Born To Rule

Chapter Fifteen

Icrouched behind a stack of crates beside a tent, listening for the rhythmic breathing of its occupant.

There—barely audible beneath the crickets playing their night song from the treeline.

I gripped my dagger, fingers finding their familiar grooves, and pulled the canvas flap aside. Complete darkness welcomed me, but my eyes adjusted and found the man asleep on the ground, a thin bedroll tucked beneath him. He had little to no possessions, and no papers. He didn’t have what I was looking for. I slit his throat and moved on.

It was unlikely I’d find anything on their employer in these outlying tents. That information would be with men closer to the center, where they thought themselves safely guarded. But the carnage these bastards exacted on this village was fresh in my mind—the image forever burned in my brain.

I was na?ve to think myself better for seeing what lay beyond the darkness of that chamber. I was no stranger to death and figured I would be prepared. But I was wrong. Nothing could prepare a person for that. And I wasn’t—we weren’t about to let any of them live.

From the next tent over, there was the soft wet sound of teeth puncturing flesh as Balis ended another. We used the shadows to sweep our way through each shelter like reapers, delivering deaths fit for their horrific crimes.

We made it past the first few rows, nearing the center. This was where I expected to find whoever was in charge—someone who knew the full span of their mission here. Balis crept into the nearest one, silent as falling snow, while I moved on.

The scuffling of feet caught my attention, and I took cover behind a few barrels of coffee stacked near the entrance, a clue that this might be the shelter I sought. The higher the rank, the more luxury goods.

Two men walked past, unaware that I lurked within striking distance. They shuffled toward a tent with a guard posted out front—a shift change of some sort. One of them entered through the canvas flap, and a fourth man exited. Was that another armory hold, or maybe where the prisoners were kept?

The soft graze of a hand touched my upper back, and I jumped.

Balis.

‘Sorry,’ he mouthed.

I shook my head with an exasperated, quiet sigh, then pointed in the men’s direction. “Two-man teams. One posted inside, one out,” I whispered as the guards took their positions.

“Do we know what’s in there?”

We paused as the relieved men passed.

“Not yet.” I flashed a suggestive smirk. Gods, mana would’ve made bounty hunting a breeze.

Just as I hoped he would, Balis sent a gust of wind whipping at the canvas door. The guard wrapped his arm around his head, trying to keep his hat from flying off, and gripped the hilt of his sword with the other. These lowlifes were not trained professionals, and yet, those swords were brand new, and somehow—familiar.

I squinted into the dim light to make out what lay beyond the tent’s flaps. Hopefully Balis’ druid eyes saw what I couldn’t.

“They’re in there alright,” he said, focused indignation in his gaze. “Find your evidence—I’ve got the prisoners.”

I nodded, a pitiful part of me warming at the confidence of his command.

He weaved his way between shadow and silver moonlight as effortlessly as mist through the forest. A small amount of mana radiated from him, even as he fought to suppress it for the sake of our mission. But I saw it—the barest glow accentuating the curve of strong muscles lining his back, shifting and flexing as he moved over the ground.

I forced off irrational feelings better suited for a brothel than a poacher’s camp, then shifted into position to enter the tent. Eurok is such a dick for sending him.

I slipped inside, waiting for my eyes to make sense of the dimly lit space. So dim, in fact, that I hadn’t noticed a lantern lit from the outside. Shit. I spun on my heel to leave, but froze at the cold sensation of steel against my throat. Shit. Shit. Shit.

The blade pressed in on the tender skin of my neck. Whether it was sweat or blood trickling down, I wasn’t sure, but I fought to keep my breath even. My attacker’s stench of ripe fruit, musk, and pipe tobacco lingered from behind. More fine goods.

The lantern sat on a stack of books atop a wooden table, illuminating an array of scrolls sprawled across it in a golden glow. The chest at the foot of the cot overflowed with clothing and books. This was indeed the man I needed to speak with.

“Who are you?” he hissed. His voice was nasally—how I imagined an angry goose would sound if it could talk.

I refused to answer. Instead, I focused on positioning my dagger, preparing to strike at the most opportune moment.

I didn’t have to wait long.

A barrage of furious shouts pierced the night, startling my tense assailant. I twisted, clutching the man’s bony wrist, then squeezed on that perfect point until the weapon fell from his grip. It hit the ground with a thud, and my dagger caught him in the side. His piercing howl told me I got him good.

I put a few paces between us before I faced him. Doubled-over, his features were stuck somewhere between a scowl and a wince. The dim lighting made it difficult to see him clearly, but I sensed he was no ordinary hired hand. His night clothes were dark blue silk, and he wore a long fur-trimmed robe with matching slippers. He limped over to the table to brace himself, then added more oil to the lantern, brightening the space, then dropped into the chair.

With a wheeze that hinted at surprise, he said, “You’re human.”

With my blade at the ready, I snatched the scrolls sprawled across the tabletop, and scanned a bright-red parchment that looked like a decree—an order to obtain samples of problematic Vylandrian specimens. Problematic, my ass.

I turned it over, searching for any indication of where it came from. There was nothing. No signatures, no seals telling me who’d written it. Though, its weight and elegant script suggested fine quality. I brought it closer, examining the thin gold line bordering the edge. The parchment seemed familiar, but in this light, there was no way to be sure.

I stuffed the scroll in my pocket, then turned on the man. He glowered, clutching his side as thick blood seeped between his fingers. Simple poachers wouldn’t have taken out the entire village and risk drawing the druid army’s attention like this. This had been an extermination.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

He didn’t answer. The air between us went as taught as barbed wire.

The noise outside went from stagnant to uproarious in a matter of seconds. Boots pounded against the dirt, arrows knocked. The cold rush of desperation clawed its way up my spine.

“Who hired you to kill these people?”

The tent shuddered as a huge gust of wind ensued nearby, followed by screams and the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground.

Balis bought me precious seconds. “Tell me who hired you, and I won’t kill you.”

“Seems you shoulda made that bargain before you stuck your blade in my side, girl.” His head lulled as he stared at the scarlet pool growing beneath him.

Fuck me, he can’t die yet.

I peeled back the tent flap to peek outside and was met with half a dozen arrows pointed at my face. I was sorely outnumbered. Someone demanded I exit with raised hands, and I reluctantly obliged. As I stepped out, I steeled my spine, preparing for a fight I might not win.

Then I saw Balis. Cool moonlight cast him in silver-gray light, hardening the lethal intent on his features as he slammed his fist into the ground. The earth trembled, then ruptured beneath the men like jaws, opening to accept them as an offering to their depths. Their screams echoed from the chasm until the sound dissipated.

When I met his gaze, I could tell he released the damper on his mana. His eyes were a brilliant jade, glinting with satisfaction, but then his radiance fluttered ever so slightly as he made a move toward me. He halted with a jerk, face contorted in terrible agony, the silver glint of a blade protruding from his chest.

Ice laced my veins. Behind him, a poacher yanked the sword free, and Balis dropped to his knees. With a roar of pain, he spun with an outstretched palm, a desperate maneuver to thrust a pulse of power. Nothing happened. Had he drained his mana completely?

The man reeled back, slamming his fist into Balis’ jaw, and a gut-wrenching crack rang out over the silent camp. Blood splattered the ground as he fell forward, bracing himself on his hands. He lifted his eyes to meet mine, and something inside me soured. All that beautiful radiance I admired moments ago—gone. Snuffed out like candlelight.

My head pounded, and my chest heaved as a sob built in my throat. I swallowed it back. He never should have been here. He wouldn’t have if it weren’t for me. How many times did this godsforsaken province need to prove that I don’t—that humans don’t belong here?

I clenched my fists at my side, savoring the bite in my palms. That’s what these people were, though. Humans. And maybe they found a way around these Vylandrians’ powers—as hard as that was to believe—but I had no such weakness.

Cold, bitter rage filled every muscle, every vessel, and fiber of my being. I allowed myself, even for the briefest of moments, to enjoy another person’s presence. I lowered my guard and let myself feel what it might have been like to have someone by my side. But I should have known better. People like me don’t get a someone.

The world fell silent, drowned out by the thunderous pounding of blood rushing in my ears. I lunged—my need to have him dead exceeded my pace. I slung my dagger ahead to sink the gilded hilt into his eye socket. My seething rage darkened my vision, lapsing time and distance. Before I knew it, I was on him, fingers snaring his hair while I yanked my blade free from his head.

He dropped in a crumpled heap.

My knees sank onto the cool ground beside Balis. I tore a piece of fabric from my shirt and pressed it to the gaping wound. “You’re gonna be okay.”

He hissed, staring up at me with an odd expression, as if confused. “You–”

“Shh, don’t speak. Save your energy.”

My head whipped in frantic beats, making sure the last of them were dead or dying. The prisoner’s tent was obliterated, blown apart by Balis’ power. The captives, the Dogu, were huddled together, mostly unharmed.

Balis was right. They did not differ from any druids I met while in Vylandria, but as they got closer, coming to help, I noticed the clear difference in their skin. Less like an alligator, as I originally imagined, more akin to the shimmering scales of a snake’s belly.

A male dropped across from me, placing his palms over my fists clutched to the fabric. “Let me see.” His tone was steady despite the tremble in his hands.

I nodded, my vision blurred. I was somewhere between shock and rage and wasn’t sure if I should let go, but I did.

“Is he going to be okay?” I asked, failing to withhold my panic.

His eyes darted to the dead man behind me, then removed the red-soaked fabric from the lesion. “I might be able to help him. I just hope…”

“Hope what?”

He didn’t answer, attention focused on Balis.

I rocked back on my heels and stood, wiping my forehead with my wrist. Blood-spatter matted my hair, slicked my face and neck. My neck. I touched the place where the blade had been pressed against my skin.

“There’s a man in that tent. I need him alive. Can one of you save him too?” I asked, voice trembling. I had to make sure the bastard stayed alive or all of this—Balis’ death—would be for nothing.

No. I couldn’t think like that. These beings had mana. They’d heal him. Hot tears spilled over the boundaries of my eyes, dripping onto his shuddering chest. I hurried to wipe them away.

The Dogu looked over his shoulder and signaled a female just behind. She nodded in return and hurried into the tent, her long, ash-colored hair swaying over her back. His attention returned to the wound, and the greenish-gold healing light of his mana cast iridescent glimmers across his dark, shimmering skin.

Balis’ gaze, still alert but waning fast, tracked the girl as she ducked inside the tent, before he fixed that perplexed stare on me.

My brow furrowed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You,” he winced with the effort it took to speak, “you vanished.”

I moved to cradle his head in my lap, not sure there was a point in arguing with a dying male. “You’re going to be fine.”

He didn’t relent. “You did. I–” A horrendous growl cut his words, features contorted in agony. “Fuck!”

I gripped his shoulders, cringing at the horrible sound.

He bared his teeth, eyes clamped shut. “You vanished.”

The Dogu interrupted my retort. “He’s right,” he said. “You veiled from there,” he dipped his chin toward the tent, then to the dead man, “to there.”

Disbelief trudged up a plethora of arguments, but I bit my tongue, dropping the subject. Someone brought a bucket of water and the male poured it over the stab wound. I pinned Balis’ shoulders, trying to hold him steady as he writhed. The gash hadn’t improved despite the Dogu’s mana.

“What’s going on? Should it take this long?” I asked through Balis’ clenched-teeth screams.

“It won’t work, you filthy fucking beasts,” a nasally, arrogant voice seethed from behind.

I looked over my shoulder to find the man I stabbed, barely able to stand, gripped tight in the female’s grasp. A dark crimson stain soaked his side.

“He won’t heal either,” the female said. Her rich tone shared the same elaborate accent as the male.

“It’s got to be something I can’t see.” The Dogu shook his head, then poured more water. “It’s those ruddy blades, I tell you.”

“We need to keep flushing the wound,” someone spoke up from behind.

He threw a dejected glare at the dead man’s weapon. “Yes, water. Water is what he needs most.”

More tormented, hellacious growls ripped from Balis’ throat. Terror clamored up my spine as blood gushed from his wound. Making to stand, I settled his head against the ground. Water is what he needs most. I had to help—had to do something. I glanced around, ready to retrieve another bucket.

Needs most. Balis’ words from earlier rang through my mind like prayer bells on worship morning, waking me from my haze of panic.

“It’s supposed to react with any effect you need most.”

Need most. My hand flew to the pocket lining the inside of my vest, retrieving the small vial he’d given me. I held it up between the Dogu and me.

His dark eyes sparked like stricken flint. “Diablerie elixir?”

I nodded.

“Do it,” he urged without hesitation. “Now.”

I used my teeth to rip out the cork, then pressed the glass to Balis’ pallid lips. He struggled to swallow, but I managed to get every metallic, inky drop down his throat. Discarding the bottle, I gripped his face, his rough stubble scraping my palms. This had to work.

The asshole I stabbed refused to shut up. He spewed endless insults and threats. To my surprise, he wasn’t dying as rapidly as I thought. Motions slow and gentle, I set Balis’ head down, then stormed over to the bastard.

The female held by the collar of his shirt like a misbehaving child as I drew my fist back and threw a punch straight at his jaw. A dull ache ricocheted up my arm, but nothing compared to the pain he must have felt. The Dogu released him, and he collapsed, silent at last.

By the time I turned around, Balis was already sitting up. When he faced me, the brightness of his mana chased away that death-like pallor, and he smiled.

I shook out my tender knuckles, starting toward him. “What?”

“You wasted it.”

My brow pinched. Surely, he didn’t believe saving his life was a waste.

A slow smirk formed on his stupidly perfect face. “You were supposed to use it to get laid.”

The Dogu supported his weight, helping him to his feet, and I rolled my eyes, giving his arm a playful shove. These druids will be the death of me.