Page 42 of Of Kings and Thieves

“Are you all right?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

I nodded, unable to find my voice, and he moved closer, his breath hot against my neck.

“Col,” I breathed.

With a seemingly great effort, he pulled his body away from mine, and I practically moaned at the loss.

“Again,” he said gruffly, motioning to the forgotten sword in my hand.

“I hate you,” I breathed, my entire body on fire with just his proximity.

“Good,” he said. “Now fight.”

With a sigh, I lifted my sword.

My movements were fluid and swift, the result of hours upon hours of practice. Sweat trickled down my brow as I parried and counterattacked, feeling the growing strength in my arms and legs.

With each passing day, I felt more capable, more prepared to face whatever lay ahead. But all the nights of training were catching up, and I often found myself falling asleep in the saddle, only to jerk awake when a stone clattered down, or a horse whinnied.

As we continued our journey, a creeping sense of unease began to gnaw at me. It started with the distant snap of a twig, or the rustle of leaves that didn’t quite match the rhythm of the wind. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being followed, that someone—or something—was keeping a watchful eye on our every move.

Sprite didn’t react, though, and neither did the other horses, so I decided the sensation was my imagination. But later that day, when the road was taking us over another land bridge of dizzying heights, I felt it again. The feeling was too strong to ignore, and as soon as we got to the other side of the bridge, I looked around.

“What’s wrong?” Col asked as he came up beside me.

I shuddered. “Do you ever feel like we’re being watched?”

He cast a sidelong glance at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. “It’s possible,” he admitted. “Have you seen anything?”

“No,” I said. “It’s just a feeling.”

“Feelings shouldn’t be ignored. Everyone keep your eyes open,” he said, raising his voice so the other two could hear. “No singing, no conversations.”

Magnus and Killian nodded, and without another word, we continued our journey. I shot Col a grateful glance for believing me, and then resumed my position in the line in front of him.

* * *

That night, I watched, entranced, as Col’s blade danced through the air, its lethal grace a stark contrast to the dimly lit campsite. Our nightly training sessions had become my anchor in this world of shadows, and as I focused on the metallic ring of steel against steel, I felt a familiar flicker of desire.

“Watch closely,” he said, his voice steady even as sweat glistened on his brow. “Your footwork is improving, but it’s still too slow.”

“I’m trying,” I growled, determined to keep up with him. We moved together, our weapons clashing in a dizzying blur of speed and precision, until suddenly, there was a strange flicker, like a whisper on the wind.

A raven feather, black as night, floated past me, seemingly dislodged from Col’s shoulder.

“Did you see that?” I asked, my concentration shattered.

“See what?” Col replied, panting slightly from the exertion.

“Never mind,” I murmured, trying to shake off the eerie feeling that had settled over me.

“Focus,” Col snapped. “We have one day left. Make it count.”

“Right, sorry,” I mumbled, forcing myself to concentrate on fighting.

Later, as we took a break, I approached Magnus, who was preparing a cold dinner. “Have you ever seen... raven feathers around here?”

“Raven feathers?” He looked at me quizzically, then glanced around the campsite. “Can’t say I have. Why?”

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