Page 62 of A Shattered Kingdom of Steel

“Come,” Asheros says, nudging me with his arm. The softness fades from his expression and hard lines form at his jaw. “Our killer is waiting.”

Our killer.

Vorr’s murderer. The one poised to shatter our kingdom.

Taking a breath, I renew my focus. Once, I believed Asheros Larmanne to be a distraction. Now, I know that’s far from true.

He is my motivation.

If Vorr’s killer is successful, they’ll destroy Viridian and Cryssa’s reign and unleash war between the five Courts. So much hangs in the balance. War always costs lives. But not only must I bring Vorr’s murderer to justice to save my friends’ rule and prevent an all-out war, but I must also do so to protect the male who is slowly, but surely, staking his claim to my heart.

Chapter Eighteen

Beneath the bright sun, we ride for two more days. Though it’s not uncomfortably hot this time of year in the southern half of the Steel Court, sweat slicks my skin, adding to the dirt and grime already making my leathers stiff.

Gods, I would kill for an opportunity to bathe.

Rustling its mane, our horse whines.

Asheros leans forward. Patting the gentle beast’s neck, he says, “All right, boy. We’ll stop.” Holding up a fist, he turns around to face the others. “Let’s rest. We’ll make camp here.”

“Thank. The. Gods,” Ronan grumbles, sounding nearly as tired as Asheros’s stallion. “My ass is sore from all this riding.”

Gryska slaps her thigh. “That’s what females say after a night with ya.”

Kheldryn bursts out laughing and covers her mouth. Orim’s eyes light up with amusement, and he bites his lip to keep himself from laughing.

Even Savell stifles a chuckle.

Narrowing his eyes, Ronan glowers at all four of them. “Yeah, yeah, very funny.”

Paying them no mind, I slip off my mount, steadying myself when my soles touch the ground. Raising my hands over my head, I stretch my back, hoping to soothe my aching muscles.

Asheros leads the stallion deeper into the forest and secures him to a tree with the other horses. Kheldryn, Gryska, Savell, and Ronan begin to construct our tents, while Orim and Asheros build a fire. Marching decisively toward the center of camp, I take an armful of bedrolls and drop two or three beside each of the tents.

Wind brushes my hair, and with it, a steady rhythm like that of a deep rumble. Angling my head, I brush stray hair behind my ears and strain to listen. For a moment, the sound is buried beneath the chattering of the forest. But then, I hear it.

Running water.

Instinct pulls me toward the sound, my focus solely driven by the need to submerge myself in fresh, clean water. As I stride forward, the rhythm intensifies, a light pounding in my ears. A lush, green hill, rocks, and what appears to be the mouth of a large cave, completely overgrown with vibrant mosses and grass, comes into view.

Relief surges through me. Anticipation tingles along my hot, sweaty skin.

Thank the ever-living gods.

Descending into the cave, the chill of the air inside washes over me. I tilt my head back a little, eyes half-closed while I start to unclasp my fighting leathers. I’m deep into the cave when I tug the leather vest off, followed by the shirt I’ve been wearing underneath.

Gods, it feels so good to be rid of it, even if just for a moment.

“Bladesinger!” Asheros calls after me, words rushed with alarm. “What are you—”

I turn around to look at him, hands hovering by the waistband of my pants. “What does it look like? I’m taking a bath.”

Every last bit of panic drains from his demeanor. He stares at me, brows raised. “A bath?”

“Yes, a bath,” I say, gesturing to myself. “I’m absolutely disgusting.”

“You,” he says slowly, “are never disgusting.”

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