Page 73 of Fires of the Forsaken
I shook my head.
“Pity. An absolute pity. It produces such awondroussound—”
“Surely not ifyou’replaying it.”
“I,”the boy stuck out his chest proudly, “am the finest harpist in Darfield. Ask anyone. You must come with me sometime. You’ll find yourself in love with—oh no,” he groaned.
The soldiers had turned back onto the street and were staring at us.
“Drat.” The boy straightened and gave me another beaming smile. “Luckily for me, I’m faster than them.” He squeezed my arm. “You’ve beautiful eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?”
And, with that, he sprinted away, the soldiers pursuing him.
22
Mr. Shit Brick
Ihated mornings.Especiallymornings that started at the ass-crack of dawn, after I’d spent the night sleeping at a desk (to avoid the icky bed). I had a knot in my neck the size of a tennis ball and a numb left ass cheek. I wasnotbright-eyed, bushy-tailed, or ready to seize the day by the horns.
But Itriedto be friendly.
“So what’s for breakfast?” I asked my new guard (a scrawny guy with a salt-and-pepper beard) cheerily when he barged into my room.
“If you wanted to eat, you should have woken up an hour ago,” he said.
I pursed my lips. “Rhona didn’t tell me that.” MissStick-Up-Her-Butthad resumed her spot at the door yesterday and stared at me.All. Freaking. Night.
The man shrugged. “Not my problem. Here…” he chucked a sword at me, probably expecting me to catch it. But heclearlydidn’t know me.
I ducked away with a squeal. The weapon clattered to my feet, mashing my toes. “Yo! Ouch!” I winced. “I’m already up! I didn’t need the extra wake-up call!”
The man grunted. “Pick up the sword. Quinn is expecting you.”
I stared at the long blade as my stomach gave a nervous churn. This was a real sword. Like, steel blade, pointed tip…REAL. “He’s not gonna train me with actual weapons? Is he?” Fuck. Quinnwastrying to kill me!
“The blade is dull,” the man said.
Dull. Yeah. Sure. I picked the sword off the ground. And, because I was me, I tapped my pointer finger against the blade. To test it. I drew back with a pained hiss as the edge sliced my skin. Blood oozed from the new cut.Dull my fucking ass.This sucker was sharp! Andheavy. Weren’t swords supposed to be light and swishy? This one was like a cinderblock.
And I had to haul it with me down all ten flights of stairs. Clanging it against the walls. Whacking it on the steps. Tripping over it. I got a strenuous workout before the exercise had even started.
We didn’t go out the front entrance. Instead, we hung a hard right at the bottom of the stairs and slipped through a narrow door to a small, square courtyard.
On another occasion, this would’ve been a picturesque spot to sit with a cup of coffee. The four castle towers curled around the (overgrown) grass yard like a glistening privacy fence. An oak tree stood in the center, the branches swaying in the slow, sticky breeze.
It was peaceful. Quiet. Cool…ish. I mean, the humidity was still through the roof, but the sun hadn’t crept over the tops of the towers yet.
Unfortunately, the peace was interrupted as soon as I saw Quinn standing beneath the tree, glowering at me. His sword rested tip-down in the ground; his hands cupped over the hilt.
“You’re late,” he snapped.
Ooooh boy.This was how it was gonna be, huh? And I’d been about to say:“good morning.”Because I thought if I gave him a thousand-watt smile and did a little ass-kissing, we could start over. On therightfoot this time.
Wrong.
“I came down as soon as your lackey collected me,” I said. “You shoulda sent him ten minutes earlier if you wanted me here sooner.”
Quinn’s face reddened. “I expect you here before sunrise each morning—”
