Page 86 of Crown of Darkness
Second strike.
My mind flashes back to that encounter in the bookshop. This ‘Gray Guild’ that wants to overthrow my husband is working with my mother.
With her? Or for her?
Do they even know what they’ve begun?
“Baylor?” I try to yell, but the sound is a muted whisper.
He’ll have to take care of himself. I have my hands full.
The warrior whirls, cutting down an enormous merchant who charges at him. He moves like lightning, barely pausing to shove the man off his blade before he spins and guts a woman who tries to brain him with a meat cleaver.
Another Asturian warrior is launched through the crevice. A female, this time.
Then a third. And a fourth.
There will be five in this pack; they always hunt in groups of five.
But the fifth is no warrior clad in gold.
Instead it’s a bane, wearing a thick golden collar the size of my forearm.
It lands on all four legs, its slavering jowls quivering as it roars, and then it bounds after a pair of women that scream and flee toward a restaurant.
I have to get these people out of here.
Or create a target they might focus on, to give the merchants time to escape.
Summoning a bow of raw aether, I forge an arrow out of flame and nock it swiftly. Heat sizzles near my cheek. It was a trick Thiago taught me; he can’t wield Fire, but he knew it would teach me to control every inch of flame. I lock on the bane and sent the shaft blazing through the air.
The bane screams as my arrow strikes between its shoulder blades. Its fur catches fire instantly, until it’s a howling inferno of rage and pain.
I don’t have time to focus on it. My fingers are blistered—I’m still perfecting my fire arrows—and now I have the attention of the remaining four Deathguard.
And no voice.
My bow vanishes into nothing.
“What’s wrong, little girl?” The warrior sneers, wiping his fingers along the edge of his blade and flicking blood onto the cobbles. “Scared?”
Voiceless. Impotent rage simmers within me, but there’s more than one way to communicate.
He grabs for me and I punch him in the face, driving the force of my blow through my knuckles.
His head snaps back and he staggers, but he’s twice my size and recovers quickly.
“You’ll pay for that,” promises the female.
I spin low, beneath the sweep of her sword, swiping her feet out from under her. The second she crashes to the ground, I scramble for her fallen sword.
Four-on-one aren’t great odds and my daggers are barely half a foot long. Jokes about little pricks notwithstanding.
The one I punched sneers and takes a step toward me. But the blond grabs his arm and removes his mask. “Wait.”
“Let me go!”
“Don’t you know who she is?” The blond’s eyes lock on me and I realize I’ve seen his face before. One of my mother’s guards. Halvor, perhaps? “That’s the princess.”
