Page 53 of The Puppeteer and the Poisoned Pawn

The forest blurs around me, wind and branches whipping across my cheeks. Words and promises and conversations lace together in my head, echoing in my ears, pounding like war drums.

16. Women are Dragons

I don’t even notice as the ground changes to snow and the air chills in the North Saphrine Forest. Icicles fall from frozen branches. Icy wind whistles against tree bark. And there’s a shift in my surroundings; I sense I’m no longer alone. I stop my strides, boots crunching in the snow as I come to a stop. Hot clouds puff from my mouth, trickling into the cold forest air.

Light crunching sounds echo against the trees. One by one. Careful footsteps.

The same type of beasts that attacked us when I first met Warrose. They prey on me now. I see the thick manes of fur, the glowing silver eyes, the giant snouts. They’re like small, wingless dragons with mounds of multicolored fur.

I stay completely still, knowing I can’t outrun them. I count. There are only… four. Two at my back. Two facing me.

My pulse races in my throat, and my fingers twitch to grab the small dagger Runa attached to the belt around my archer’s dress. I don’t even know how to use it, but my hand flexes around its hilt as if it’s handled weapons regularly in another life.

Without a proper cloak to keep my arms warm, I’m surprisingly feverish, as if tubs of hot lava are being poured into my veins. My will to survive becomes a tangible entity, widening my stance, scanning the way each beast cautiously steps forward, making an effort to detect if they have autonomic weaknesses. The one to my left favors his right hind leg.

That’s a start.

The one with a weak hind leg pounces without warning. My dagger whips from its holster, twirling in my hand as I dive forward, darting through the air to meet the beast’s momentum. But before we can collide, I spin to the right, ducking my body away from its razor-sharp teeth and thrusting my dagger into the questionable hind leg. It cuts directly through a tendon, and the beast screeches like an angry crow, taking a nosedive into the snow.

I don’t stop to admire my work or wonder where the hell I learned to do that. Because the rest seem to decide they have a better chance of attacking together. They swarm me all at once. It’s too fast, a blink of an eye, and I have absolutely no time to examine what I should do to each of them to survive this. I’m a sitting baby bird on a battlefield, waiting to be crushed.

As I hunker down, baring my teeth, preparing for the pain of biting, clawing, and disemboweling—a blade pierces the skull of the beast directly in my line of sight, spearing right between its eyes. And a second before its body even hits the ground, a hooded figure draped in dark animal skins, furs, and a belt of shiny weapons bolts through the pine trees.

I duck as they unsheathe twin swords from their back, spinning around to slice through the beasts like a kitchen knife through slabs of butter. We’re both sprayed with crimson mist and raw innards slushing onto the white snow. The hooded figure is fast, wielding the sword like an artist with a paintbrush, graceful and precise.

I wonder for a brief moment if it’s Warrose. He specializes in dangerous beasts that lurk deep in these forests.

But the figure is smaller than his broad frame and massive arms. They’re dainty yet muscular. An inch or two taller than me. And I catch a sweet whiff of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts.

As the last beast falls to the ground in a gushing heap of dismemberment, I raise my eyes to the shadowed hood.

“Ya have come a long way alone, dashna.” The smooth, deep woman’s voice warms my skin like a bubble bath.

“Asena,” I utter, recognizing that motherly voice and calming nickname immediately.

Her hood is pulled back, revealing her light-brown skin, long brunette braids, and beautiful almond eyes.

It’s hard to believe she moves that fast, being in her forties. She’s a silent storm in the night. A weapon greater than most men. I never thought a woman was capable of all that. I was raised to believe we were meant to look pretty. A lady doll.

“Ya look surprised,” she says, giving me a once-over look.

I nod. “I am. You and Garanthian said you were powerful. But I guess seeing it is different than hearing about it.”

Asena lifts her chin and wets her plush lips. “Ya killed that one.” She points to the first beast that attacked. It bled out.

My gaze falls to my hand, covered in steaming, thick blood. I drop the dagger. How did I do that? I’ve never fought anything in my life. Well, except for the man that taunted me about DaiSzek’s well-being at Demechnef.

“Thought ya told my husband and me that ya don’t fight,” she says calmly.

“I don’t. Not sure where that came from.”

“The memories haven’t shown ya?”

Memories. Does she know about my condition? Realization swings into my gut, washing down me like acid rain.

“This is in the prophecy, isn’t it?” My stare is unblinking. Betrayal slithers back up my spine, curling my fingers into fists, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

Asena nods once.

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