Page 21 of Heart of Defiance

Jostein sighs. “Let’s go back to the square and get ourselves some bread from the bakery. It’ll be easier to think once we’ve had a full meal.”

Iko nods. “We should stroll around and visit each of the shops. You never know what else we might hear from the locals.”

It’s a nice thought, but we pass the last two hours of the afternoon gulping down our meager meal and overhearing nothing but basic pleasantries and irrelevant gossip between the townspeople. As evening sets in, Jostein checks his purse and declares that we have enough funds to splurge on a hot dinner at the tavern.

As we step into the loud, hazy space, my stomach sinks. I can’t help thinking this is a gesture of condolence—that we’ll eat and then the responsible soldier will declare that there’s nothing more we can do here, that we need to head back to his squadron.

I’m not even sure what I could say in argument.

So I pick at my leg of roast chicken slowly at our table in the corner, peering at the customers around us as I chew. I almost choke on my current mouthful when three Darium soldiers push into the room.

They’re wearing their standard uniforms, black with white bones, but no helmets, which only makes them slightly less terrifying. The locals at the nearby tables tense at their arrival, a few cringing to the side.

The man at the lead calls for mugs of ale without anyindication he’s going to pay for them. The barkeep hustles to pour the drinks.

I can’t help remembering Jostein’s story about the soldiers who murdered his uncle and cousin.

One of the other soldiers waves her arm at the patrons already sitting at a prime table. They clutch their drinks and dash off to a more cramped one that remains open near the wall.

The previous bar chatter has dwindled. As the soldiers drop into their chairs and enjoy their drinks, the conversations only continue in lowered voices.

I force down my mouthful of chicken, my chest constricting. At least it doesn’t seem the soldiers are here to investigate a recent guard post burning.

Landric shifts uneasily in his chair. He speaks under his breath. “Should we go?”

Jostein shakes his head, his voice pitched equally low. “It’ll be noticeable, so soon after they arrived. Signy’s only halfway through her dinner. We wait a little and then go.”

I start plowing through my chicken at a much more enthusiastic pace.

I’m nearly down to the bone when a man gets up from a table a couple over from the soldiers’. His flushed face and unsteady balance suggest he’s had a little more ale than is wise.

Especially in present company. He heads toward the bar, sways on his feet, and jostles the back of one of the soldiers’ chairs.

The man jerks around with a snap. “Watch yourself!”

Then the woman who claimed the table lets out a chuckle that sends a shiver down my spine. “Thaddeus wanted to have more of a lark. Why don’t you play darts with this one?”

I don’t understand what she means until the soldier whoordered the drinks gets to his feet. The drunk mumbles an apology, but the other man ushers him over to a dart board hanging on the side wall. “You disrupted our fun, you can help us have a little more.”

“Thaddeus,” his other colleague says with a trace of dismay, but he shuts his mouth when the larger man glares at him.

The drunk’s friends still sitting at his table watch with paling faces, but no one else dares even try to intervene. The soldier positions the drunk right in front of the dart board. “Let’s see how well I can outline that fat head of yours.”

As he steps back with a handful of darts, my stomach churns. Jostein’s shoulders stiffen, but Iko sets a hand on his forearm to warn him to stay put.

We could take down these three soldiers, but what would that mean for the town? Would we leave another smoking wreckage in the wake of our attempted rebellion?

We weren’t prepared for this.

The soldier whips his first dart toward the drunk. It thuds into the wall less than an inch above his victim’s rumpled hair. His friend gives a whoop of approval. The other soldier stares at his drink without a word.

So it continues, one dart after another, flying so close to the drunk’s head he must feel the air shudder with their passing. The fourth dart hits a little too close, nicking the shell of his ear and falling to the floor.

The drunk gives a muffled yelp. Blood beads on his ear, but he holds himself even more still with a brief shudder.

The whole tavern has gone silent except for the soldiers. We watch as the last two darts smack the wood on either side of the man’s neck.

“An enjoyable jape,” the soldier says casually, and saunters over to pull out the darts. My hands clench at the thought that he might pick up the game all over again, but instead heshoves the drunk toward his table. “Keep your ass in your seat, and we shouldn’t have any problems.”

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