Page 23 of Knightfall
“Think you could be a little gentler? He only looked fourteen,” I scolded.
“Sixteen. And he’s about to be sent on patrols. He needs it.”
“Patrols where?”
“Don’t pretend you care.”
I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want to fight with him in front of his men, but I was getting sick of being accused of not caring simply because I’d left the throne. They had no idea how much I cared. I cared more than anyone for Evaness. I cared enough to give it up. Jackanapes.
“Hopefully not too close to Rasle. I heard they’re in for a hard winter. Lotta folk try to sneak through those woods. They’ll raid our farms and villages for food like they did two winters past,” I went for conversational as I filled up a tankard.
Ryan glanced down at me. “And how’d you hear about that?”
I shrugged and turned back to his men. “One of the girls at the brothel I worked at—”
Suddenly, my feet hovered two feet off the ground. Ryan’s furious face was level with mine. His glance was acid. My insides shriveled and puddled on the floor.
Shite. I bet he made grown men keel over with that look. The other armies wouldn’t stand a chance.
He marched me to the weapons room, disregarding the tankard I still clutched in my hand.
He slammed the door closed behind us and dropped me to the ground. Water sloshed all over my dress.
“The last man that got his drink all over me got what was coming to him,” I warned as I scowled down at the sopping fabric. Really? I’d just gotten dry.
Ryan’s hand came around my neck. I felt his fingers flex. He shook me slightly, but he didn’t clamp down. It was clear that he was using every bit of restraint he had not to snap my neck. His brown eyes bored holes into me. “What the sarding hell do you mean, you worked at a brothel?”
I held up my hands, placating, though my heart was racing. He could snap me in half. In quarters. He could probably crack me so many times that my bones would be splinters. I worked hard to keep a wobble out of my voice. “In the counting house. In the back. I touched the coins. Not the customers, oh delirious one.”
Ryan closed his eyes and huffed a breath. His fingers flexed on my throat and I felt my windpipe constrict before he let up.
I gasped for breath as he slowly pulled his hands away from my neck.
As soon as his hands were down, I walloped him with the tankard. Fight or flight took over. And the past four years, I’d trained for fight.
“What the—”
I didn’t give him a chance to recover. I smashed the tankard into his nose just as the two soldiers he’d been training walked through the door.
Ryan’s hand closed around my arm, neutralizing my weapon of choice. So, I reverted to the age-old standard kick to the nards.
“Gah!” he roared, pulling me into a bear hug so tight I could hardly breathe. He used his massive thigh muscles to trap my legs and lifted me from the floor, so I had no leverage. I could feel every inch of his bulging pecs against my back. His arms felt as large and hard as tree branches. If he just lowered my body a few inches, my ass would be aligned with his—
“What’s wrong with you?” he growled in my ear.
I didn’t answer, since my blood was pounding too hard in my ears to hear anything clearly. My neck still spiked with pain. My windpipe still wheezed with each breath.
His hands shifted, and my power flared. I tried to push it down, but my adrenaline had spiked. It was too high. I couldn’t control it. I could not stop the surge of power that ripped through me, ready to protect me. Like a cannon, or dragon fire, the glowing green pulse of energy blasted from my body.
“Sard!” I screamed, as the pulse touched each of the men in the room. Their expressions changed, dulled; vacant smiles grew on their faces like dandelions. False, weedy happiness invaded their systems. A sense of calming peace. My power. My curse. Because forcing peace on others had a price.
Pain ran up my arms like fire and I felt the skin burst apart on my forearms. Deep, trench-like wounds opened under my sleeves and blood soaked them.
“Ahhh!” I howled, cradling my wounded arms.
Ryan dropped me and tilted his head, a dopey, puzzled expression coloring his features. His thick lips hung open.
Behind him, the sixteen-year-old soldier stared at the weapons like they were mounds of gold. He looked stunned, or amazed, or … “Feels like a sex hangover,” he elbowed his training partner. “You know. That moment right after when you still can’t quite see straight?”
