Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (8 page)

Darius snorted, “Thank you, but no thank you. I prefer staying in my own skin.”

Ayva smacked his arm. “That sounds amazing,” she said. “A true gift.” To understand another living being fully was a thing she tried to do but knew no one could truly accomplish until one could feel what others felt.

At that moment, a bloody cry split the air. Ayva jumped, grabbing Gray’s arm. Darius leapt as well, reaching for his blade in his black-green coat, twisting and turning as the cry continued, echoing through the woods. Across the lake, creatures bolted into the dense foliage while birds took to the air and the shelled beasts skittered into the water’s depths.

“What in the light was that?” Darius asked.

They looked at one another, and Ayva knew that each was thinking the same thing.

It sounded like the cry of a child.

Ayva realized her fingers still gripped Gray’s arm. She let go. He offered her a smile of reassurance, but she knew him well enough by now to see uncertainty behind his piercing gray-green eyes. He looked ahead sternly. “We need to investigate.”

“Oh, of course, go on ahead! Meanwhile, I’ll just make sure this lake doesn’t go anywhere.” Darius hunkered down, sitting cross-legged.

“
We
, Darius,” Gray said. “We cannot afford to move alone.” He looked to Ayva.

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Together.”

Darius grumbled, but as always, she tuned him out and moved to her cormac.

They mounted and moved into the woods together. They passed tall trees, their roots sprouting from the ground. Between the folds of their bark, she saw flowing silver, moving as if alive.
Silveroots,
she knew—a rare type of Farhaven tree whose sap was pure silver. The cry sounded again, louder this time.
So close,
she thought. Suddenly Darius’ cormac—
Mirkal
—took off into a full gallop as if sprinting after the sound.

“Darius!” Gray said, reaching for the reins, but he was too slow.

“Help!”
The rogue cried out in surprise, but then he was gone.

Ayva spurred her cormac hard, and Gray did the same. They raced through thick trees, ducking beneath low-hanging branches until they heard another sharp scream.
Darius.
They parted the last stand of trees. Ayva pulled hard on her reins to slow the animal’s gallop, but before she could, the cormac stopped dead still, nearly catapulting her over its head. When she settled, she took in the scene.

Darius hung upside down in the air, suspended from a bough high above by a thick rope that was wrapped around his ankle. Before him was a woman with fiery red hair spilling over her shoulders. Horror and anger warped Darius’ face, and Ayva realized the woman held a dagger to his throat.

“You fool!” the woman seethed. “You let her get away!”

“Let who get away?” Darius stuttered, bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

Her dagger pressed closer.

Gray quickly dismounted, striding toward the woman. Ayva saw he held Morrowil—its tip aimed at the woman’s nape, ready to cut. “If your blade moves another hair, you will find your head and body no longer joined. Now, let him go,” he ordered. Ayva shivered. For all the world Gray pretended to not be Kail, sometimes… he sounded…
No,
she thought, refusing to think of the mad legend as Gray.

The woman, hearing the threat in Gray’s voice, slowly backed away from Darius.

Quickly, Ayva threw her leg over the saddle and fell to Darius’ side. She eyed the ropes on his ankle. Ayva had seen some knots in her time, but nothing like this. It would make Ole’ Rubis, Lakewood’s weaver, flounder in red-faced confusion.

“Get me out of this cursed thing—all the blood is rushing to my head.” Darius pulled himself up to untie his bonds.

“I wouldn’t…” the woman whispered.

Darius paused. “Why?”

Ayva ignored her and moved to help him.

“If you untie him, you will die.”

“Is that a threat, stranger?” Gray asked stepping forward and pressing Morrowil to the woman’s slender throat.

Ayva took her in finally. Though a dark, dust-cloak hid her frame, it did nothing to detract from her looks. Fiery red hair framed a heart-shaped face. It fell in waves like a waterfall across her shoulders. Her eyes were light brown, soft on anyone else, but on her, they were russet daggers. She eyed all three of them like curious playthings. The woman was gorgeous, in a rough-hewn, hard way. If anything, it only made her all the more attractive, like a flower that bit back.

“My name is Faye. And it is the simple truth. The rope is oiled with a poison, and anyone who touches it will die.” She said the words so plainly, as if speculating whether there would be rain or sunshine.

“Then we can just cut it with a sword…” Gray looked to Ayva. She nodded, unsheathing her dagger. It blazed white, sucking in the clearing’s light.

“Well, that’s not a bad idea on its own,” Faye mused, “but still he will die.”

Ayva hesitated, hand wavering.

“Spit it out,” Gray ordered. “Why?”

The woman nodded to three different points, “In the bushes there, there and there, are fine poisonous darts aimed directly at your friend here. If anyone dares so much as breathe upon that rope, they will fire, triggered by a pulley system. It’s a fairly simple trap, but an effective one.”

Ayva ground her teeth. “Enough. You created it, so you know how to disarm it. Tell us.”

Faye raised a single brow, eyeing Morrowil’s point. “May I?”

“Throw your blade on the ground first,” he ordered.

“Well, unless you want me to cut rope with my teeth?”

“Fine. But one wrong move…”

“Right, right, and I’m dead. I got that.” Gray lowered Morrowil. Faye moved fluidly, cutting something within each of the bushes a dozen paces away that circled the clearing. “There, that should do it,” she said and stuffed her long, curved dagger into a sheath behind her back. She looked too well practiced at that, Ayva thought. All three stood, frozen. “Well, go ahead, and cut him down.”

Ayva moved to cut the rope, but it was too high to reach, especially with her dagger. If she could jump and… She reached into her mind, leapt and… Something fizzled, and the rope snapped. Darius fell with a grunt, hitting the soft forest floor.

Suddenly, Ayva saw Faye dash, blade withdrawn.

Everyone moved at once. Gray raised a hand. Darius cried out, reaching for his blade. Ayva moved to jump before him, raising her dagger, but they were all too slow.

The woman was
quick
. She sliced but then missed, only cutting the air, then froze, as if purposively. She knelt, putting her dagger upon the ground and raised her hands meekly, though it looked like steel pretending to be soft.

Darius lay on his back, hands shielding his face. “Dice! What just happened?”

Gray’s hands slowly fell to his side. He moved before Darius and picked up the two halves of something.

A wooden dart.

Faye smiled. “Seems I forgot one. My mistake.”

Gray growled and dropped the halves to the ground. “I don’t know whether to thank you for saving his life or end you right here for nearly taking it,” he said.

She shrugged. “I merely righted a wrong—take it as you will.”

Ayva offered her hand to Darius, helping him up.

“Thanks,” he said sincerely. He
was
changing, she realized. He rose, brushing his pants and cloak free of dirt and dried bits of leaves.

Faye moved to rise and she grunted, a look of confusion crossing her face. Ayva saw that thick roots were twined around her leg, holding her in place. She would never have reached Darius, she realized. “What is this?” Faye asked. “Which of you did this?”

Ayva felt a shiver and looked to Gray. “You can…”

Gray shook his head. “It wasn’t me.” He looked to Darius.

All three eyed the rogue. Darius’ face was deathly pale. “I…”

“Enough!” Faye snapped, growling and drawing their attention back. She was bound in vines fully now, her arms and wrists trapped at her sides. “Release me this instant!”

Gray moved forward, but Darius rose. “Wait,” he said. His eyes narrowed as if concentrating. On the roots? Or perhaps on something in his own head… He raised his hand and slowly, the roots unfurled, slinking off of Faye’s foot and disappearing back into the ground.

Ayva’s throat went dry, taking a step back. “How did you…?”

Darius shook his head, looking confused. He looked to his hands as if they were not his own. “I don’t know… I just felt it. Sitting there, waiting.”

“It must have come to your defense, rising out of need when you thought she was going to attack you,” Gray said. “Just like mine…”

“No,” Darius shook his head, a sudden fire and fearful edge in his voice. “It’s nothing like yours.”

Gray was silent.

Faye snorted. “An Untamed. That’s all you are.”

“What’s an Untamed?” Darius asked, voice shaky.

“An untrained Reaver,” she stated, rising to her feet calmly. Ayva saw she had lost her dark grey dust-cloak somewhere in the chaos. Now her full-figure was revealed, and it nearly made Ayva blush.

She wore fitted red and black cloth mostly but at the arms, light chain mail glimmered. On her shoulders were thick leather pads. Yet the cloth and armor did nothing to hide an ample bosom and alluring hips. A heavy-belt cinched her thin waist, accentuating it. A long, curved blade sat on one hip and a small crossbow sat on the other. Ayva saw a throwing dagger in one boot and a few smaller ones attached to the inside of her arms.

Ayva had never seen so many weapons in one place. Well, maybe once or twice, but always by a fool sauntering into The Golden Horn—her father’s inn—acting as if more weapons somehow meant he was more dangerous, when the truth was the opposite. No one could wield that many weapons at the same time and hope to be effective. Ayva had no doubt Faye could handle every one of those weapons and more.

Darius stepped towards Faye, anger in his eyes. “You say the word like you just ate a bad lemon. What’s an Untamed and why do you despise them?”

Faye hesitated. Suddenly, she leapt with dagger in hand, attacking Gray. Taken aback, Gray raised Morrowil in the nick of time, parrying, but Faye didn’t slow. With her other hand, she unsheathed her long sword cutting and slicing in a whirling blur.

What is going on?
Ayva thought frantically. “Stop it!” she shouted.

Gray barely had time to parry one before the next attack came. Ayva saw, however, he was starting to gain control as he rolled backwards and assumed a stance. “What are you doing?” he yelled at the woman angrily.

Faye only smirked. She attacked again, moving faster. Steel rang as Gray blocked the first two strikes, but they were distractions. A kick came through, smashing him in the chest. He flew back, but somehow, instead of toppling over, he righted himself.
Wind,
Ayva knew.

The vile woman faltered in confusion, but it didn’t slow her much. She leapt with a cry. Gray growled, flowing from form to form with brutal efficiency, but his attacks grew angry and wild. They were powerful, but even Ayva could see he was leaving himself wide open with each attack. He roared with a downward strike. Faye sidestepped it, just by a hair, but it could have been slow motion with all the ease and effortlessness she portrayed. The blade sliced past her face, missing. Faye cut with her dagger, slicing his wrist. Gray slowed, but didn’t stop. Yet Faye was still moving too. She hit his wrist hard with the flat of her long blade, and Morrowil fell from Gray’s weakened grip.

It had all happened so quickly that Ayva could barely comprehend it.

At her side, Darius moved.

Faye twisted, and the blade fell upon the rogue’s throat, nearly cutting it. “Ah, I wouldn’t, Untamed. I would like to keep you alive. It is the greater of the two rewards.”

Gray lunged for his blade. In one smooth movement Faye sheathed her dagger and unhooked her crossbow, holding it at Gray’s temple. He froze, gripping his wounded wrist.

“Now, before anyone decides to do something foolish and die, including you,
girl
,” she said, eyeing Ayva with a cool sneer, “I would highly advise against it. I truly don’t think all three of you could take me, but I know sure as sugar that I can take at least two of you before I go. And that’s a promise.”

Ayva cursed. She felt so worthless. Her palm sweated as she held her dagger, knowing if she moved the woman would kill all three of them. At her feet, her eyes caught something. The rope she had cut. It was blackened, as if burned, not cut.

Gray spoke, drawing her attention. “Why are you doing this?”

“Well, besides you being a very pleasant surprise? Mind telling me where you learned to move like a Devari?
Like
being the operative word, of course. Did you watch one by chance or…” She pursed her lips, eyeing him like an inferior puzzle. “No, perhaps you aided one somehow, and he taught you a few moves? Or could you be a failed Devari?”