Page 118 of Jeweler to the Blessed
He grunted in pain.
I shouted in protest, finding my footing as he shoved me back. Prepared for another attack, I pulled my dagger from my waist.
“Run,” Hart gasped.
His sword was out as he faced hisattacker. Even in the dark, I recognized the short blond hair and the scar on the right side of his face.
I didn’t run.
“Dammit, Hart. Don’t do this,” Soren hissed.
As angry as his words were, they still held a plea. He didn’t want to fight Hart. He only wanted me. Something soured in my stomach. I didn’t want to die, and I didn’t want the Feared to take me.
“I told you I would,” Hart said. “You want her. You go through me.”
Soren’s face held regret as he pulled the blade back. It was coated in Hart’s blood. I couldn’t see from my angle where he’d struck. Soren’s lips pressed in sheer determination as he readied another swing.
As if remembering something, he glanced down. I was unsurprised to see R. Lourd’s ring on his finger.
The adamas glowed green. “You don’t want to do this.”
Hart laughed. “That won’t work on me.”
With effort, he swung his blade at Soren. Steel clashed, the sound echoing through the Oldwood.
“I wasn’t sure I believed that,” Soren replied.
The ring glowed red as he changed tactics, using strength.
I didn’t know what to do. Hart winced. He was clearly in pain. How deep had the blade gone? Why didn’t he heal himself? Surely, he knew healing himself was necessary to protect me in this moment. I didn’t think I could fight Soren.
Another terrifying thought crossed my mind. Hart might not have more anger stored. What if he’d used it all at the mine cave-in?
“I thought you understood.” Hart sounded genuinely disappointed, but he didn’t lower his blade.
Soren laughed, but it was hollow. “I did. Until that advisor came in with a better proposition.”
Hart paused momentarily.
Vaddon? He had finally made his way into the Feared. Soren charged Hart again. Their blades connected with a clang. Hart kicked Soren back and swung. The red of Soren’s adamas cast an eerie glow in the Oldwood. His power surged as he fought with a ferocity that had likely earned him his scar.
I could tell Hart was fading as he took a step back.
There was no clear path for me to help. I’d only be in the way if I tried to intercede with my dagger. Any skill I had lay in one-on-one defense. So, I stood helplessly on the sidelines as a magicless Hart fought a rage-fueled Feared.
The blade meant for me must have cut deep. His moves were slower than I’d become used to. Feigning left, he must have known Soren’s anger would drive him to overcommit. Hart withdrew another dagger from the sheath at his lower back. A groan tore from Soren as the dagger slid into his exposed right side.
Soren fell to his knees.
Instead of attempting another swing, a dagger I hadn’t seen soared across the distance of trees—heading directly for my chest.
Hart, again, was there before I could think.
The careening blade pierced Hart’s chest instead of mine. Horror flooded me, icy and pointed, as he pulled it out and threw it back.
He fell to his knees. “Dammit, Soren.”
Soren was too slow to avoid Hart’s return throw. The dagger lodged in the side of Soren’s neck, and he fell back with a final grunt.
