Chapter 8 Trew
TREW
The whisper of steel cutting air reached me before I heard their grunts.
I melted into the shadows near an alcove. Night rounds through the castle had become my habit over the years, a practice my father instilled in me long before I wore his crown.
Kings who sleep while enemies prowl deserve neither throne nor breath, he’d say.
Two figures fought in the dim corridor ahead.
Isi. I didn’t know who the man was, but he had a knife and he appeared determined to cut her open.
Isi, as I’d learned she was called, moved with lethal grace, her body flowing through combat forms I didn’t recognize, forms favoring leverage over brute strength.
Fascinating.
She caught the man’s wrist and drove her knee into his elbow. The wet pop of joint separation echoed off the stone walls.
The man shook out his arm, and the joint slid back into place.
She was violence made beautiful, death wrapped in silk and starlight. But if I had to watch him put his hands on her again, I might actually commit murder. I ground my teeth. Since she appeared to be handling this, and I suspected she would not appreciate me intervening, I opted to watch.
A smile twitched at the corner of my mouth, and as the fight continued, I leaned against the wall. It was a rare pleasure to watch a skill like hers unfold.
She fought like someone who’d been instructed by a master.
Each movement was economical, each counter perfectly timed.
When the assassin caught her throat chain, I tensed, ready to spring forward.
My hand was already on my blade, magic coiling beneath my skin.
The thought of him choking the life from her made something savage and territorial tear through me.
Touch her and die.
The urge to rip him apart with my bare hands was so strong I actually took a step forward before she broke free on her own.
She doesn’t need saving, I reminded myself. She never has. But that didn’t stop me from wanting to be the one to do it anyway.
I didn’t want to examine why watching her move like liquid death made a primal need roar to life in my chest.
She was magnificent. Lovely in the way fire was gorgeous, but equally untouchable and capable of burning down everything in her path.
Especially me.
She broke away with a tactical body twist I’d seen used by elite guards, struck him hard enough to knock him down, and landed hard on his chest, driving a blade between his ribs with a feral growl.
I slowly exhaled through my nose. Something about the efficiency of her movements made me go very, very still.
The kill was clean. Professional.
I was surprised.
She peered around before leaping across the floor, lifting the chain. Rising, she stuffed it into her pocket.
The final gurgle left the assassin’s throat. She watched him like a cornered beast—shaking, bloodied, and terrifyingly beautiful.
I meant to leave. I told myself I must leave. She wouldn’t want to see me here. But her body swayed, and horror bloomed in her eyes.
I stepped from the shadows, clapping slowly.
She spun, scrambling over to grab a knife and lift it. Glaring as if this time, she truly would gut me.
“Impressive,” I said, letting my voice drip with amusement instead of the terror clawing at my throat. If I hadn’t sent my cinderhawk, Gavelle ahead…
Yet here she was, raising the knife at me like she’d rip through my bowels.
I stepped in close before she could think to use it, twisting it from her fingers. The jolt of contact hit like a slap to my soul. She smelled of sweat and adrenaline and something too sweet for what she’d face tomorrow.
“Can’t have you taking another poke at me, can we, minxpip?” I drawled.
She froze. Smart woman. She didn’t know me, but she could sense what I was. What I could do.
Her shaking hands gave her emotions away.
I wanted to tell her the kill had been clean. That her technique may be foreign but it was effective. That I’d seen enough death to know this one would sit on her chest tonight, heavy and unforgiving.
But I didn’t. I provoked her instead with my words, which was safer for both of us.
She caught sight of the mark on my neck and went still. I didn’t expect the look in her eyes.
Pain. Raw and wild.
She covered it fast, snapping, accusing me of letting another woman touch me. I taunted her, told her she could give me the next mark.
“You can only dream of that happening.” Her reply came out bitter. Angry.
Then came the blow I’d earned.
“You watched while someone attacked me,” she snarled. “You didn’t help me at all.”
Her magic flared, heat and hunger lighting the corridor. I nearly reached for her. Nearly told her the truth. That I would’ve helped. That I’d been watching the whole time, yes, but holding myself back. Not because I didn’t trust her, but because I did.
She shoved the magic down. Shoved me down along with it.
That cracked something inside me, and I went cold.
“Why would I step in?” I said. “You’ve made it clear you don’t need saving.”
I continued to taunt her, savored it, actually, before I turned away and disappeared into the shadows, using magic to slide back into Gavelle’s eyes. Through the hawk, I watched her friend tend her wound and lead her back inside their sleeping chamber.
Only once the dormitory door had been locked with magic did I approach the body. Blood pooled black beneath him. No insignia on his clothing. No identifying marks. I studied his unfamiliar face.
Someone had sent him, someone who knew exactly where to strike to make the killing blow.
I pressed my palm to the stone floor beside him. Tendrils of magic flowed from my fingertips, azure threads weaving beneath the corpse. The body rose above the ground, suspended on a cushion of my power.
Moving a corpse was never pleasant work, but necessary tonight. People would ask questions, and we couldn’t have that.
I guided the floating body through the deserted corridors to a small courtyard. Moonlight bathed the space in silver, illuminating a circular stone area at its center.
Lowering the body to the stone, I removed his weapons and searched his pockets. I found nothing but a cloth vial containing powder I recognized as bloodroot extract—a toxin that caused seizures and death.
Why was he after her?
I closed his vacant eyes with my thumb and pressed my palm to his forehead. Magic stirred beneath my skin as I murmured the release incantation in the old tongue, the words my father had drilled into me almost from the time I could walk.
Blue flame licked across the body, consuming flesh and bone without heat or smoke. In moments, only ashes remained, which the wind caught and scattered, leaving no trace of the man who’d died tonight.
Death was an old companion in the halls of my home. I’d seen my first corpse at seven, when a spy infiltrated my father’s council chamber. I’d watched him die, choking on his own blood, killed by my father. At fifteen, I’d seen more as my father and his guard fell defending those he loved.
Each soul deserved release, even those who came bearing knives in darkness.
Gavelle’s cry sliced through the night as he swooped down, landing on my shoulder. His talons gripped the leather, his weight familiar and comforting.
“Yes, I saw,” I said, responding to the impression he sent. We couldn’t speak to each other, of course, but after bonding, we could send images. Impressions. His came through now, tinged with curiosity.
“You’re right. She’s not what she appears to be,” was all I was willing to say even to my bonded companion.
I turned and entered the castle with him.
My councilors were waiting.
Dawn approached.
And with it, the trials.