Chapter Four
It was dusk before Aelys finished.
Romik had been leaning against the wooden door frame of the cottage, chatting with Daen as his eyes scanned the road and surrounding buildings. They’d watched the young girl who lived inside walk over to the neighbor’s house, her arms straining to hold a large bundle of cloth. Several hours later, they watched her return, looking well fed, despite her pinched brow and worried frown.
Romik stepped to the side and let Daen open the door for her. The teenager looked quickly up at him, her frown fading away into a shy smile before she stepped quickly inside. Daen let the door fall closed and then turned to meet Romik’s raised eyebrows.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Daen said. “She’d have smiled at you if you’d held the door.”
“She can’t even look at me without shivering in fear,” Romik said, his tone dry. “I’m too big, too scarred.” He touched a thin white line that edged along his jaw, then pointed to another that bisected his forearm. “You, on the other hand, are tall and handsome, and gallant enough to hold the door for a poor village girl whose mother is sick. You do it to yourself, Daen.”
“Do what?” Daen wrinkled his forehead.
Romik snorted. “Pull the attention of every eligible woman—and some very not eligible—your way. And don’t pretend you don’t notice it.”
“I notice it,” Daen said with a sly grin. “But I wasn’t trying to do it with that girl. She’s just a kid.”
“Obviously,” Romik agreed. “But you have to see how you can’t blame her for smiling at you like that.”
“Like what?” Exasperation threaded through Daen’s voice. Romik let out a full laugh.
“Like you’re a hero in a story.”
“Romik, you’re so full of—”
Daen cut off as a muffled female cry reached them. Romik laid his hand on his short sword, and Daen nocked an arrow, but the cry hadn’t carried the sound of pain, terror, or loss. Rather, it had sounded…joyous.
Romik stifled a jump as the door swung open again. He lunged to catch the handle with his left hand, drawing his short sword with his right as Daen brought his bow up to aim.
“Don’t shoot.” Vil’s smooth, dark voice reached them from the gloom inside the cottage, and Romik exhaled slowly as the third member of their brotherhood emerged, pulling Aelys gently along with him as she called goodbyes to the women within. In his free hand, Romik noticed—but only because he was looking for it—Vil held Profane, the brighter of the two magic daggers he carried.
“Took you long enough,” Daen said, lowering his bow. Romik fought not to sigh as he sheathed his blade. “Now we’ll have to risk the road at night.”
“I-I’m sor—” Aelys cut herself off with a look at Vil. Romik was betting he’d squeezed her hand. Vil hated it when Aelys apologized for things that weren’t her doing. “I mean…I regret the necessity, but it couldn’t be helped. But the herbs did the trick, Mistress Barthon’s fever has broken. She just needs rest now.”
“And so do we,” Romik said quickly, to forestall any more irritated comments from Daen. “And Daen’s right. We should get going as soon as possible unless we mean to spend the night here.”
“I’m not spending the night here,” Daen said, and stalked forward without a single glance back at the rest of them.
Romik met Vil’s eyes, saw the dark flash of irritation within. Aelys blinked rapidly a few times.
Fuck, Daen. I know you’re annoyed with her, but do you have to actively seek to hurt her?
Romik understood his ex-Forester brother’s impulse to be short with their Bella. Red Lady knew he’d been just as irritated with her when she’d first bound them to her—no matter that it had been an accident and had absolutely saved their lives at the time. He’d long ago sworn he’d always be his own man, and her magical geas had called that into question.
But she set us free, Romik reminded himself. She broke the bond, though it cost her the ability to pull power through us. She let us go to make our own choices whether or not to be her protectors, and we all chose to stay…Red Lady’s tits, what a fucking mess. No wonder she looks on the verge of weeping.
But no tears fell from Aelys’s eyes. Instead, she lifted her chin, rolled her shoulders back, and smiled at her two remaining protectors.
“Daen’s probably right,” she said. “We should go.”
“You walk with Vil,” Romik said, his voice gruff. “I’ll take rearguard. It isn’t too far back to Mageford, and the Mother is full tonight. We should make good time.”
Aelys nodded, pulled her hand from Vil’s grasp, and walked the way Daen had gone, heading back to the main road that cut through the heart of this tiny little village. Vil stayed with her, silent and cloaked, a half step behind her shoulder.
Romik shrugged and rolled his head on his neck. Then he, too, pushed away from the house and followed his brothers and the woman he’d promised to protect.
They didn’t get far.
Romik had just turned on to the main thoroughfare when he saw Daen stop dead and draw his bow. Without sparing a thought as to why, Romik drew the Naked Mirror from its scabbard.
“Daen?” he called as he continued forward, turning his head to try and catch sight of any threats from the flanks. He stopped when he reached Aelys. Vil stood in front of her, both of his daggers gleaming in the last light of the sun.
“He said to be quiet. He heard something,” Vil murmured.
Romik glanced down at Profane in his brother’s hand. When Vil used that blade to cut someone, he could hear anything they said, no matter the volume, no matter the distance between them. Romik himself had a small, healing cut on the back of his left wrist that Vil had made when they were looking for Aelys’s herbs. Being able to communicate over long distances made searching so much more efficient.
“Someone comes,” Vil breathed then, and reached back to push Aelys more fully behind himself. Sure enough, Romik heard the unmistakable sound of booted feet crunching through the woods on their right…and their left.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “We’re surrounded.”
“Don’t take another step.”
The voice—rough and mean—came from behind him. Romik froze, his hands tightening on the hilt of his sword. He flicked his eyes to Vil, and then to Daen.
“Go easy,” Romik said, pitching his voice to soothe. “No one has to die here tonight, friend.”
“Tha’s right.” The man who spoke stepped forward, aggressively ramming into Romik’s shoulder as he stepped around him. He had a long, dirty knife pointed directly at Romik’s throat. “No one’s gotta die, if’n ye gimme that pretty sword—”
“Olf, stand down. We just need the girl.” Romik kept his eyes on the man in front of him, but he heard this second voice amid the sound of a horse cantering up behind him, from the direction of the village.
“Makes no sense t’leave ’em armed, yer lordship,” Olf said, baring cracked and yellowed teeth. “An’ a sword like that could feed yer men for a year.”
“Hmm, adequate point,” the newcomer said. He sawed at his reins, pulling his horse’s head around in a rough, unpracticed motion. That, and the way he slumped in the saddle like a sack of wet wool told Romik that here was a man unused to horseback. As for the horse, it hung its head down and moved without even a flicker of spirit. As it turned, Romik could see two things: one, the horse was a gelding, and two, he bore the scars of repeated whippings on his haunches.
His “lordship” isn’t a true noble, Romik surmised as the mounted man turned to bark out orders to two more men as they appeared through the trees. Makes four total, not counting this idiot. Nobody noble born would sit a horse that badly, not even a broken one like this nag. So, who is he? And what does he want with Aelys?
“As you can see,” the fake noble said, his voice affecting a whine that Romik bet he thought sounded sophisticated. “We have you quite outnumbered. That village slut of yours was quite useful, Olf. I give you leave to keep her alive. Perhaps you and the men can get some enjoyment out of her after we torch the village.”
“Wait!” Aelys called out, stepping out from behind Vil. “Don’t hurt the village!”
“I’m afraid we have no choice, Lady,” the man said, shrugging. “A regrettable necessity. They’ve seen my face as I rode through just now to come up behind you.”
“It’s dark,” Aelys pointed out. “And this is a well-traveled road. Surely they are used to noble folk like yourself passing through, especially as they are so close to Mageford.”
Ah, Romik thought, stifling a smile. She noticed his conceit too. Of course she did. Our Bella is no idiot. She knows we could easily take them…so why is she keeping him talking?
“Perhaps you’re right, Lady,” the horseman said. “But it hardly matters, they’re just villagers. There are always more where they came from. Do not concern yourself with them. We have loftier matters to attend, you and I.”
“We do?” Aelys asked.
“Indeed. For I am Sir Nuras, and I am here to rescue you from the foul brigands who have captured you and return you to…but let us keep our discretion as to that, yes?” He peered down at Aelys and laid one finger alongside his nose in the age-old gesture of a shared secret.
The urge to laugh bubbled up within Romik, and he pressed his lips together to keep himself silent. Next to him, even Olf rolled his eyes.
“Idjit,” Olf muttered.
“Your employer?” Romik asked in an undertone. When Olf cut his eyes to him, he shrugged. “Hey, an idiot’s coin spends just as good as any other.”
Olf snorted, and shook his head. “No. His lordship is just part of the job.”
Aelys cut her gaze to Romik and closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, he blinked back to tell her he understood her intent. Next to her Vil tilted his head down, taking shelter in the depths of his hood. Not far away, Daen turned his head.
“Flash.”
Romik squeezed his eyes shut and lifted his free arm to better shield his lids from the intense, searing light that bloomed overhead. It shone red and white behind his skin, and his hands and face suddenly felt crispy and sunburnt, as if he’d fallen asleep under the midday desert sun.
Olf let out a cry of pain, and Romik’s arena-born instincts took over. He slashed the Naked Mirror down toward that sound, feeling it hit something hard, and then cut through and catch as the man in front of him screamed again.
Romik opened one eye to see Olf gaping at him, his sword arm half-severed as Romik’s blade carved through the top of the shoulder joint and lodged in the man’s upper bicep. Blood spurted, spattering hot wetness over Romik’s face, and he grimaced and twisted away, dragging his blade out of his screaming enemy.
Not far away, Vil crouched over the body of another bandit, both daggers flashing in the fading magelight from Aelys’s spell. Up the road, Daen released an arrow to take out a third man, while the fourth lay on the side of the road with Daen’s first arrow in his throat.
Sir Nuras gaped at them, his eyes weeping tears that may have been pain, but may also have been despair at just how quickly they’d turned the situation around.
“Lady Aelys—” he started to say, using her name for the first time.
“Bellatrix Aelys,” she corrected him, her voice cold and haughty. “And as you can see, I don’t require a rescue. Let alone by a make-believe knight who beats his horse!”
With that, another one of Daen’s arrows sang through the air to bury itself with a thunk in Nuras’s left eye. A thin, red stream joined the glossy tracks of his tears, and he toppled slowly out of his ill-fitting saddle to land in a heap on the ground.
For one moment, silence reigned, broken only by the soft puffing of the horse’s breath. Romik inhaled slowly. Exhaled, and then bent to wipe his blade clean.
Olf let out another moan and reached toward his injury.
“Looks like it hurts, friend,” Romik said, his tone conversational.
“Not…your…friend.”
“Nope,” Romik said. “But you do have a choice to make. I can kill you clean or leave you for the wildlife. I don’t think you’ll last the night, if I’m honest.”
Olf gritted his rotting teeth and glared up at Romik. “What d’ye want?”
“Who paid you? You said it wasn’t ‘his lordship’ there. Who was it?”
Olf squinted his eyes, but his face paled as a distant barking echoed through the trees.
“Wolf, you think, Daen?” Romik asked, tilting his head toward his brother.
“Probably a bearcat,” Daen said, walking closer. “They’re less afraid of humans and more likely to range this close to a settlement. You might want to consider my brother’s offer. Bearcats don’t care if their meal is dead or not.”
Olf spat. “Fuck him and fuck you. Get the girl and kill you three. That’s all I know.”
Romik narrowed his eyes and pressed the point of his blade into the man’s shoulder wound. Olf screamed, but it faded into the back of Romik’s consciousness as a picture solidified in the shining reflection of his blade—the blade called the Naked Mirror.
“Get the girl, kill the men. That’s all you need to know.” The man who spoke stood like a warrior, muscled arms crossed over a broad chest, despite the iron gray of his brows and hair.
“And this Nuras fella?” Olf’s voice asked. The warrior grimaced.
“Keep him alive if you can. He’s an idiot, but a useful one. But most importantly, get the girl. No harm to her, understand me?”
“Yes, Gadren,” Olf said, respect in his voice.
Memory rose up behind Romik’s eyes as the image faded: a half-ruined fortress teeming with bandits, fighting their way out as the enemy shouted to grab Aelys, a desperate push for the gates, a taste of freedom…and the world exploding with magic power…
“Gadren,” Romik said, pulling his mind back to the present.
“I never said—”
“No, you didn’t. So, I should leave you to rot as I said. Luckily for you, I’m a merciful man. Close your eyes if you want.”
“Fuck you,” Olf said again, and spat weakly in Romik’s direction. Romik merely nodded and lifted the Naked Mirror high. He brought it down on the man’s unprotected throat, severing his head cleanly from the neck.
“You saw something?” Aelys said, her trembling voice no longer carrying the assured confidence of a moment ago. “You saw who paid them?”
“I saw,” Romik said as he re-cleaned and sheathed his blade. “And it’s a name we remember.”
“I had hoped I misheard you—”
“Hope is a lie, Bella,” Romik said, hearing the truth of his words resonate in his chest. No matter how much we might wish otherwise. It’s always a lie. “Let’s just get back to Mageford.”
“What about these?” Vil asked, using a blood-streaked Pure to point at the bodies littering the road.
“Leave them,” Romik said, but then turned to Daen. “But grab the horse. He’s in terrible shape, but Gormren might give us a few Munis for him. I doubt he’s worth a whole Imperial, poor boy.”
Daen nodded and caught the unresisting gelding by the bridle. Vil cleaned his blades and returned to Aelys’s side. He didn’t touch her, though based on the way he leaned toward her, Romik could see that his dark brother wanted nothing more than to wrap the Bella in the folds of his cloak and hide her away from sight.
Truth be told, I want that, too. She’s smart, and resourceful, our Bella. But she’s still so terribly fragile. I hope—
No. Hope is a lie.
“Let’s go,” Romik said then. “Let’s get back to Mageford as quickly as we can.”