This uncomfortable way of walking made counting steps difficult, but after five hundred paces and no sound of the warriors behind us, I chanced a question. “Why did you let Aaru go? What if he can’t find us?”
“Aaru knows what he’s doing.” Hristo kept his voice low.
He couldn’t possibly know that. Hristo had just met Aaru the day before, and that didn’t count because they’d been separated by an entire cell and Aaru had stopped speaking after Altan tortured him.
Hristo glanced over his shoulder, his brown skin flushed dark with heat. “He offered to go to keep you safe. Because he knows I will not separate from you, and neither will Ilina.”
And Aaru thought that since he was the newest of my friends, he was the most expendable.
Or . . .
Or he was using this as an opportunity to leave, now that I’d done my part in helping him escape the Pit.
He hadn’t even said good-bye.
After picking our way through the woods another seven hundred steps, I asked, “What about Kelsine? We left her behind.”
“She wasn’t there,” Ilina said. “When we came out again, she wasn’t where she’d been sleeping before.”
“You didn’t say anything.” Hurt bit into my tone. Kelsine had been used by the warriors. She was a victim. People came in and took her parents. Her family. And then she was thrust into a dark hall with strange humans. If she breathed fire at them, it was out of fear. She was a child, and Ilina should know that.
Ilina shook her head. “At first, I was so surprised to see Crystal and LaLa. And then the warriors came and we had to run.”
I lowered my eyes. She was right. My thoughts had been uncharitable. Of all people, Ilina understood the importance of dragons.
“We might still see Kelsine again,” she said as we climbed up a series of rocky shelves. “I don’t imagine she got very far. Not in her condition.”
“No more talking.” Hristo’s command came an instant before we heard a stray crack in the woods.
The three of us held absolutely still, waiting for another sound.
Above, LaLa trilled and wove between the trees. Perhaps the sound had come from her or Crystal. But no, both dragons had been up there all along. The noise had come from somewhere on the ground.
My heart pounded as I scanned the forest around us. Everything was brown and green, dripping with humidity. Birds called and red squirrels skittered from tree to tree. There was nothing unusual about the woods, at least as far as I could see. This place was different from the peaceful forests around Crescent Prominence, though.
Maybe I only felt that way because I’d never been hunted there.
After fifteen seconds, the tension in Hristo’s shoulders loosened and he continued guiding us uphill.
Our journey was slow, mostly because we kept pausing to throw stepped-on twigs away from our path. Several times, Hristo had us all bend and drag our fingers through trampled grass, to help it stand again and erase evidence of our passing. Then we’d toss fallen leaves and other forest debris in our wake, to create the illusion that no one had come through this area for some time.
Four thousand steps.
Five thousand.
Six thousand.
I tried to stop counting, because the numbers were getting ridiculous, but my mind dutifully tracked every step as though my life depended on it.
The sun dipped toward the horizon, and the whole time, I waited for Aaru’s return. It occurred to me that I knew so little of his upbringing—whether he could traverse strange woods without leaving a trail, or if he knew how to find clean water, or even if he was good at walking long distances.
What if he was hurt? Could he patch himself together well enough to find us?
I wanted to ask Hristo if we were almost to wherever he wanted to be—because we’d definitely been walking for more than an hour—or if we could go back for Aaru, but that tension had returned to his shoulders, and he kept checking our surroundings like he couldn’t feel how utterly alone we were out here.
Abruptly, LaLa and Crystal peeled off from our group and flew south, as though they’d spotted a mouse or vole. It was hard to blame them for choosing dinner over following us; my stomach grumbled with hunger, too.
I’d long since managed to catch my breath, at least, and the agony of running through the woods was mostly behind us. Only my chest hurt now, still pinched from physical exertion. As though my lungs believed that sprinting meant I needed less air, not more.
Stillness touched the forest.
First the birds. Then the bugs. Even the wind seemed hushed, and my mind worked through half a dozen possible explanations for this unbidden quiet. Warriors. Predators. Aftershocks. Storms. Sudden deafness. Aaru?
But Aaru’s silence would have been complete, and when Hristo paused to look around, I was fairly sure it wasn’t just me noticing.
Hristo glanced over his shoulder, long strands of sunlight shining amber against his dark skin. His mouth opened, like he was about to say something, but behind him, a haggard man stepped onto our path.
A map of white tattoos glowed against deep-brown skin. His filthy, matted hair had been recently cut, likely chopped by the long knife that rested against his thigh. I’d rarely seen his face, but I knew the man immediately. His fierce scowl, aimed at me, was unmistakable.
I’d been wrong to fear the warriors or a predator or anything else. I should have kept watch for the other escaped inmates, particularly the one who’d been imprisoned for attempting to kill me.
Hurrok.
CHAPTER TWO
SWEAT SLITHERED DOWN MY FACE AS I CONSIDERED our situation.
Hurrok had the long knife.
We had: Hristo, the battered sword he’d carried from the Pit, Ilina’s bow (but no arrows), and three knives—one each. We’d had more, but they’d been destroyed along with the Pit. Ten minutes ago, we’d had two dragons, but they’d abandoned us for voles.
“Mira Minkoba.” Hurrok’s voice hissed with the wind. “What happened to your face?”
Before I could stop myself, my fingers brushed the bumpy ridge on my cheek. Though it was a new injury, the noorestone power I’d wielded in the Pit had healed it, leaving behind a scar.
Hurrok laughed. “You made it out. Hard to believe a pathetic thing like you could survive all that.”
He wasn’t the only one who was surprised. “That’s no thanks to you.” The presence of my friends made me stronger, and words I’d have never said alone came out when I was with them. “You almost ruined our escape. Why was killing me more important than freedom?”
“You wrecked everything. My work. My family. My whole life.” His knife hand trembled with rage as he stepped closer. “Killing you is the only thing I have left.”
“Stay back.” Hristo drew and lifted his sword, a move that should have been intimidating, but his arm shook with strain. He’d already fought off Luminary Guards and warriors, and escaped the noorestone explosion I’d caused. It seemed unlikely he was truly up to fighting off another opponent, even one who’d spent the last year in the Pit, screaming every time the noorestones went dark.
“Or you’ll have me arrested?” Hurrok’s face twisted with amusement. “The Pit is gone, Fancy.” That was Altan’s name for me, not his, but it sounded the same from both men, dripping with derision. “The warriors are dead. I can do whatever I want.”
And killing me was at the top of his list, apparently.
“There are plenty of warriors left,” I said.
“We’re still trying to get away from them. You should, too.” Ilina stood right behind me, her arm touching mine. Beads of sweat formed between us.
“I don’t care if they find me, as long as you’re punished for what you’ve done.”
I fought to keep my tone gentle. Calm. “You mean the Mira Treaty? You’re not the only one whose life changed because of it.” If I could keep him talking, then he wasn’t attacking. It seemed unlikely I could persuade him not to
end my life—that would take someone with more Daminan skill than I had—but I had dealt with people who hated the Mira Treaty before.
Business owners who’d once made a living off transporting Hartan produce away from Harta, but were now destitute.
People who’d kept small dragons as pets and had to give them up to sanctuaries.
Dignitaries who were now required to respect the beliefs of other islands, rather than being allowed to dismiss them entirely.
But most of those people were able to separate the girl from the treaty and had no desire to hurt me. Until Hurrok revealed his attempt on my life, I’d had no idea there’d been more than one, and that first man had come when I was only seven; Hristo had saved me then, and apparently several times since.
Sweat trickled down Hurrok’s face. “This has nothing to do with the Mira Treaty. It’s all about what you said. You care for creatures more than you care for people.” He stepped toward us. “You Daminans claim that love is the most important thing in the world, but you proved that wrong the day you supported closing the mill.” Roaring, Hurrok surged forward with his knife, but Hristo lunged in front of me and blocked with his sword.
Metal clashed, sharp and bright and deadly. Hurrok whipped his knife around, and Hristo moved to counter. In the sinking sunlight, steel flashed and gleamed with every movement.
Ilina tugged my arm, drawing me backward—away from the fighting.
“We have to help.” But what could I do? I wasn’t a fighter, or a diplomat, and even if I’d had those skills, I was too exhausted; I couldn’t trust my body to do what I asked.
“Where did our dragons go?” Ilina looked to the sky. “A little fire wouldn’t hurt right now.”
She wasn’t wrong.
Desperately, I glanced around the forest, but only the lengthening sunshine fell through the trees. Twilight shadows grew across the ground, and for a heartbeat, I hoped Chenda was nearby; she wielded shadow skill like I’d never seen.
But these were normal shadows, not gifts from Bopha, and the fighting ahead took on a new fury as Hurrok pushed toward Ilina and me.
“We should run.” Ilina squeezed my arm and tugged, but where would we go? This whole trek, I’d unthinkingly followed Hristo uphill, and if he had a destination in mind, he hadn’t shared it. Yes, we’d been heading to the safe house, but obviously we hadn’t been going straight there.
Every time Hurrok lunged, Hristo put himself between the attacker and me, swinging his sword fast enough to blur.
Numbers rattled in the back of my head: beats of metal on metal, thumps of boots on dirt, and gasps from both men as their struggle progressed. Neither was at his peak, and the failing sunlight made it difficult to see.
But no matter how exhausted Hristo was, his pace never flagged. He met every strike with a parry, like he read intent in the other man’s eyes.
“Do you think Hristo will kill him?” Ilina’s hand was heavy on my shoulder. “Is that a dumb question?”
Hristo had killed people back in the Pit. Gerel, too. And maybe Ilina, though I’d seen her aiming for legs and shoulders, places that would injure but not eliminate. But what happened in the Pit had been desperation. We’d been trapped. Surrounded. And at least one group would have killed all of us; the other group would have killed most of us.
“I think Hristo will do whatever it takes to keep us safe.” My throat felt dry as we watched the battle move through the narrow space, brushing against trees and ferns and fallen branches.
Hurrok had said something about a mill—that I supported closing it.
Lightning flared in my head, and I knew. I knew what I’d done to him and why he hated me.
“The Nightmeadows!” I stepped forward, away from Ilina. “You’re talking about the Nightmeadows.”
Hurrok loosed a roar, jamming his knife at Hristo’s gut. My protector twisted his body, and the blade sailed safely past. In the same motion, Hristo lifted his knee, catching Hurrok’s flank, and the would-be assassin went down, arms and legs flying. His knife clattered against a rock, just out of his reach.
Hristo’s breath heaved as he planted his boot on Hurrok’s chest, pinning him down. He slid his sword point toward his opponent’s throat: a warning not to move.
“I remember the Nightmeadows.” I paused three paces away from them. “The mill was struggling to produce enough grain, thanks to broken equipment. The owners wouldn’t pay to have it fixed. The supervisors had started beating some of the workers to inspire them to reach their goals.”
Shadows melted into darkness as the sun dipped below the horizon. Through the purple gloom, Hurrok sneered at me. “My family depended on the mill. On the money I brought home. And you had the mill shut down and destroyed. For dragons.”
The Stardowns—the local Bophan sanctuary—had acquired a new Drakontos maior, but the bordering properties were too populated to safely keep such a territorial dragon. So they’d sought to purchase the surrounding land, offering a more-than-fair compensation for the trouble of relocating families and businesses.
“The sale was going to happen whether or not I spoke about it,” I said. “I’m Daminan, as you said. And I was only a voice, not a senator or councilor or judge. I read the speech I was given.” I’d done a lot of that in my life. Until that new year’s speech in the Shadowed City, the one supporting the deportation of Hartans, I hadn’t ever questioned the words I’d been given. I hadn’t ever refused until then.
But I had inquired about the fates of people before giving the Stardowns speech. Both the Bophan and Daminan governments had assured me everyone was being treated fairly in this agreement. And it was to help dragons. Of course I supported better accommodations for dragons.
“Your speech tipped the mill’s owners.” Hurrok’s tattoos twisted with his scowl. “They sold because of what you said. You ruined everything. My family starved because of you.”
Heedless of the sword at his throat, Hurrok kicked up and hooked Hristo’s leg at the knee.
My protector dropped and rolled back to his feet, and the sword flashed in the waning twilight. But it was too late. Hurrok had retrieved his knife and footing, and somehow he’d managed to place himself between Hristo and Ilina and me.
Hristo shouted, “Run!”
Ilina grabbed my hand.
Hurrok lunged for me, knife gleaming.
I stumbled away, but not fast enough. Fiery pain lit my shoulder blade, slicing my dress and my skin. Warm blood dripped down my back.
Then, chaos.
Ilina screamed my name, and I was running with her—or at least trying. Darkness hid roots and brush, and suddenly the entire space was a death trap.
We didn’t get far before Ilina pulled me behind a large rain tree. “Are you all right?” she whispered.
“I’ll live.” Between the trees, I could just see Hurrok and Hristo fighting. Hurrok thrust and twisted, suddenly inside Hristo’s guard. He pushed forward, jamming his shoulder into Hristo’s chest. My protector kicked the other man’s knee, and even from here the sickening noise of crunching bone was audible. Hurrok didn’t fall; though starved and weak from the Pit, he had a rage that gave him terrifying strength.
“Why did you say anything?” Next to me, Ilina was shaking. The whites of her eyes were bright in the purple gloom. “Upper Gods, Hristo should have killed him while he had him on the ground.”
Shame spiked inside me. She was right. I shouldn’t have said anything, but there’d been a part of me that hoped I could work the same magic my speeches did. That maybe the Daminan gifts of charm and persuasiveness would finally manifest. “I’m sorry,” I rasped.
The blades slid off each other with a loud shing, and Hristo moved to block a new attack—
Maybe it was the dark.
Maybe he’d misjudged.
Maybe Hurrok was just cleverer than he’d expected.
The knife came inside Hristo’s parry, cutting across the side of his hand. My protector screamed as both he and the sword d
ropped to the ground, and the sharp scent of blood pierced the air. An anguished howl rent the night.
Birds took flight, a flurry of squawks and feathers.
“Oh, Damyan. Darina.” A sob choked out of Ilina, and its twin wrenched up my throat a moment later when understanding hit. “Hurrok cut his hand.” She sank toward the ground, trembling with shock.
I dug my fingers into the rough tree bark, heart pounding and vision swimming with tears. Hristo had lost. The evidence was undeniable. Hristo slumped on the ground, his bleeding hand pressed against his chest as Hurrok seized the sword and drew it back.
“Watch your friend die, Hopebearer. Like I watched my family die.”
The blade swung.
CHAPTER THREE
“STOP!” I CRASHED THROUGH THE WOODS, ROOTS and brambles catching at my feet, but I knew the truth:
I wasn’t going to reach Hristo in time. The sword would slice through his neck, and I’d lose him forever.
“Hristo!”
But the blade swung and—
Noorestone light blazed through the forest; two pairs of footfalls beat the ground; a knife whistled through the air and struck Hurrok in the back of the neck.
The sword fell. Hurrok followed an instant later, and he didn’t get up.
There was Hristo, bleeding next to a corpse and the blade that had almost taken his life. He’d doubled over, clutching his hand like the pain would cause him to explode if he didn’t shield it with his body.
I skidded and dropped to the grass beside him. Wet warmth leaked through my dress: blood. Hristo’s blood. It pumped from his hand with every beat of his heart, soaking the earth.
He listed to one side, and I caught him in my arms, ignoring the sharp pain in my shoulder blade as my cut tore wider. Hristo had always seemed so big to me, but suddenly he was a boy not much older than I was, and the way he shuddered revealed not only his fear, but his mortality. He could die.