Page 24 of The Sea of Zemira (The Zemiran Chronicles 1)

“Throw your sword on the ground and show us your ears,” he ordered. “Now!”

Nola swallowed hard, remembering the incident at the marketplace. At that moment, it was not her life she feared for the most; it was Thomas’s little girl.

While keeping Nola pinned against the coach, he gripped a silver strand of her hair as she tried to move away. “What’s wrong with your hair?” he asked, his breath fanning her skin. His voice alone made her shoulders rigid. The guard’s hand moved swiftly to grip her chin; his fingers pressed aggressively into her tender cheeks.

Nola winced, trying to move her face away. She peered over her shoulder, searching for her bag through the crack of the door. The guard was too close for her to position her bow.

Nola stood still, trying to remain calm. But then she saw Sabre standing unmoved, with no plan to reveal her ears—the siren girl’s body drowned in fear.

I am going to die, and I haven’t even left Zemira,Nola thought.

The man holding her turned to talk to the other one. Nola saw her chance. She slowly reached into her bag and gripped her knife, closing her fingers around the handle. Nola was lucky he did not feel her moving. Then, she carefully pulled the weapon out without making any sudden movement and kept the knife close to her thigh as the guard held his eyes on Sabre. The instant the guard turned back to Nola, she brought the metal tip up straight and plunged it up into his throat. His eyes shot open as blood spurted out his throat and onto her face. She yanked the knife out and used her foot to kick him away. Then tossed the bloodied knife on the ground.

Nola hastily drew in a deep, audible breath. Her wobbly legs buckled, causing her to stumble back a step. Leaning against one of the horses, she felt bile rise to her throat before puking over its side. She spat the sour taste from her mouth and looked up; her hands shook uncontrollably.

The siren girl’s head fogged over, and all she heard was Sabre urging her to run. Simultaneously, the Elven woman came to a warrior stance gripping at her sword as the other soldier tried to flee in the other direction. Flashes of confusion came next. All Nola saw was a crimson blood pond expanding from the guard’s corpse. She then heard the echo of a low cry, and then silence.

Nola glanced down at her trembling hands and saw her blood-stained fingers. They did not look like her hands. She still was not sure what had happened.

She licked her lips unknowingly, tasting the blood that was not hers. The siren recoiled, staggering over to a fallen tree, and leaning into the trunk, inhaling the herbaceous scent of wet bark. Any scent to mask the smell of death.

Nola had never killed a man, yet she was about to convince an entire land of elves and fairies to start a war with her. Her own doubts crept within her mind.

I don’t think I can do this,she thought, then sat on the branch stagnant until she heard Sabre’s voice, calling her name.

“Look at me, Finola.”

She looked up at Sabre’s eyes. “I—I’m sorry,” Nola stammered, feeling her heart pounding beneath her ribs. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

Sabre shook her head, placing her hands on each side of Nola’s face. “I know you’re scared—”

“Scared?” Nola repeated. “No.” She shook her head. “I’m not scared, Sabre. I’m terrified.”

The Elven woman released her, stood straight, and glanced over her shoulder at the coach. “You did what I would have done. That’s what any warrior would have done. You protected that family over there. Remember that.”

Did she say, remember that? Of course,she thought, knowing she would never get the image of stabbing a man through the throat out of her mind. Ever.

The woman walked to the carriage, putting her sword away, and said something to the man. Then she kissed little Cam on the forehead and closed the cabby’s door. From her cloak, she pulled out a small leather bag and gave it to the driver. It was heavy, Nola could tell. The fat man made a weird salute to her and tugged at the horses’ reins. A few seconds later, the carriage was out of their sight.

Nola looked around the dark trail. “What—what do we do now?” She did not recognize her own voice.

“Now,” Sabre started. “We walk the rest of the way. Wherever you are heading, you better get there fast, because they’ll come looking for those soldiers, and then they’ll come looking for us.” She extended her hand. “Come on, get up.”

Nola gripped her hand so the elf could help her to her feet. She felt numb all over her body, but if she did not pull herself out of the fear and shock, she would not be able to find her feet to flee.

Sabre handed Nola her bag. Her hands shivered so badly she had trouble wrapping the strap around her shoulder.

Nola pressed her palm against her chest, taking a few heavy breaths until she felt the trembling subside. She had to keep moving.

The Elven spy was right—they were going to come looking for whoever killed the men.

After parting from the spy, she sped through the forest, not stopping until she reached the docks at Brecken Terrace.

By the time Nola entered the port, all she wanted to do was sit and not move. She immediately inhaled the pungent odor of the rotting garbage from the alleyways. The smell of rotten fish and old beer was overwhelming to the siren’s senses. It also did not help that it was a humid and miserably hot day. Whores loitered the streets. Drunk pirates and tired buccaneers flooded the taverns. Nola could not help but stare at the scene. She had not seen a place like that before. Baylin, unlike Brecken Terrace’s pier, was quiet, peaceful, and pleasant.

Sweat beat down her forehead, making her hair a tangled mess. She saw a nearby bench, and despite the grime and filth that coated the wood, she sat on it, leaning back to catch her breath.

Nola pulled off her cloak and used the sleeves to wipe off any trace of blood from the guard she still had on her. Once she finished, despite the metallic smell of blood on the fabric, she put her cloak back on, covering her hair with the hood. She looked down at the ground, trying to hide her face, as a drunken old man walked past her.

The stranger tipped his unkempt hat. “Eh, lassie. You got some money for me? Or, how about you and I—”

“Get lost!” she snapped, feeling as though drops of boiling water trickled down her spine as she fumed with rage. Sudden anger trembled through her body as she met the drunk’s gaze. The man stumbled back as he watched her eyes change. He blanched, and his mouth fell open. Nola kept a stern expression on her face until he took off running in the opposite direction. All the emotions were so new for the siren girl. She rubbed the back of her neck, feeling her fidgety hands going wild, so she placed them between her thighs for a still moment. Nola licked her lips as she felt thirsty and could still taste the coppery, bitter taste of blood on her tongue. She needed water to wash it away.

Standing up and dusting her cloak, the siren walked down the street and found a few barrels with fresh water. As she washed up and drank, loud, boisterous laughter rang from a grotty old tavern across the road. Her entire body still felt as if it had fallen into icy waters—her blood running cold from worry.

Nola blinked, catching her breath one more time, before heading towards the tavern.

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