Chapter 5
5
S ince the damage was repaired from Tristen’s entrance, we were allowed back into the regular routine—and permitted out of our cells after the King left. As we were shuffled to the dining hall, I felt Callum’s hand on my arm, pulling me in step with him at the back of the line where I was out of earshot of the others.
“Did you know?” I whispered to Callum, slowing my pace so I walked beside him.
“You’re not The Lord Killer,” he said.
“How can you be sure?” I asked. “You didn’t even know I was to be married, or to whom. How much do you even know about me, anyways?” My sharp tongue cut deeper than I intended, but I couldn’t help it. Was I a maiden? Or a monster? Not knowing the full truth was slicing at me like shards of broken glass.
Callum hid the flash of pain that sparked across his face at my words. “We grew up together, Saffron. I knew you until you turned twenty-one. The day you were taken.”
My eyes widened. “Taken?”
“Riverleaf was a neutral village. A place where merchants from Stormgard and Luminaria could come and exchange goods and services. Where separated families could meet safely. But the rebels didn’t like how King West was eyeing our village. They decided to make a stand. And you were kidnapped. It’s been nearly a year since I’ve seen you last.”
My heart pounded as this piece of information clicked into place. “Is a year enough time for me to become a cold-blooded killer?”
“Don’t believe the lies of these people. Tristen is a degenerate and labeled you to eliminate any chance of the King letting you go free.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a sadistic monster,” Callum said, as if it was obvious. “Tristen Greywood is in enemy territory. He will do anything to hurt the King and anyone who isn’t aligned with the Stormgard cause.”
“Who is The Lord Killer, anyways?” I asked.
“They’re stories, Saf.”
“Then tell me them.”
Callum sighed, finally giving in. “The Lord Killer is a notorious black widow who went after nobility. Killed them for their fortunes—often after seducing them. Legends say that she would sever their manhood and feed it to them, choking them to death.” Callum grimaced at the image.
A shiver slipped down my spine. If I truly wasn’t The Lord Killer, Tristen had been quick to throw me into the fire. How would I survive him—or any of them—when they all had access to their powers in the ring?
“Hey,” Callum said, pulling me into an alcove just outside of the dining hall. He brushed a stray white-blonde curl of hair out of my face and tucked it behind my ear. “You’ll get through this.”
“How?”
Callum steeled his expression. “You may not be able to win with magic. But you can win with wits.”
“Is there a bread baking trial I’m not aware of?” I asked, attempting to lighten the mood.
Callum smiled, but his gaze still held so much sadness. “I’ll do my best to protect you, but I can’t do anything once you set foot inside the trials. You need to be careful—the island has already begun to try and cull out the weaker ones.”
In that alcove, I was aware of Callum’s strong frame so close to mine. He was a warrior, all right. His broad shoulder carried his heavy weapons with ease. His warm green eyes were like freshly cut grass. Comforting and warm, with the promise of a sunny day in them. In that moment, I could see him wanting to say more, but he stopped himself. Callum stepped away from me, and I felt a piece of myself mourning his nearness. I took a deep breath and forced a smile to my face.
“Thank you, Callum,” I said, my voice coming out more quiet and unsteady than I’d intended.
“Stay alert,” he said, and just like that the Callum I knew morphed back into the Commander role he wore so well.
“I will, Commander,” I said with a small smile, and he pulled away from me, disappearing into a crowd of other guards who were waiting for him. I split off toward the mess hall line, but as I did, I was hit by a strong, familiar scent. A scent that set off ripples amongst the prisoners— darkspice , a tea that smelled so warming and familiar to me. Just the smoky aroma of the beverage perked me up as I noticed the steaming stone carafes that sat on the earthen tables, begging us to pour them into stone mugs.
“Oh gods that smells good,” Rachelle said from beside me in the mess line. Some of the prisoners couldn’t resist, even peeling off from the line for food in order to coax the liquid into mugs, risking their breakfast in exchange for first dibs at the luxury before them. “I haven’t had darkspice since I visited Frell.” Then, glancing at my blank expression, she filled me in. “Major port city in Luminaria. Sublime sweetbread, which pairs even better with the bitter taste of darkspice.”
“It smells like home,” I said, watching a strong man with a hulking set of muscles pour himself a cup of darkspice tea and savor it with eyes that rolled back into his head.
“And where’s home to you?” Rachelle asked gently.
I reached back into my mind, probing for the answer… but came up with nothing. Only what Callum had told me. “Riverleaf, I’m told,” I said. “But maybe sense memory could help me. Maybe…” I stepped out of the mess line, walking toward one of the carafes. The scent of the darkspice grew stronger, earthier. Reminding me of specters of slow mornings, wrapped in bedsheets. Soft caresses. Breakfast in bed. Someone trailing kisses up my thigh?—
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a smooth voice purred.
I had one hand on a carafe when a man’s hand shot out to grip my wrist, stopping me.
Not just any man.
Tristen Greywood. The Shadowfire Assassin .
Electricity shot through my body at his touch. Up close, he was even more breathtakingly handsome. His eyes were dark obsidian that seemed to warm slightly as he studied me. His lips were quirked into a smirk. But this close, I could smell the scent of him—spice and oak, like magic sparking in the forest. Like… something else I couldn’t quite place.
But Tristen was standing between me and a potential memory—I wouldn’t allow it. I needed to learn as much as I could about myself before whatever was coming. Besides, he had made it clear that he was here to fight dirty—and had oh-so-kindly gifted me the reputation of The Lord Killer that had kept me from receiving the King’s mercy.
“I can pour my own cup,” I said, reaching over to remove his hand.
He let go, watching me pour the dark liquid into one of the stone mugs that was slightly misshapen as if it had been forged by the earth itself.
“I never said you couldn’t. I just don’t think it’s wise. Considering…” he inclined his head in the direction of another table.
I looked up, following his gaze…
…and saw the strong man from earlier foaming at the mouth, seizing as half-drunk tea was spilled in front of him and a hush descended over the dining hall.
“It’s poison,” I breathed, dropping the mug with a crash . I turned back to Tristen, catching his unreadable dark gaze. He had saved me. The feared Shadowfire Assassin had saved me? “Why did you warn me?”
“I think you’ll be of use to me in the trials. Would be a shame for some hot beverage to take you out before things get… interesting,” he said, shrugging.
“Playing favorites over there, Tristen?” a mocking voice called, and the beefy man I recognized as Ajax ambled over. “I hate to inform you, but I’ve already called dibs on the new girl. She still owes me a dance.”
“Back off, Ajax, or I’ll be your new dance partner,” Tristen said, and there was something deadly in his tone. But that didn’t stop Ajax giving me a once-over with his hungry eyes. The man was built like a wrestler, all rolling muscles and pure strength like a human boulder.
“What are you going to do about it? Turn my mind against me? I’d love to see you try,” Ajax goaded.
Tristen leaned back, putting his hands in his pockets. “It’s not me you have to worry about. After all, you’re the one trying to call dibs on The Lord Killer.”
Ajax took me in. Others around us watched our interaction with morbid curiosity and fear. Fear of me? Or of what Ajax would do to me?
“Well, I speak for the rest of the prisoners when I say I can’t let you in the trials. Which is a letdown—I would have liked some play time with you. Nothing personal, girl .”
“Don’t call me girl ,” I said, my voice low and deadly.
Ajax lunged for me, but something took control in that moment. A heat flashed in my veins, and my body moved almost without thinking.
I snatched the hot carafe of poisoned darkspice and hurled it at Ajax. It made contact, smashing open on his face, the liquid still steaming hot. He screamed, staggering backward as he clutched his eyes. Shattered ceramic was embedded all over his face, and he clawed out pieces of the stone carafe, the hot poisoned drink mixing with his blood.
“You bitch!” Ajax yelled and then charged at me.
A baker’s daughter would have cowered. Or ran, maybe.
But I knew I wasn’t just some baker’s daughter.
I crouched low, swinging out a leg just in time to trip Ajax. He fell to the ground with a loud thump , and I didn’t hesitate. I jumped on top of him, burying a knee into his chest, my forearm at his throat, choking him. My movements were natural, instinctive.
This is who I am, I realized, my body telling me a kind of truth.
I didn’t hear the thundering feet of the guards as they ran toward me. I just felt the molten roiling in my veins, the ringing thought in my head.
Kill him before he kills you.
But as the guards pulled me off Ajax, I caught sight of Tristen, who was watching me with an eyebrow raised. He looked… impressed .
It took several guards to drag Ajax out of the mess hall as he screamed a mixture of curses and threats my way. I doubt a little bit of poison was enough to kill a hulking man like him—especially considering the energy behind his screams. I had only made my enemy angry with me.
“What’s going on here?” a voice boomed, and Callum took in everything, zeroing in on me. “Who hurt you?”
Rachelle hurried over from across the mess hall. “Ajax attacked Saffron?—”
A hush settled over the mess hall, and Callum stiffened, as if sensing the female presence before she showed herself.
Cassandra and a trio of priestesses entered the mess hall. “Commander. I have a new order from King West—one that is to take effect now as the island has started to see fit to cull the herd.” Her eyes flickered to the carafes. So the island had poisoned those drinks?
“What is the order?” Callum asked, his expression cold.
“As of this moment, our guards will interfere with nothing other than escape attempts, which will be met with a swift death. The prisoners are all on their own—no help or aid may come from any of us. Or you, Callum.” Then, Cassandra turned from Callum, addressing us directly. “Survival is in your hands now. Might as well get some training in. Your first trial has been called for tomorrow,” Cassandra said. She then walked away with her cadre of guards and priestesses, and Callum backed away, looking furious as he was forced to follow.
I was on my own now.
I felt Rachelle pull me into our corner table in the dining hall, saw the food she placed in front of me, but my mind was still stuck on the fight I had just had with Ajax.
I fought him. And won.
“Saffron, you have to eat something,” Rachelle said, and I realized I hadn’t touched anything on my plate as we sat side-by-side in the mess hall. “You can’t train on an empty stomach.”
“Why was Ajax so eager to try and kill me?” I asked, my mind still catching up with me.
“It was a dirty move for Tristen to bring that up in front of everyone. Because if you are The Lord Killer—and that’s still just a rumor right now—you pose a gruesome threat to everyone in here. But, for the record, I don’t think you’re The Lord Killer.”
“Thanks, Rachelle,” I said.
“In fact, I think you’re way more evil and violent than that,” she said, a grin on her face.
I rolled my eyes as she laughed, clearly fucking with me. “Well, that would be helpful in the trials, at least. But why would Tristen spread a rumor like that if it wasn’t true?”
Rachelle studied me. “The Ash Trials aren’t just about surviving the trials themselves. It’s about surviving the people around you. Tristen was clearly trying to paint a target on your back.” She sighed. “Unfortunately he seems to be both hot and a manipulative genius.”
“Why would he paint a target on my back only to try to save me from the poisoned tea?”
“He can’t have everyone just ganging up on him when the trials start. You’re as good of a target as anyone, so he probably saved you to be his shield. He will keep on shifting the target to you as it suits him. Just keep an eye on him—I know mine already are,” Rachelle said with a swoon and a sigh.
I smiled at her exaggerated admiration of Tristen’s good looks and speared some vegetables with my fork, trying to fit together what had happened that morning. Everything felt blurry, wrong. Like the thoughts running through my mind hadn’t quite hit on the right answer. Puzzle pieces were floating, but not locking into place yet.
Breakfast finished quickly—no one really wanting to dine with the lingering corpses and the reminder of luxuries turned weapons—a cruel start to our trials.
As breakfast concluded, the guards didn’t shuffle us back into our cells. Instead, they corralled us down another network of stone hallways that were cracked with vines, as if the lush veins of the island were snaking their way into the heart of Ashguard.
What was even more strange is that these hallways started to slope upward . As the damp smell of the prison started to recede, I felt a strange fresh breeze hit my skin.
I fell in step next to Rachelle. “Are we leaving the prison?” I asked, having only known near-darkness since waking up in Ashguard.
“Don’t get too excited, rookie,” she said.
But I couldn’t help myself, pushing forward to the front of the group as the upward-sloping tunnel gave way to my first glimpse of the island.
The guards stood by the entrance of the training grounds as the rest of us prisoners spilled out onto the lush grassy training ring. This wasn’t just some field, however. The circular training ring was a wide clearing surrounded by tall rose bushes that bore black roses, their petals littering the edges of the training arena with ominous black spots—as if the forest itself was crying black tears. A few strange-looking trees dotted the interior of the training grounds. The breeze was temperate with just a hint of humidity, the smell of exotic plants sweet and spicy on the light wind.
“C’mon, let’s warm up,” Rachelle said, grabbing me and leading me to a pile of springy moss that surrounded the raised fighting ring at the center of the training grounds. As we walked, I saw other prisoners reaching up to rip off branches from the trees. But they weren’t branches?—
“Are those swords growing from the trees?” I asked in surprise, watching as some of the more menacing prisoners went to go tear off huge wooden practice swords and other intimidating weapons that the trees in the training ring seemed to have made just for this purpose. Another prisoner ripped off a wooden dagger that seemed to have been growing from a lower branch, and the edge of the practice blade looked blunt—but still sharp enough to do some damage.
“The Isle of Embermere provides for us all,” Rachelle said, mocking Cassandra’s singsong tone. Rachelle and I reached the mossy patch, and she started to stretch atop its springy surface. “The rules are simple. Training time is free time and you can grab practice weapons, do exercises, or just wait for it to be over. You just need to avoid the sparring ring.” Rachelle inclined her head to where four glowing mushrooms grew out of the ground, boxing in the sparring ring that was elevated above the rest. Two ropes made of vines encircled the sparring ring, closing it off from the rest of the training grounds. A single stone wall lined the back side of the training ring, and I wondered how many heads had been bashed into that wall during a fight.
“Why should I avoid it?” I asked.
“Because the only other rule here is that each prisoner can be called to the sparring ring once per training session to spar with another prisoner. If you get multiple invitations to spar, you must accept at least one of them per training session. It’s how we settle things around here—we fight until the other prisoner yields. But with the guards no longer allowed to intervene, who knows how far those matches will go now,” Rachelle said.
I watched as the other prisoners went to lift heavy stones or sprint through agility courses, each trying to hone a unique advantage beyond their magic, which was still leashed by their magic-dampening iron bands. Still, others went to some of the stout tree stumps covered in moss that were perfect striking height, bashing their wooden weapons against them in frightening displays of force.
I sucked in a deep breath as I watched those around me prepare to fight—to kill.
Would I even stand a chance when their bands came off and their magic was set free?
“My sister has come to spar with you,” I heard a female voice say.
I turned to see the two willowy twins awaiting me.
“I want to see what you can do, Lord Killer,” one of the twins—I think it was Felicity—said, baring her teeth as she flipped a wooden practice dagger. “I’d like to see you try and live up to your reputation, you psychopath.”
A crowd was forming, and my heart dropped. The rules were the rules—I was going to have to fight in the training ring. Rachelle stepped up next to me, but I knew she could do nothing in the face of Ashguard’s rules.
“No. She’s mine,” a low voice said. Every word sounded like sweet molasses as they dripped from his lips.
The crowd parted to allow Tristen to pass. Murmurs echoed his name. Despite the heavy iron bands on his wrists and ankles, he still strolled . As I took him in, I felt the breath punch from my lungs. A dusting of dark stubble gave him a roguish look. But it was his deep obsidian eyes that melted me—yes, deeply melted me as his gaze settled on mine. Something flickered across his irises as he stared at me. The revered Shadowfire Assassin was now stalking me as his prey.
Hadn’t he thrown me to the wolves already by claiming me to be some sort of killer?
“I am not yours,” I said, keeping my voice level to hide my anger.
“Don’t accept his challenge,” Rachelle warned in a low voice. “Fight Felicity instead. You only have to accept one of your challengers, and it shouldn’t be him.”
Tristen shot Rachelle a dazzling smile and winked. “Ah, another lady who has heard of my talents.”
“Back off, Tristen,” Callum said from where he circled the outer edges of the training grounds. Suddenly, he was unsheathing his sword, placing it and the rest of his gear on a bench made of roots and branches as he approached, now unarmed. “I will spar with Saffron.”
“Callum,” I admonished, noting the way the other guards looked at me too closely. Callum was bringing the wrong kind of attention to himself—to us.
“Didn’t dear Cassandra say you couldn’t interfere with our fights?” Tristen taunted. “Or do you think Saffron is so defenseless that she can’t take the rest of us on in a fight?”
“No, I’m here to personally ensure that she can wipe the floor with all of you. You saw what she did to Ajax. Let’s go, Saffron,” Callum said, nodding to the sparring ring.
But Tristen stepped swiftly in his way. “It would be strange for a Commander of such a high standing to challenge a trainee. Wouldn’t it?”
Callum paused.
“That’s right,” Tristen said. “Now let me pass. As the High Sorceress said, it’s our prison now. No guard involvement allowed any longer now that the trials are upon us. Come, Saffron—let’s fight.”
The way he said my name sounded like sin. It heated me in ways I could not admit to this smirking man who was putting me on display yet again. Forcing me to show up, rather than cower in anonymity.
“Scared?” he asked, leaning closer to me. His eyes were taunting, and something in me couldn’t back down.
“In your dreams,” I said. It would have been wise to accept Felicity’s challenge instead, but my body was already moving to the sparring ring. I held on to the top rope of the sparring ring, and swung my legs over the edge, walking to the far side and falling into a fighting stance as I turned.
Tristen grinned, joining me on the raised platform. The mushrooms at each corner of the sparring ring seemed to glow slightly, as if the island itself was acknowledging our presence. “Then show me what you’ve got.”
I didn’t hesitate. I launched myself at him like a pit viper, unleashing the pent-up muscle memory that had been curling in my body ever since I had awoken in my cell. He deflected my first punches with ease.
“Rusty?” he asked, drawing back and stretching his neck.
I narrowed my eyes. “What’s your problem with me?”
He quirked his head. “Problem?”
“You could have picked anyone else.”
He shot out at me, but I dodged, going to sweep his leg like I had with Ajax, but Tristen caught my ankle—crouching down and yanking me toward him in a smooth motion as I yelped.
“The others aren’t nearly as fun,” he said, his body on top of mine, the whisper of his breath by my ear. I felt every part of him pressed against my body—and I was so hot with anger at yet another man trying to claim me.
“I’ll show you how fun I am,” I said, snatching his wrist and catching him off-balance so I could roll out from underneath him?—
—and then I allowed him to fall face first on the springy moss of the sparring ring. I twisted his hand behind his back, shoving him into the ground.
“Yield or I break your wrist,” I threatened.
A half-smile crept across his lips as he turned his face to me. “I will not yield,” he said, but before I could register what he was doing, he used his legs to swivel himself out of my grasp. Quick like a panther, he rolled us over. I found myself pinned once more underneath him. I squirmed as a deep part of my mind was about to execute my next move when those lips of his were by my ear once more.
“Yield,” he said with a quiet intensity. “Yield to hide the strength you so desperately want to prove to me that you have within you.”
Was he asking me to let him win? Absolutely not.
“Saffron!” Callum yelled from the sidelines. “Tap out!”
A fire stoked in my veins. “I will not yield,” I said, throwing Tristen’s words right back at him and ignoring Calllum. I would not be seen as weak.
And then we were on our feet once more, fighting, meeting each other’s blows like a brutal dance that my body strained and struggled to keep up with, his lithe smoothness always one step ahead of my kicks and jabs.
But I saw an opening. Saw how Tristen had a slower left side. Just slow enough?—
—I went to land a blow, but he had me. It was a trap. He spun me around, pressing me up against the only solid wall of stone of the sparring ring, my arm at an uncomfortable angle behind my back.
“Yield,” he said, his voice husky.
“No.”
“Are you sure? A little bird told me that you might need this arm for an upcoming trial or something,” he growled.
“Why do you care?” I shot back.
“I don’t. But you should,” he said, adding just enough pressure to show he was serious without injuring me. “Yield!”
Pain shot up my arm, but I couldn’t yield—wouldn’t?—
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Callum stalking to pick up his sword where he had laid it down earlier. About to break his promise, his duty to his role. He would do that to save me .
As Tristen twisted harder, nearly bringing my arm to an unnatural angle as pain lanced through me?—
“STOP! I yield,” I yelled, my voice cracking with pain.
Tristen dropped my arm and I felt my breath whoosh back into my lungs.
I whirled, glaring at Tristen, whose dark black hair was mussed from our fight. “You fiend,” I growled at him, feeling like the animal within me was starting to claw its way to the surface.
Tristen’s eyes glittered black. “I’m your enemy, Saffron. Just like everyone else in this place. Don’t forget that. Ever .”
Slowly, the crowd around the training ring dispersed. As I turned from Tristen, I still felt his gaze upon me as I jumped out of the sparring ring, rejoining a wide-eyed Rachelle down below.
“Saffron… that was…”
“I lost,” I said with a frown. Across the training grounds, Callum was glaring at Tristen, unrestrained rage in his expression. Tristen pretended not to notice, pulling off his shirt as he moved on to do pull-ups from a thick branch of a nearby tree, a gaggle of female prisoners and guards lurked around him—both groups watching him intently for different reasons.
“But you’re a fighter. A good one,” Rachelle said, awe in her voice. “You fight like you were trained. For a long time.”
I nodded, that piece clicking into place, at least. It felt right. And it would maybe give me a chance against these vicious opponents. “It makes sense,” I murmured.
“Let’s go do some drills. Get some space between you and him,” Rachelle said as she cast a look in Tristen’s direction. “Not that you would want space from that specimen of a man, damn.”
I nudged her. “Tristen’s all yours,” I said, and she just laughed.
“If only we were fighting for something more fun,” Rachelle said with a sigh as we crossed the training hall.
As we moved through the other drills in preparation for the first trial, I couldn’t help but notice how the other prisoners started to give me a wider berth. They were avoiding me. For now.
In claiming me in front of the others and showing them what I was capable of, Tristen had unwittingly given me a shield. I hoped it would keep me company through the first trial—when everyone’s magic would be finally unleashed.