Page 41 of Of Kings and Thieves

“Good. That’s the hardest part. So, choose your target and visualize the effect you want to achieve. Then, allow the notes to flow naturally, guided by your heart.”

I closed my eyes, focusing on the rage that bubbled within me—the injustice I’d experienced as a half-siren, the anguish of losing loved ones. Soon, the melody took shape in my mind, raw and powerful.

“Excellent,” Killian murmured, sensing the shift in my energy. “Now, let it out.”

I opened my mouth, and the song poured forth. It was fierce and haunting, a stark contrast to the melancholy tunes I’d sung before.

Killian took a step back.

Col and Magnus stopped their sparring and turned toward me, and I focused my magic on all three of them.

And I kept singing.

The three men desperately tried to keep their eyelids from drooping. Sweat beaded on their foreheads and they shook their heads frantically, gritting their teeth as if in a silent battle with an invisible opponent. Their desperation was palpable, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. The power of my voice pulsed through my veins, and it felt euphoric.

This was real power, and I reveled in it.

My emotions fueled the song, and with each note, I felt something inside me shift. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew it was big, and it was important.

Magnus stumbled, his eyes rolling back in his head, and Col’s grip on his sword faltered. They were losing consciousness.

My voice trailed off, and the men recovered, their eyes wide with shock.

“What was that?” Magnus breathed, his voice hoarse.

“That was incredible,” Col murmured, his eyes locked on mine.

Killian said nothing, but I saw the approval in his gaze.

I smiled, feeling something inside me shift again. This time, it was a sense of pride.

“You were right,” I said to Killian.

“Mark it down, Killian,” Col said teasingly, though he still looked at me with pride. “I’ve never heard Samara use those words.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The distance between where I had met the men in the woods and our destination of Ravenfell Pass wasn’t far when measured by crow’s flight, but the going was tough, and apparently the road was only traveled by the most experienced and daring adventurers. And we were doing it on horseback, which created its own set of problems. There were many stones for the horses to pick up in their hooves, and many places where a four-legged animal could slip and fall.

But the horses never wavered, and I had grown more confident every day as I learned to listen to Sprite’s needs and help her, and she learned to trust me.

Col told me it was called Dead Man’s Road, but it was more like a narrow path than a road, and anyone who didn’t know would have missed it among the rocks and cliffs. The drops were still terrifying, and I spent most of my days gripping Sprite and forcing myself to look ahead and not down.

And then there was the wind. Worse than anything I had ever experienced. It was horrible and dangerous, and as if it had a mind of its own, bent its will toward sending us to our deaths on the rocks below.

With each passing day, my newfound skills grew stronger, my sword arm more precise. The satisfaction of connecting a well-placed strike or parrying an attack filled me with determination, and I focused on the swirling energy inside me as I danced around Magnus’s next strike. They had challenged me to fight and sing at the same time, and it was taking every bit of my focus and energy.

My voice rose in a haunting melody, the power of my song weaving through the air. I could almost see the notes shimmering, a tangible force enhancing my combat ability.

“Magnificent progress,” Killian said after I’d stopped singing and allowed all three men to recover.

As I continued to train with them, I realized that not only was I growing stronger, but it was as if I had Flint back again, with his infectious laughter and his unwavering confidence. Magnus’s humor and easygoing attitude made me feel at ease, while Killian’s calm wisdom steadied me during moments of doubt.

And Col... he was special. He always seemed to know just what to say to make me feel better, even after a rough training session, and his touch sent shivers down my spine.

As we trained, our bodies often collided, and I could feel the heat between us growing stronger with each passing day. Each night after training, Col always made me sleep, and my frustration with him was growing. I wanted—no, needed—his body. The desperation was making it hard to focus.

One day, as we sparred, his hand brushed against my hip, and I gasped at the sensation.

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