31. Maren
31
Maren
“ T here he is,” Kriska said, sharp metal escaping its case. “Our little prince. I was worried we’d lost you in the forest.”
“The trees!” I choked. My voice evaporated. My scream had used it up, the words nothing but empty air. I heard only the crunch of dirt as a pair of boots lunged. Bitter rust oozed from my tongue, and I realized I’d bitten it.
“S?úbil som, ?e ?a zabijem, ak sa jej dotkne?,” Kye’s voice answered the pirate.
Kriska laughed, the sound too cheerful for the empty canyon air. “Tak po? skúsi?. Plánujú sa pre ňu hor?ie veci ako to, ?o urobíme my, drahy princ.”
Steel clanged against steel, echoing across the ravine.
The shapes hiding in the tree dropped to the ground, creeping in a slow circle towards Kriska and Kye. A blade sliced the air, dividing wind in half, and my gut clenched as someone hit the ground, rolled, and scurried to their feet again. Boots swiped and stomped across grass and dirt. None of them spoke, as if words were the weapons of men less disciplined, less composed —though their clothes swished and snapped, confessing when they moved.
A hard thud against the earth followed by a grunt stopped my heart, and a figure in black slashed the rope tethering my left hand. I cried out at the sudden slack in my arm, my stretched muscles burning as I rocked to the right. A hand caught my arm, steadying me, and I gazed up to find Kye, brimming with fury.
Somehow, he seemed brighter. Light flickered around the edges of his body, an angry glow under his skin. His face still bore the mask I’d painted, a half-skull cracked and faded in the hours since, illuminated in the fading sunlight.
A man disguised as a lost soul, come to claim another from Perpetuum.
Molten iron lit the air, so thick I could taste it.
His arm stretched between me and the pirates, his eyes forward, and I twisted to watch in horror as the three men moved in.
Burian’s eyes flashed, though they darted away, locking onto a crimson slash along his thigh. He limped behind his fellow pirates, sword drawn and teeth gnashed. Dirt and dust covered Kriska’s side, a cold fury in his eyes.
But it was Demyan who leapt for us.
Kye’s sword met his, the metallic clang ringing in my ears. Kye cast his blade to the side, swerving Demyan’s sword away, then curled a leg around Demyan’s ankle and shoved, sending him into the dirt. Kriska dove for Kye with a snarl, leaving Kye barely with enough time to turn and meet the pirate captain before Burian joined as well.
I watched them, three against one, my heart in my throat. I had no eye for sword fighting. I couldn’t weigh tactics or balance, footwork or posture. I could only judge what I saw.
Whether less talented than the others, or nursing the wound in his thigh, Burian wielded a cutlass, his strokes short and choppy. Kriska’s blade stabbed and slashed with simple efficiency—a skill trained but not honed. It didn’t need to be. He let Demyan and Burian push Kye towards him, then swiped at Kye’s back, forcing Kye to spin away.
Demyan moved like a dancer, his body a painting brought to life, graceful and smooth. His arm arced as he twisted, his feet a rhythm and song all their own. Slash, dodge, leap—the lines of his figure bent in artful elegance.
Demyan moved like a dancer, but Kye…
Kye flew.
He dipped and whirled so fast his feet floated off the ground, his arms a current of wind over water, the sweep of his blade a bright gust of air. The first words Prince Hadrian ever said to me fluttered in my mind.
Aren might be stronger, but Nikolaos will always be faster. He’s been as quick as a whip since the day he was born.
Kye’s advantage over the pirates lived in his speed, his instincts more acute, and as I glanced between the faces of our attackers, I knew the pirates saw it as well.
They pushed him forward and back, the clangor of their fight striking deep inside my ears. Burian pressed toward me and Kye dropped his guard to double back, forcing the man to dive away. Blood covered the pirate’s pant leg in a lustrous dark shine. He cried out as he ducked and rolled. Behind Kye, Demyan thrusted forward, and I shrieked a warning.
Kye twirled out of reach, tossing his sword in his palm, readjusting his grip.
“Po?uli ste o rybom krá?ovi?” Kriska taunted, slashing.
Sliding away, Kye’s arm rose to clang against Kriska. Whatever Kriska had said, Kye didn’t take the bait. Brows furrowed, he shoved Kriska away, then stood before me, rolling his shoulders.
The laughter melted from the captain’s face. “H?adá svoju rybiu man?elku,” Kriska said, turning his cheek to spit across the grass.
The numbers stacked against him, there was nothing Kye could do but parry their strikes. A cold chill invaded my blood as I realized Kye hadn’t made a single offensive strike.
Dipping below Demyan’s arm, Kye gained ground as the three pirates avoided colliding.
They turned, pressing in as one.
Kye bent over his knees, ready.
Demyan charged. Kye met him, steel screaming, a single spark catching the light as they danced and flew. Their hilts tangled, and Kye kicked Demyan square in the stomach. The tall pirate went down, and as he did, the enmeshed grips ripped Kye’s blade from his hand. He rotated in time to avoid Burian’s downward slash.
Burian’s blade lanced off a thick root, Kye’s sidestep too quick for the injured man to follow. He stumbled, and Kye grabbed the cutlass from his hand, its tip dragging along the pirate’s arm as Kye wrenched it away.
The pirate screamed as his arm slackened. Crimson trickled from his forearm like a lazy geyser, steaming in the cool forest air. It stopped for a heartbeat, then spurted again.
The other two men froze as their fellow pirate landed hard along the roots. Burian glanced at them both, his face sheet white as he covered the wound with his opposite hand. It made no difference. The blood continued to surge through his fingers.
Kriska chopped at Kye, his rapier swifter than the bulky cutlass he'd swiped. Kye blocked, twisting to deflect a glancing blow from Demyan at his back. He feigned a swipe, forcing the tall pirate back as the captain stabbed at him again.
Teeth bared, Kye parried. The cumbersome cutlass dislodged from his grip.
In a reckless grab, Kriska yanked the steel away, sending the cutlass glancing across the roots of the tree at my feet.
Half crouched in the grass, Kye pulled his knife from his boot. They stood still, their eyes darting between each other. Kriska muttered something in Kravan to Demyan, then turned toward me, raising his sword, his mouth parting as he readied some other provocation—
Kye’s knife soared through the air, lodging in the base of Kriska’s neck.
The pirate captain faced me as it struck.
From the ground, Burian screamed in frustrated agony. Kriska’s eyes flashed wide with surprise. He reached to prod the blade stuck fast in his flesh and took a hard swallow as his knees buckled—dropping him not far from Burian.
The captain’s lips twitched across his black teeth, eyes blinking rapidly up at the sky, as though even while dying, he couldn’t understand what had happened.
Burian reached for his captain as Demyan dove at Kye—who had sprinted for the fallen cutlass at my feet. I stretched for it, sending waves of sharp pain across my back. It lay inches beyond my grasp. Still numb, my fingertips slid across the smooth handle, but I couldn’t reach far enough to wrap my hand around it.
Something in my periphery glimmered.
A metallic whistle cut the air.
A shard of icy fire exploded in my hip.
Steel struck bone inside me. I gazed down to find a knife sunk deep in my side.
Suddenly my leg gave out, and I sagged against the tree. A dull ache spread across my pelvis as my weight dropped, leaving me hanging from one arm as Kye reached me.
A roar echoed across the canyon as Demyan swiped at Kye. Kye dropped into a crouch, unarmed as he shoved Demyan back with his hands. Granting us the space of a single step, Demyan’s eyes shot to me, blazing with wild anger.
Kye dove and rolled onto his feet, leading Demyan away, the cutlass untouched. The pirate swung. Dusky sunlight slanted. Kye spun from under the slash of bright steel.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The world tilted left and right. Burian staggered to his feet and limped down the hill, hand still tight over his spurting arm. I glanced down, grazing the knife’s handle with a single fingertip. It had buried itself to the hilt in my hip.
The pain was beginning to fade, leaving me stranded with no feeling at all.
Demyan and Kye became the dancer and the wind. One solid and the other air, they chased and dodged, their movements a winding river—until impatience crept into the dancing pirate’s eyes. He ran for Kye, sword drawn.
Unarmed, Kye dodged to the right—but the pirate anticipated the shift. He swung and Kye feinted, effortlessly rolling across dirt and grass, gaining his balance again.
As though realizing he might never touch Kye while the weight of a sword slowed him down, Demyan flung his blade into the grass and charged. He drove his shoulder into Kye’s middle, and the two met the forest floor in a spiraling mass of arms, legs, and guttural grunts.
They were roughly the same size, tall and powerfully built. Kye hooked his legs around Demyan’s waist, rolling him to the side.
The pirate twisted out of Kye’s grasp, landing a lucky punch in the center of Kye’s chin.
Kye's eyes went blank.
His arms dropped away.
I cried out as Demyan straddled Kye’s motionless chest, sending blow after blow to Kye’s head.
Until the pirate leaned to the side, balancing one hand against the ground, exhausted.
His ribs heaved with ragged and broken breath, watching. Waiting for Kye to move.
But Kye didn't.