Page 9 of Heart of Defiance

I sprawl on my stomach across his muscular legs, my own legs dangling. As I try to squirm away from him, he pins my lean frame against him with one arm while the other tugs on the reins.

"What are you doing?" I sputter. "I was going to?—"

His thighs shift with the press of his heels, and the horse springs forward, away from the burning. The soldier's voice comes out in a growl. "I'm saving your life, as little as you seem to care about it. There's nothing else here you can salvage."

Chapter Four

Jostein

Iko glances around our hasty refugee camp. In the first haze of early dawn light that seeps between the trees, the people of Feldan huddle together, some dozing, some staring ahead in a daze. Their faces are marked with grit and soot—and here and there smears of blood.

My friend rakes his fingers back through his dark blond hair, pushing the chin-length strands behind his ears. His lips slant into a wry grin, but his voice comes out rough. "Well, this is a mess and a half, isn't it?"

I swallow thickly. "We did the best we could."

I don't know how many of the townspeople died in the Darium attack. We managed to usher a few hundred deep into the forest beyond the western edge of the town, farther than the Darium soldiers bothered to venture. From the size of the settlement and the number of buildings now smoldering in embers, I doubt this is even half of them.

But then, we're lucky we made it to the town far enough ahead of the Darium forces to warn them at all. If we'd beenwith the empire's squadron, they'd have expected to see us burning and murdering alongside them.

Our first loyalty is to Dariu, as our overseers so often remind us.

Iko and I meander onward in our informal patrol, Iko fiddling with a branched stick and a scrap of leather he's assembling into what looks like a slingshot. As if the sword at his hip isn't enough of a weapon.

He never knows how to sit still. Always has to keep his hands moving. I'll admit that he's come up with some ingenious solutions by seeing what odds and ends he can meld together, but this morning his fidgeting is wearing on my nerves.

A woman we pass is clutching her arm, weeping in soft sobs. I kneel down in front of her. "Are you injured? We have a medic who should be able to help."

She shakes her head. "It's just a scratch. But I got it when—I couldn't grab Maud fast enough..."

Another sob overwhelms her voice.

I straighten up with a sensation like a jagged blade in my gut. I don't know who Maud is—wife, daughter, friend—but it's obvious she meant a lot to this woman.

The cleric and a few of his devouts who escaped the burning of their temple have been offering what comforts they can to their neighbors. I’ll have to direct one of them over here when we next cross paths.

As we walk on, Iko hums to himself. "We should show them a painting of Agnethe. They can feel good that they were spared that catastrophe."

His jaunty tone brings my gaze jerking to him. He catches my expression and swipes a hand across his mouth, looking abashed. "Too much? Too much. Ah, there's our spitfire prisoner. It was something watching you play hero to save her from her own heroics."

If his voice has gone droll again, I'm too distracted by the sight of the figure up ahead of us to care. All my exasperation is aimed at her.

I've gathered from murmurs and mutterings that the bloodthirsty woman's name is Signy. She didn't tell me herself, of course, because she hasn't said a word to me that's not cursing or complaint since I hauled her out of the town square.

She sits now with her arms looped around her raised knees and her head drooped, her rumpled black hair spilling down her back, but I recognize the tension still coiled in her sinewy frame. Given an opening, she'd be dashing back to Feldan in a split-second, never mind that the soldiers she'd like to flay are long gone now.

That's why there's a rope wound around her wrists and ankles, tying her to the birch tree she's crouched in front of. She already tried to run off twice before we finally put her under official arrest for resisting military authority.

That was a few hours ago. Maybe she’s cooled off a little since then—enough to be reasoned with.

With trepidation winding through my chest, I walk the last several paces to stand in front of her. When she doesn’t acknowledge me, I clear my throat. “Well? Have you sorted yourself out yet?”

She lifts her head, and I immediately regret drawing her attention. Those striking emerald-green eyes blaze hotter than the summer sun, searing into me as if she’s peering straight through to my soul.

Her lips pull back in what’s almost a snarl. “The one who needs sorting out around here is you. You call yourself a Veldunian soldier, but you’re not even willing to fight for your country? You might as well take off that uniform and put on the Darium bones.”

The comment sets me even more on edge in an instant. “We’re not the ones who torched your home. We did our best to warn you and get you all to safety.”

Her voice rises. “We would have stood up to those assholes with sticks and pans. You’re the ones with the swords, and all you were willing to do is run away.”

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