Page 21 of Fear the Flames
“We’re outside, Finnian,” Ailliard points out.
“Knock on a tree,” I suggest while rubbing the ache in my neck. Why am I always aching?
Ailliard cuts me a look that translates to,really? Could you just not join in for once?His eyes flash between us, “I was just coming to tell the both of you that we need to get moving soon. Didn’t realize you’d wake up ready to murder.”
“That’s our morning routine,” Finnian says, his voice still thick with sleep.
“Wake up, coffee, stab someone, brush teeth,” I add.
“Adorable,” Ailliard mutters before turning on his heels to rejoin the rest of the group.
Finnian’s groan vibrates the back of my head, “We don’t have coffee.”
“Maybe we could just die, at least then we’d be able to sleep,” I grumble.
“That sounds more inviting than it should,” he whines.
I slowly sit up again, squinting into the sunlight that bathes the forest. The sun is my enemy. I almost swat the sunlight before retracting my hands. No need to look as disturbed as I feel.
The group agreed it would be best to make camp close to the temple ruins. We left Aestilian under cover of darkness, taking an extra step to ensure that it stays hidden. Fatigue weighed on everyone after riding for two hours. It’s practically a death sentence to travel through the Terrwyn if you don’t have your wits about you, especially at night. We’re probably less than an hour away. But after Jarek almost fell off his horse, one of the guards Ailliard chose to escort us, we decided rest was the most sensible option rather than pushing forward. I’d hoped Ailliard would have chosen one of the guards that helped me escape Imirath, but they’re already taking on responsibilities in our absence. With the tasks divided up, it wasn’t worth the risk.
The guards he chose aren’t terrible, they’re actually the best guards we have; I just can’t stand Jarek. He’s the type of person to tell you that you’re wrong if the words he said made you angry. With his wavy shoulder-length dark blonde hair, gray eyes, and broad shoulders—he loves wielding his looks. They’ve never worked on me, though. His personality makes me dryer than a desert. Dusting the dirt from my pants and redoing my braid, I move to rejoin the group.
My skin prickles with surprise when the sharp sound of a shooting arrow infiltrates my senses. I drop to a squat, unsheathing two daggers as the arrow flies over my head.
“Attack!” a voice shouts behind a large boulder.
War cries fill the air and at least thirty clan members hop over the rocks. The blood that stains their raggedy clothing hints toward them being one of the more violent clans. Wonderful. Who needs caffeine when someone is so graciously trying to kill you mere moments after you wake up?
“Shoot straight,” I say to Finnian.
“Throw true,” he finishes off our signature pre-battle ritual.
My guards rush to my side but don’t bother getting in front of me. My pulse pounds in my ears, and my chest feels alive with the anticipation of battle. I whirl my knives in their direction while Finnian fires arrows, both of us charging side by side. We’ve taken down four before our groups clash.
I don’t have the advantage of size, but I do have the advantage of my mind. I’ve taken down people larger than me just by timing my moves correctly. Scanning their footwork and calling their moves before they make them.
The woman I’m charging raises her ax high in the air, but I drop down, sliding in the leaves, and shove my knee into her shin. She falls forward, unable to maneuver herself to protect her neck from my knife. Her warm blood coats my hand while I stand, getting myself ready for my next target. I unsheathe the sword at my hip and smirk when his eyes flash toward my blood-covered hand. These are the kinds of clans that killed Finnian’s family. They travel through the Terrwyn and Sweven, burning villages in service to the gods, thinking the gods will find them superior if they kill the people that settled on their land. A cocky smile stretches across his cracked lips—so many men have worn the same smile before taking their last breaths in my presence. The only thing I love about being underestimated is proving people wrong every single time.
“I don’t want to hurt you, pretty.” He licks his lips, and I internally gag. “I can make you feel really good if you put the sword down.” The shimmer in his eyes gives away that he thinks he’s making me the offer of a lifetime.
I laugh in his face, watching his cocky smile melt away. “Killing you is the only pleasure I’ll take from you.”
I block the first swipe of his sword; the metal clashes together and vibrates my fingers. His eyes move before his sword does. Ramming my sword into his and knocking his to the side, I shoot my fist forward and pound it into his nose. If the skirmish wasn’t raging around us, I would have heard the crunch of bone. He flinches backward, crimson blood leaking from his nostrils. He’s unable to stop the tears that fall from his eyes.
“My gods don’t like violent women.” He spits blood in my direction, but it falls short of my boots.
“Well, they sound quite boring,” I shrug. He acts out of anger, rushing forward without anticipating how slippery his blood made the handle of his sword. I knock the sword free from his hand and shove mine deep in his gut. “My blade is my god,” I state before pulling the sword free. He crumples to the ground at the same time an ear-piercing shriek sounds through the area, followed by water splashing. Ten purple tentacles with poison spikes shoot out of the small pond our horses were drinking from.
A vextree.
I’ve only heard of them, never encountered one.
The monster’s long, slug-like body springs to the shore. Another high-pitched shriek emanates from its circular mouth—its entire face opens to display rows upon rows of teeth that travel far into its throat. The battle continues, but everyone is constantly looking over their shoulder, waiting to see if the monster will move further than the shoreline. Time stops when I see a flash of orange from the corner of my eye. A sharp stabbing sensation twists my gut because I realize that’s not just a flash of orange; it’s Finnian being dragged across the ground by a tentacle wrapped around his ankle. I’m too far to throw knives.
“Finnian!” I shout, hating the helplessness that worms its way through me. We’re separated by so many people. We never separate in moments like this. “Finnian!” I yell again, charging forward without a second thought.
I’m so caught up in my emotions that I don’t notice the person charging at me from the side. My feet pivot in their direction, and I attempt to raise my sword in time to block them, but I’m too late. They got the upper hand while my eyes were on Finnian. I brace myself for the impact, but it never comes because an arrow shoots from behind me. Flying so close to my head that I’m fairly certain the feathers brush against my ear. It sinks right between their eyes, cutting so deep into their skull that the arrow makes it halfway through before they fall to the ground.
