Page 39 of The Shadowbound and the False God

Rodney rolled his eyes. “You offered your help, not your commentary.”

“Perhaps, but I’ll give it anyway: I wielded more impressive weapons as a foal. Your needle would bend and break before it pierced my skin. Lower it.” He waited with his arms crossed and an impatient, albeit slightly amused, expression. Glowering, Rodney sheathed the sword and silently cursed Raif for equipping him with such a pathetic weapon.

“Where is he?” Rodney demanded. He crossed his own arms, unsure of how to hold himself. He was a great many things—clever, cunning, quick-witted and silver-tongued—but he had never been considered intimidating. Not in any form, butespeciallynot in this one.

“I showed Raif to the Enclave, the only safe haven in Elowas. I would assume he is still there, if he’s as intelligent as he purports himself to be.” As he spoke, the centaur’s eyes glanced back and forth between Rodney and the forest that surrounded them. That even such a fearsome and formidable beast was unable to let his guard down here was not lost on Rodney.

“Will you take me?” He had to try, though he knew already what the answer would be.

“As I said, I will point you in the right direction. But the soldier had something to give in exchange; you do not.”

Rodney sighed, then thrust out his hand to shake and said, “I’m Rodney.”

The centaur scoffed and ignored the gesture. “Your name will not endear you to me, púca, in whole or in part.”

“Perhaps not,” Rodney said, lowering his hand. “What may I call you?”

“Fenian.” His muscles rippled dangerously as he stamped a front hoof a bit too close to Rodney’s foot.

“Fenian. Tell me, what will those other enemies have to say when they catch me on the way to this Enclave and I explain to them that you were the one who sent me there in the first place? And Raif besides.” When the centaur’s smile faded, Rodney’s own smirk grew. “I can’t imagine they’d take kindly to one of their fellow hunters protecting their quarries.”

“Or I could kill you now and avoid the trouble,” Fenian growled.

“If you didn’t kill Raif the second he set you free for that,” Rodney nodded at the burn marks, “then I’m confident you’re bluffing now.”

Fenian took another step forward, towering over Rodney. His expression darkened, and he puffed out his chest and flexed his muscles for good measure. “You’re so sure he’s alive? That I’m not lying?”

“Yes.”No.

After several long moments locked in their standoff, Fenian sighed and backed down. “I would not harm a living thing,” he repeated. Whether it was a reminder for Rodney or for himself, Rodney wasn’t sure.

“Show me the way, and the rope he used to snare you is yours. I’d imagine it would serve you well in your hunts.” It was true that Rodney had nothing of his own to bargain with, but the utility of the iron-threaded rope had already been madepainfully apparent to the centaur—he had the wounds to prove it. Surely he would see value in the offer.

“The weapon is not yours to promise,” Fenian said. There was far less conviction in his tone now. He was interested.

“Raif keeps an entire armory of weapons at his disposal, and I’d wager he has several more ropes just like that one hanging on a rack somewhere. Reunite me with him, and it’s yours.”

Fenian kept a steady pace ahead of Rodney, refusing to talk and responding only in grunts when Rodney asked a question. For his part, Rodney kept well out of reach of the centaur’s hind legs, which he occasionally kicked back. The first time, when his hoof nearly connected with Rodney’s knee, he’d insisted it was a reflex. Rodney was unconvinced the other close calls that followed were accidental.

Almost as soon as they’d started down the road, the hard-packed dirt gave way to moss and ferns and stones. The air felt somehow lighter, and only grew more so as they continued down some invisible path Fenian seemed to know by heart.

“Just how many lost souls have you begrudgingly escorted to safety, Fenian?” Rodney prodded. Another noncommittal grunt confirmed his suspicion.Heartless hunter, indeed.

“None which I was so glad to be rid of as I will be you,” Fenian shot back.

“I believe myself to be excellent company.” For the first time since arriving in Elowas, Rodney felt his sense of humor returning. Though it was likely unwise to tease the centaur, he could hardly help himself.

“You would.” Fenian picked up his pace slightly. The centaur’s long stride covered twice the ground Rodney’s could, and he had to jog to keep up.

He nearly ran headlong into Fenian’s hindquarters when he stopped mid-motion. Once he’d righted himself, Rodney peered around the blockade of the centaur’s broad shoulders to see what had halted him so suddenly. A figure was approaching from up ahead. His hand fell back to the hilt of his sword. Fenian had agreed to escort him, but never to protect him. Charitable or not, he knew there was little chance the hunter would defend him from his own kin, or worse.

The figure’s gait was confident and brisk as they closed the distance, still only a silhouette in the darkness. They carried in one hand a longsword, its blade far larger and more threatening than the thin toy Rodney was prepared to draw.

“I believe my part of the bargain is about to be fulfilled, púca,” Fenian said.

“Raif!” Rodney called out, the tension falling from his shoulders. His relief was unreserved. He never thought he’d be so happy to see the guard captain’s scowling face—he’d have run to him if he had any less restraint.

As Raif neared, his eyes flicked over Rodney’s form, catching on his fur. His nose. His tail. He raised his brows. “You’re—”

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