Page 22 of Bride of Mist
Already her stomach eased.
She would challenge the Westlander to battle. Naturally she would win. Then, and only then—when he was laid out flat on his back, at her mercy—would she claim revenge for Rivenloch, for Hallie. Take up her sword and give him a swift and noble death.
A death that wouldn’t trouble her conscience.
A death that would let her sleep at night.
“Come on. I’m not goin’ to hurt ye,” he said, coaxing her forward with a wave of his hand. “And I can’t eat this enormous fish all by myself.”
Feiyan smirked. Enormous? Now he was boasting. She pulled salmon twice that size out of Rivenloch all the time. Still, her belly growled as she caught a whiff of the roasted trout. Surely there was no harm in supping first and fighting afterward.
Keeping her hood over her head, she crept down from the oak. She edged toward the fire and sat on a mossy stone.
He plucked an alder leaf to fashion a makeshift platter. Then he divided the trout, blowing on his fingers when he burned them, and placed half of his catch on the leaf for her.
She ate carefully, facing away from him to lower her mask and take a bite. Despite her hunger, she lingered over the supper. She hardly tasted the trout, knowing what was to come after she finished eating would be far less appetizing.
Finally she tossed the bones onto the fire and replaced her mask.
Long ago, she’d learned the wisdom of hiding her features. Not only did a mask conceal her identity and gender. In battle, it disguised the merest hint of hesitation and uncertainty. It ensured she wouldn’t betray her next move by the clenching of her teeth or the sudden intake of breath.
She let him finish his supper. He might as well enjoy his last meal.
After he’d stripped the trout clean, while he was smacking his lips and licking his fingers, she stood up and braced herself for combat.
“Sit down,” he said, arching a brow up at her. “I know ye want your weapon back. But that’s not goin’ to happen. I won’t have ye slayin’ me in the middle o’ the night.”
She didn’t need her sword. Not yet. She was confident she could overpower him without it.
She gestured for him to get up. Then, angling her body to give him the smallest target, she flexed her knees, lifted her arms, and summoned him with a wave of her hand.
“Ye wish to grapple for it?” he guessed with a dubious smirk.
She was used to scorn. Men always judged her by her size and underestimated her skill.
She nodded.
He shook his head. “Ye’re only a wee lad. Leave while ye can. Save yourself some breaks and bruises.”
She raised her fists, insisting he accept her challenge.
“Look,” he said. “Ye’ve taken my charity. Ye’ve had a nice meal. Go on now. Maybe without your nasty blade, ye’ll find a way to make an honest livin’.”
She narrowed her eyes. He imagined she was a common outlaw. He didn’t realize she was an assassin. That miscalculation would cost him his life.
She lifted her chin and clenched her fists.
“Nay,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m not goin’ to fight ye.”
This she hadn’t foreseen. What villain would walk away from an easy conquest? She bit the inside of her cheek.
He added, “Run along home. I’ve got no quarrel with ye.” He ignored her completely then, sniffing and staring into the flames.
No quarrel with her? This monster had brought destruction into her peaceful world. He’d ravaged her clan folk as if they were rats to be exterminated. And worst of all, he’d thrown down her cousin—fierce, strong, brave Hallie—and left her for dead.
The memory riled up something powerful inside her. The crouching beast within—the creature that had sat in the shadows for days now, waiting for the chance to take vengeance for the horror she’d witnessed—sprang to life.
With a growl deep in her throat, she flung herself forward at the brute that—worse than calling her his foe—dismissed her as if she were nothing.
