Page 25 of Not Today, Satan
A second souldier cries out. I blow my bangs out of my face and spin around.
Raising my sword, I circle him, my hood shadowing my face. He darts to the left, and I mirror his movement. His baton shakes in his hand, and the badge on his shoulder comes into focus—the same badge Attero has. A souldier-in-training.
That should make it easy. I’ve had more combat lessons than this one. I almost feel sorry for him.
I’m pulling back to swing at him when something connects with my skull, sending pain shooting through the back of my head into my eyes.
I’d forgotten about the third souldier.
The ground rushes toward me, and I hit it with a grunt, wind smashed from my lungs and stones digging into my palms. My sword clatters and settles at the edge of the cliff. I stare at it in horror.
“Who are you?” The souldier drags me up by the elbow and shoves the hood off my face. His shoulders stiffen. “Your Highness?”
He lowers my arm, and my body sags when his name tag comes into focus. “Diripo.”
He’s one of Father’s oldest foot souldiers, and he watched over me many times when I was young.
And he’s always had a bit of a soft spot for me.
I puff out my lower lip like I used to when I wanted something from him as a child. “Please let me go. There’s been a mistake.”
His grip doesn’t loosen. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but we’ve received orders to bring you back to your chambers. There’s a rumor you’ve released a shadeling.”
The back of my head throbs, and I rub the bump with a whimper. “All I’m doing is taking a tour of the place that’s going to be mine soon. As you can see, I’m alone.” I peer up at him from under my eyelashes. “The last thing I’d do is free a shadeling. They’re evil.” Jutting out my lip farther, I widen my eyes like the shadelings who plead their innocence with me weekly.
I can’t make out his eyes beneath the visor, but he relaxes his hold on my arm. He clears his throat and tilts his head. “I suppose we could—”
A screech pierces the air, and Nathan Reynolds flies from the cave, his left leg extended. The blood drains from my face. I call out for him to stop, but it’s too late.
His foot connects with the temple of the souldier-in-training beside me, who has the misfortune of having removed his helmet to shine the visor with his sleeve. His head hits the stone wall with a crack, and he collapses onto the ground, unconscious.
There’s no time to think. Diripo’s already released my arm and turned toward the disturbance. I dive for my sword and somersault onto my back. He rushes at me, and I brandish the weapon. He halts as the sharp edge meets the hem of his vest.
“Don’t make me do it.” My voice quivers. “I know this won’t kill you, but it’ll hurt a ton, and I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Your Highness.” Diripo removes his helmet, exposing his human-form face—hard cheekbones and soft eyes, a long scar running between them. It’s the same face that comforted me as a child when I had nightmares and Father was nowhere to be found. My grip on the sword loosens. I can’t hurt someone who cared for me when no one else would.
“Think about what you’re doing,” he says. “You’re risking everything for a shadeling. And a murderer at that. Let me take you back to your father, explain this sinner took you captive and I helped you escape.” He reaches one gloved hand out to me. “Please, Your Highness. I’ve been your father’s loyal servant for years. He’ll believe me.”
“Devica,” Nathan Reynolds says. “Don’t listen to him. It’s a trick.”
Diripo’s eyes indicate the opposite. They’re sincere. After all, I promised I wouldn’t harm him. He’s returning the favor.
I bite my cheek. Father will forgive me if Diripo talks to him. I can put all of this behind me. Nathan Reynolds will be forced back to his lot and most likely receive a worse punishment, but I’ll never have to see him again.
I lower my sword and allow Diripo to pull me to my feet.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
“It’s okay, Your Highness.” Diripo smiles, the same smile that tucked me into bed all those years ago.
“Devica,” Nathan Reynolds pleads. I don’t look at him.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, the back of my throat aching. “Please forgive me.”
I ram the hilt of my sword down onto Diripo’s head. He drops at my feet, unconscious. I turn away from the bleeding cut on his skull.
That was the last thing I wanted to do.
