvery purple dagger striking a golden heart — looked dismal and a shade of its normal glory.

"Angar told me you found her."

"Yes. I was about to seek out the others."

"Leave it to the guards."

His tone suggested "those more capable," and it took all of Ivy's willpower not to lash out at him. Her temper had earned her a few scars over the years. She had no desire for more, especially to be belittled so in front of a lowly goliatha.

"Then I request permission to resume my interrogation," she said stiffly.

"Angar will handle that." Her father held out a massive hand, and the guard stepped forth from the shadows farther down the hall.

His boots clomped against the ground as he slid forward to stand beside her father.

He should move back half a step.

"Is there anything I can do?" Ivy stared straight ahead at her father's emblem. At seven feet tall, her father was a monster of a man, just over a foot taller than she. Over the years, some of his muscle had converted to fat, but he was still strong, always powerful, and intolerant to a fault.

"Yes."

She lifted her gaze to his face in time to see his lips twitch.

"Tower duty."

The worst job of all.

Barbarian-Princess Ivy gazed out of the fortress tower window, wishing her post was anywhere else. She craved action and adventure. 'Twas in her blood — the cry of a barbarian.

The barbarian race was dying out, to the surprise of no one. After all, their rages and power surges tended to end badly, and with lots of blood.

She pounded her fists on the windowsill. If only Angar hadn't seen her and told her father. Ivy had never been in any danger. Sure, goliaths were almost as vicious as barbarians, but it had only been one. And a female at that. Female goliaths were nothing. Well, that wasn't exactly true. A few months ago, Javelin had thought the same as she and ended up with a nasty scar on his arm for his foolishness. Male goliaths had the potential to be more than any single barbarian could handle — but only if the barbarian was not in Bloodlust mode.

Her Bloodlust mode had been dormant, but even so, she could have easily disposed of the goliatha, had she been given cause to. Only Angar burst onto the scene. Now her father thought her incapable of true action.

She'd show him.

Teal grass stretched for miles until it met the darkness of the Forest of Gildersnatch. She had watched the other guards scourge the Forest for the past two hours, glimpses here and there between the trees. No other goliaths had been found. Beyond, the Mountains of Flyerdales loomed higher than the fuchsia-tinged sky, the drooping violet sun nearly ready for its slumber.

Unbidden, Ivy's eyes closed. How her body craved for rest — peaceful slumber unlike the restless non-sleep she'd been suffering through for months. She dreamt not, or perhaps nightmares spoiled her sleep and she woke without remembering them. Mayhap not remembering them was a blessing, considering how much they disturbed her. At least her days were somewhat peaceful.

Whether the peacefulness would last — ah, now that was the reason why Ivy had not been relegated to a more docile activity like tempering steel or hammering iron. Even so, tower duty, so far from the possibility of battle, was the one job Ivy hated. Every available barbarian not in the midst of weapon-making remained on full alert. The trolls had been on the move lately, and trolls never brought about good tidings.

So Ivy forced her eyes open by pinching the soft underskin of her arm. The bruise marred her tanned skin, an ebony marking. She welcomed the pain, embraced it, became one with it. The faint stirrings of anger welled in her chest, and her fatigue fled. Her pupils contracted, and her breathing hitched. Her eyesight heightened to the point she could see every leaf on the tallest oakpine tree in the Forest.

On a branch sat a vulture. Its yellow eyes hardly blinked, seeing everything.

Without thought, Ivy snatched her silverbow and fired off a steel arrow. Having accurately anticipated where the vulture would fly, the bird's attempted flight to safety instead ensured its death. The arrow pierced its chest, and the vulture plummeted to the ground.

Ivy scaled down the side of the tower with ease despite the almost perfect smoothness of the stone walls. A meter above the ground, she released her grip and jumped. Her heels and ankles did not appreciate the jarring sensation, but she straightened, shook them out, and rushed over to the vulture.

Angar, in full barbarian gear, the glint of the dagger's hilt on his chestplate glittering in the waning light, rushed over. "A vulture." His wad of spit landed two inches from Ivy's boot.

She stared at the offending liquid then the bird. The vulture was massive, far larger than she had first thought.

The guard reached for the carcass.

"Return to your post," she said, her voice cold.

Angar had the overconfidence to blink and then glanced at the tower she'd abandoned.

"I shan't tell you again."

Still he lingered.

She raised her hand, ready to land a blow that would knock him back. "You dare defy me?"

"I dare to follow my barbaron's orders," he answered, his tone matching hers.

Ivy's shoulders slumped for only a second. Her father truly did think her inferior. Expecting a rush of rage to fill her and banish her sadness away, she was most annoyed when that did not happen.

"And what orders are those?" she demanded.

He glanced at her dragonhide boots, for the first time, the traces of shame flickering on his features. "I did not mean to step out of line—"

"You sold me out."

"I followed my duty."

"Same thing." She grabbed the carcass, but the guard snatched it out of her hands.

"Please, Barbarian-Princess—"

"Don't make me run back to your daddy," she said, mocking his tenor.

His square jaw jutted toward her, and his cold eyes told her he would do just that.

Beyond annoyed, she half-wanted to remove the dagger hidden within her boot to chop off his smirk. "Run off, Father's pet."

Angar had started to walk off, but he turned back. "I am no one's pet."

She stepped forward, her fingers tracing the dagger on his emblem. "Ah, but you are." Ivy shoved him back with enough force a human male would have been flung back yards. Angar did not move an inch, but the telltale twitch of a vein in his neck proved 'twas only because of great effort on his part.

To assault a barbarian guard was to court death. No one survived it — not even other barbarians. Without another word, or a backward glance, Ivy started back toward the tower. After a few seconds, she whipped around, darted forward, and reclaimed her prize from Angar's grasp. The next moment, she cut open the vulture's stomach.

Angar made a gurgling sound.

She glanced at him, her hand hardly moving as she claimed the scroll from the cavity so as not to attract the guard's attention. "Surely you know to check for messages in their stomachs. Trolls are known for... What is it?"

His horrified expression had Ivy somewhat nervous, an unfamiliar feeling.

He pointed to the vulture's claw. Which had been painted silverly purple.

Like the dagger's hilt in their crest. Shock caused her to drop the bird. Luckily, she had already concealed the scroll.

"Now you've done it," Angar hissed. "You're going to get me killed."

"Why would Father—"

"I do a lot of things, Barbarian-Princess Ivy, that you need not concern yourself with." Her father's booming voice set Ivy's teeth on edge. She dipped her head even though she should have touched her forehead to the ground, as Angar did. The guard wasn't a barbarian. He was a lapdog.

"Perhaps if you would share more information with me," Ivy returned easily, "then errors would not be made."

"All you do is commit errors and bring shame."

Her face flushed hot. How dare he reprimand her in front of a mere guard!

"You were training a vulture?" she questioned, her voice even and not betraying the swirl of emotions coursing throughout her body, threatening her vision and nearly paralyzing her arms.

The barbaron nudged the dead bird with his foot. The last rays of the violet sun highlighted the gray strands mixed in her father's blond hair. His piercing blue eyes were as cold as ever as he fixed them on her.

"You might as well tell me now," Ivy continued. "There's no point in keeping it a secret any longer. Admit it, you wished to use it to intercept troll messages. But how? Trolls aren't color blind. No other vulture has claws such as his."

"You need not concern yourself with this." He picked up the dead bird with more tenderness than he'd ever shown her. "Angar, escort Barbarian-Princess Ivy back to her room."

She thought not.

"I will remain in the tower until my relief comes." Her tower duty, as much as she hated it, would continue on for another four more hours.

"Your relief already came." The barbaron growled, his gray-splattered goatee not hiding his scowl.

At least Angar had the decency to appear apologetic. And he knew better than to touch her. With her a half step behind him, they walked to the stone fortress drawbridge and entered. On the third floor, Angar opened her door.

She breezed past him but paused in the doorway. "Why didn't you stop me from gutting it? You knew about Father training the vulture." Just a guess, but indicative pink blotches colored his cheeks. "You saw the purple claws."

"Not until after." He bowed deeply, head low, and sped off.

The barbarian knew more than he was saying. Why would a guard, not even the captain of it, seem to be a confidant to her father, the barbaron?

Like a caged animal, Ivy paced her room. Being alone with her thoughts was not something she relished. No, she was a woman of action.

She called for her handmaiden and instructed her, and no one else, to bother her for the rest of the evening.

"But you haven't eaten dinner yet, Your Highness." Weedna rubbed her hands together, head down.

Ivy stifled back a sigh. Weedna was more a gnat than a barbarian. Probably would rather break an ankle than step on an insect. "I'm fine. Go now."

"If you're sure..."

The barbarian-princess narrowed her eyes, and Weedna scampered out with a whimper, closing the door behind her.

Ivy locked it and raced to her window. As she had since she turned three, she climbed out and landed on a soft bush. A walk might serve to clear her head.

But she traveled miles, unable to diminish her unease as her muscle grew tight, her heart palpitating, her mouth dry. Returning to her rock bed would not serve any purpose. Sleep would not be a reprieve this night. By now, she neared the border of their land.

A wide stream gurgled to her right, and she knelt beside it to drink when the tip of a blade stuck to the side of her throat.

"Do not move," an unfamiliar voice growled.

Of course, Ivy did just that. She turned toward the voice even though the blade pierced her neck.