Page 51 of Fear the Flames
“Finnian, stop!” I shout while rushing forward. He looks back at me once before shaking his head and turning the corner, leaving me in the silence of what just happened.
No matter how angry we’ve been, we’ve never turned our backs on each other. The sting of his glare before turning the corner is so sharp that it steals the breath from my lungs as if he had punched me. A mixture of anger and defeat bubbles inside of me. I blink back the fiery tears that begin to swell and dig the heels of my palms into my eyes, groaning in frustration. Everything in me rebels against being at odds with Finnian, but what am I supposed to tell him? That I’ll change? I’ll become gentler, quieter, softer? I can’t. I’ve tried in the past, and it doesn’t work for me. I’m full of sharp edges and I’m so exhausted of feeling like I pierce anyone that gets close to me. It’s not my fault that people are threatened by me—they should be. I’ve never been able to ignore the dark parts of me that crave revenge, blood, and justice. I’m not entirely evil or unforgiving, but I’ll never be entirely good or forgiving; I reside somewhere in the middle.
A pinching sensation seizes my neck while I’m turning back toward the tavern.Fuck. I didn’t realize how far I ran down the street. I reach up and pull out the source of the pinching sensation—a dart filled with an inky blue liquid rests in the palm of my hand. My legs wobble slightly, and I blink away the dark spots that cloud my vision while tossing the dart to the street and drawing a knife. I’m slightly unsteady on my feet, but less than half the liquid entered my body, which means I have a chance at fighting off whatever it is. If any higher power is listening to me right now, please don’t let the liquid be anything more than a sedative.
Thisdefinitelyisn’t something I want to write to Cayden about.
A shadow stands on the roof of the tavern and fires an arrow my way as two figures on the ground rush toward me, cutting off my path to Ryder. I spin out of the line of fire and throw a knife toward the figure on the roof before huddling against a shop. My throw feels sluggish, and my aim is off; it hits their arm rather than their chest. My body feels like I’ve had too much whiskey. I glance back to the two figures running at me; they’re still far enough for me to make one more throw. I can take on two assailants on the ground, but there’s no point in being picked off in the street like a sitting duck.
I start to regain control of my limbs when I push off the wall and charge the two assailants on the ground, two knives in my hands. My adrenalin works against whatever drug is trying to slow me down. I glance up toward the figure on the roof. They’ve begun wrapping their arm in a piece of torn cloth, thinking I’ve elected to forget about them for now. Two knives for the two people in front of me, right? Not quite. I use the extra momentum from running to throw my knife in their direction, never halting or slowing down my speed. I don’t look to confirm if I’ve made my hit. I know I have. I can tell from the dull thump of their body hitting the roof.
“I applaud your persistence in trying to kill me, but not your judgment.” My words are sharper than I feel. When the two figures get closer, I notice it’s a man and a woman, both wearing masks that cover half their faces. I throw the knife in my left hand toward the man. He dodges it and nearly falls flat on his back, just as I expected him to dodge a dead-on throw. The throw wasn’t meant to kill him; it was just to buy me time. It gives me the opportunity to separate the two and fight them individually. A few seconds difference may not seem like much, but in situations like this, it’s crucial.
I draw a sword from my waist and jut it forward to block the woman’s swing. Her eyes are filled with malice; I think I hold the record for people that hate me but don’t know me. I shove her back and cut my sword to the side. She blocks me, but the block forces her to lower her sword to the street. Risking my balance, I raise my foot and kick her in the gut. An uneven cobblestone snags the heel of her boot, and she falls backward—her head smacking into the street. The man charges at me, and I have just enough time to pivot and block his blow before he shoves me backward. I manage to stay upright, but I’m also gravely aware that the drugs are coursing through my body with every second that ticks by.
“The effects may be delayed since you pulled the dart out, but they’ll hit you,” the man chuckles. My hands tighten on my sword. Ryder will come out of the tavern once he realizes I’m not inside…I really hope he checks the street before scouring every inch of the building.
“I’m actually honored that you needed to sedate me before a three-on-one.” I twist the sword in my hand while throwing him a wink, “Performance issues?”
He growls and advances, but I don’t trust my arms to block his blow. I circle behind him and slice through the weak spot in his armor where his shoulder guards meet his back—crimson blood sprays out. My arms are so heavy, I can’t bring the sword to his neck, but at least this slice slows him down. The woman swings at me again, and I notice her hands are covered in fresh blood from the gash on the back of her head. I’m not the only one fighting at a physical disadvantage anymore.
I’m going to need to fight with two swords—dropping one hand to my belt, I take out my second shortsword and become a steel storm. My muscles are crying, and my body is urging me to drop the swords and collapse on the street, but my mind keeps me fighting. A stinging sensation claws at the top of my right arm, and my blood begins to splatter on the street below.
Just keep fighting.
Through the pain.
Through the drugs.
I can’t yield.
“Give up, princess,” the woman bites out.
“What a tempting offer. Have you ever considered a career as an advisor? Because you’re a pretty awful assassin,” I graciously suggest.
My feet drag against the street, their figures blur, and my blood is spilling like a waterfall down my arm, coating one of my sword hands and making the hilt of my blade slippery. I’m not going to be able to last much longer. I need to do something bold…or something stupid. It’ll be considered bold if I can pull it off, so if I die, at least I won’t have to live with my stupidity.
I’ve kept my assailants in front of me, but now I need to get between them. The drugs must really be affecting my brain. Not giving myself a chance to psych myself out of my next move, which borders on idiocy, I summon all the strength my heavy limbs can manage and throw it upward into the woman’s blade. It’s clear that she doesn’t expect my sudden burst of strength because her sword soars in a wide arc. I rush between the pair and offer my back to the woman, but my feet aren’t steady. The weight of my limbs paired with the sword causes me teeter to the side. The man moves to stab me in the chest, but rather than block him, I drop one of my swords and duck under his blade. My hands latch onto the leather straps over his armor and yank him forward. The crunching sound is followed by blood gurgling and confirms that my move was successful. The woman had only just regained her footing when I yanked her partner forward and used him to stab her. Neither of them expected it, which is why they couldn’t stop the momentum of their bodies.
Pain spreads through my cheek, and the ground rushes up to meet me. My jaw throbs from the force of the man’s punch. My vision is far blurrier now than it was when the fight first began.
Stand up.
I push myself halfway off the road before a swift kick is delivered to my ribs, followed by another wave of searing pain. Using the momentum of the kick, I sloppily scramble to my feet. This is the last leg of the fight—just me and him.
“Elowen!” Ryder’s panicked voice echoes through the street and is followed by the sounds of heavy footsteps and unsheathing of swords. For the first time tonight, fear flashes in the man’s eyes. He bolts in the opposite direction toward the front of the town, in the direction of the castle. My feet make it a few steps in his direction before a wave of dizziness washes over me, and my legs give out. Two hands wrap around my waist and hoist me up before my knees hit the pavement.
“You, go get Commander Veles,” Ryder’s snarl vibrates against my back.
“No, don’t get Cayden, he’s going to worry too much,” I try to protest, but a horse is already barreling in the direction of the border.
“Oh, he’s going to do a lot more than worry, Elowen,” Ryder angrily mutters before spinning me in his direction. His hands on my shoulders steady me as his fear-filled eyes scan me. “Why did you leave the tavern?”
“Finnian.” My entire body tingles like thousands of grains of sand are being dusted over my skin. “We got into a fight, and he left. I need to find him.” I try to turn, but my wobbly legs threaten to give out again. Ryder moves his hands to my upper arms, but I hiss through my teeth when his hand touches my cut. He tucks me into his side and pulls his hand back, muttering a curse when he takes in the blood that coats his palm. “She’s in worse shape than me,” I mumble while gesturing to the dead woman on the street.
“General, there’s a dart on the ground. Queen Elowen has been drugged,” an unfamiliar voice comes from somewhere—behind me, in front of me, I don’t know. My eyes find the source; it’s an older man with graying waves and amber eyes, clad in armor and a Vareveth cloak. He bows his head and glances toward the blood on my arm and the street. I may not be making a good first impression, but I’m making a memorable one.
“Assemble a team. I don’t care how many soldiers you need. Track down the man that ran,” Ryder’s voice vibrates with anger.
