Chapter 13
Desmond walks to the sparring mat in the room’s corner. I move opposite him. A duel isn’t how I expected him to prove himself, but I’ll take it.
“The first to restrain the other with a weapon wins,” he says.
“Deal.”
Then he unstraps all of his daggers and kicks them across the floor.
My gaze tracks them, then snaps back to him. “What are you doing?”
“Making the fight fair,” he answers, confidence oozing through the bond between us.
That’s a little insulting.
I size him up. He’s deliberately still, assessing every move I make. And he’s fae. From what I’ve heard, fae have the best reflexes. Orcs are the strongest, goblins are the most cunning, and humans are the jack of all trades but masters of none.
And he has an Elite Gift in his arsenal.
“What is it?” I ask.
He makes a show of looking confused, his subtle smirk belying it. “It?”
“Your magic. Unless you want to surprise me.”
His smirk vanishes. A cold, impassive expression clicks into place. “You wouldn’t survive it.”
My mouth falls open. I remember when I woke and saw that he tied himself to a chair. He warned me that it was a precaution. “Isn’t showing me your Gift the point of this?”
He doesn’t answer.
“I’ll count down,” Finnian says, standing to the side of the mat. The lynx’s tail lashes like she’s curious. “Go on one. Three, two, one!”
Desmond stands with his arms crossed, feet planted on the mat. Guess it’s my move first.
I jab, aiming for his jaw. He pivots, side-stepping me. He lands a restrained punch against my unguarded waist before I have a chance to block. Then he retreats, both hands now fisted and ready. The hit stung, but it would’ve been a hell of a lot worse if he put his full power behind it.
Shifting my feet to face him, I exhale and prepare to strike again.
He moves first. Not with a lurch, but with the balance of a ripple through water. One fist hooks my shoulder, and the other slams into my ribs before I register how close he is. The impact steals my breath. I stumble back, my arms instinctively coming up to defend.
He doesn’t press the attack, instead giving me a vital second to recover. A smile pulls at his lips like he’s waiting to see if I’ll cede to him. It ignites something reckless in me. I unsheathe my dagger and clench it tight.
Desmond moves in. This time I’m ready. My blade sweeps and—
He grips my forearm with unrelenting strength, stopping my attack. His foot collides with my shin as he shoves me onto the mat.
I throw the blade so I don’t cut myself as my shoulder collides with the mat. I roll just in time to see Desmond lunge for my dagger. My magic thrusts it out of his reach, and it zips into my hand.
He raises a telling brow. He wants me to fight with my Gift?
I jump onto my feet and levitate the dagger behind him. He swerves to grab it, but I punch to distract him. He effortlessly blocks my hit and lands one of his own.
The dagger slashes at his head. He jerks away, but a severed strand of his dark hair floats in the air.
Desmond catches it, then tilts his head at me, slow and assessing. If he hadn’t dodged, I would’ve nicked his ear. “You don’t hold back,” he muses.
“If I held back, I wouldn’t have survived every barrow to live today. And you said I won’t feel your pain.”
“Supposedly.” His amused smile looks genuine, but a foreign perturbation presses into me. I know the feeling is his, the same way I know my own pulse. I just know. “Still, don’t strike to kill,” he says as he taps the inked crescent on his wrist.
“Shouldn’t I be the one worrying about you taking lives, Prince of Death?” I taunt him.
His eyes flare wide, apparently startled by the title. He starts to speak, and I use that distraction to surge at him. His reaction is delayed, but his forearm still blocks my punch. Even distracted, he moves too quickly.
“You’re going easy on her,” Finnian complains.
“How will we know what she’s made of if I knock her on her ass immediately?” he counters.
He’s holding back? I frown as we circle each other. I’ll show him.
I untether another dagger from the weapons rack and sneak it behind him. Finnian chuckles.
Damn it. It’s enough to signal Desmond. He pivots away from my blades, so I lunge after him. He meets me head-on, blocking every hit.
He punches. When I dodge, I realize he let me. His other hand jabs my stomach, and I suck in an involuntary gasp.
But he pulls back and gives me time to steady myself—overconfident ass. That was a mistake. I plant his boots to the training mat with my magic. For a fraction of a second, he’s pinned. That’s all the opening I need.
I punch. Instead of dodging, he stumbles. My fist collides with his face, jerking his head to the side. For the first time, he looks surprised. Then he grins, but the sharp glint in his hazel eyes is a clear taunt. His next hit comes without warning—a blunt impact to my cheekbone.
Shit. I stagger back, clutching my cheek. He held back his strength again, but it’ll still bruise.
He’s behind me before my circling blades can even graze him. His arm crooks around my neck, forcing me into a headlock.
No. I won’t let him take me down so easily.
I reach back and yank on his earring. He swears, but he doesn’t let go.
I can’t see him, don’t know where I’m aiming as my blades slash again and again, but he hisses as he deflects one with his forearm, then snatches it.
Blood sprays the floor as he flings it at the target.
It hits dead center. The other, he plucks from midair with a low laugh.
Shit, he’s good.
“You’ve let yourself become trapped,” Desmond says. He spins me to face his body, sweeps his leg under mine, and then slams me into the mat. The air is sucked out of my lungs. Stars swim in my vision as he sits atop me, one knee on either side of my thighs.
He snatches my wrists and pins them above my head with one hand. Then he presses my dagger to my throat. The blade tickles my neck, featherlight. I glare up at him as he looks coldly down at me. He’s too close. My pulse quickens as his own heartbeat echoes through my wrist, steady and unfazed.
With only inches between us, his eyes look more green than brown. They’re flecked with brilliant gold. Like velvety moss in a sunlit copse.
“So it seems your threat was a bluff,” he whispers, his breath warm against my cheek. “You haven’t broken me yet.”
He could cut me, scar me. But he hasn’t.
“I’ve got time,” I whisper back. “And there are plenty of ways to break a male.”
Desmond’s smirk falters. His eyes widen, and his throat bobs with a swallow.
Got you.
I grin even though he still has me at his mercy.
His head tilts toward mine, his curls brushing my temple.
“You haven’t the slightest idea what I can withstand,” he whispers in my ear.
He angles the dagger so the scrollwork catches the light—a moon.
It’s one Seb forged for my birthday. “I’ll be keeping this since it’s customary when the winner spares the loser’s life. ”
My mouth goes dry as I glare up at him. “Not that one,” I hiss. It’s not the taunting whisper or his legs firmly pinning mine that enrages me. It’s the dagger—my last Gift from Sebastian before he left Nettlerock.
Finnian clears his throat. “I’m still here, in case you two forgot.”
“Yes, please finish gloating and get off me,” I say through gritted teeth.
Desmond stands, then twirls the dagger and sheathes it at his hip. I realize that he didn’t have enough daggers to fill every sheath. One was already empty. He knew I’d challenge him, and that he’d win. I force out a breath as I try to hide how much that pisses me off.
“We’ll train from dawn to after dusk. There’s no time to waste.” To my surprise, he offers his hand to me.
This would be the moment where he pretends to be chivalrous but knocks me on my ass again, just to prove he can.
I don’t take it. I push myself to my feet.
He’s quiet as he watches me. Not a hint of emotion leaks through our strange connection. I wish I knew what he was thinking.
“Tell me why I’m here. What do you need me to do in Olin’s tomb?” I demand.
Desmond cradles his jaw in his hand, massaging where I landed the hit.
“The location of the tomb isn’t known by many.
It’s a secret guarded amongst raiders, but none have reached the treasure.
From the intel we’ve gathered, we think we know why.
A survivor of the last band who attempted said they encountered a bit of an obstacle. ”
Finnian snorts. “A bit, you say.”
Desmond ignores him. “There’s a chasm sixty paces wide and at least twice as deep.
Few can throw a grappling hook that distance, and the survivor said that there are.
. . things in the darkness of the chasm.
” He pauses, letting suspense hang in the air.
“Most raiders would be familiar with draugr, so I assume it’s something worse. ”
I’m piecing their plan together, but I’m not thrilled about it. “You want me to levitate all five of us across a giant chasm on a flimsy wooden board?” My voice quivers with exhaustion and indignation. How in hell does he expect me to do that? “I didn’t join you because I have a death wish!”
“No, you’ll stake down a bridge on both sides, and support our weight in the event of something trying to break it,” he says.
“What a relief,” I snipe. “Now it sounds like an evening stroll!”
“Don’t forget about the way out, too,” Finnian says. “Otherwise, the tomb will be our very deadly, very unsettling new home.”
“Great.” I throw up my hands. “If the bridge breaks, you think I’ll do what exactly? Save you by untethering your boots? It would take me months to learn that! If it’s even possible!”
Desmond scowls, his hazel eyes hardening. “We don’t have months. We have weeks. Make it work.”
“She’s your solution?” a female asks, then scoffs right behind me.
I spin around, stepping back at the sight of the stunning fae female.
She crosses her arms as her burgundy lips curl in a satisfied smirk.
Her black hair is styled in thin, tight braids, and her eyes are an eerie amber, stark against her dark skin.
She wears no earrings, cuffs, or necklaces—just a sleeveless vest and pants. Nothing for an opponent to grab onto.
The fae sneers. “Who is she and why is she here?”
“I’m Cyn, and I’m here because you need me.” No matter how new I am, I won’t let anyone talk around me. “And the why is King Olin’s loot.”
“The loot.” Her nostrils flare. “So that’s how he got a human in on the plan.”
“I don’t risk my neck for nothing.”
She’s taller than me, even taller than Maeve, and looks down on me in disdain. “Dangle a little gold, and the human comes running. I’d expect no less avarice from your kind. That’s why you invaded the Hollowlands, isn’t it? Our gems. Our flora. All because yours wasn’t enough.”
“The annexation was two centuries ago. My village didn’t even exist then!” I snap. Then I clench my jaw to keep from wincing. I’ve got to keep better control of my mouth before something more telling slips out.
“That’s enough,” Desmond cuts in. “Cyn, this is Auri. Auri, this is Cyn. She’s the missing piece we need, and trustworthy, whether she likes it or not.”
Auri notices the crescents on our wrists. The burning malice in her gaze makes Finnian recoil. “You made a vow with a human. Why bind yourself to her, Desmond?”
He shrugs. “You said to find a dependable solution. If she betrays me, she betrays her life. So consider your request resolved.”
She recoils like he’s rebuked her and steps away from me with a huff. “Acknowledged.”
Desmond strokes the cut on his forearm and inspects the beaded blood. It’s superficial. The blade barely skimmed his skin. “Auri, you’ll train Cyn in archery. I’ll handle everything else.” Finally, he looks at me. “There are sets of throwing knives in the weapons cabinet. We start at dawn.”
I nod. At least I’m used to waking up even earlier from my routine back home.
Finnian straightens, waiting.
“Focus on the heist,” Desmond says to him. “If Rune fails, that’s our top priority.”
He looks disappointed, but he nods in understanding. His fabric handiwork is finished, and I realize it’s supposed to be a stuffed animal. It’s dark, an inky black. He tosses the misshapen thing to Desmond. “Still a little lopsided, but an improvement from the last one.”
As Desmond examines it with a faraway smile, I get a better look at it.
The thing is a bird. Two tiny buttons gleam as its eyes, and the large beak is a triangular piece of leather affixed with too-thick thread.
It’s probably a raven or a crow, but either way, Evie would be aghast at Finnian’s workmanship.
Desmond pockets it. Before he can stride out, Auri catches his gaze. There’s a warning in her curled lip and the narrowed eyes. A warning about me, I’m presuming. Desmond doesn’t nod or shake his head or even shrug. He simply ignores it and leaves.
“Good luck,” Finnian wishes me as he follows. “Training with Auri is always a bit of a shock.”
The extremely irritable fae I’m left with crosses her arms, examining me as if I’m excrement on the bottom of her boot. Then she turns on her heel and follows after Finnian.
Ouch.
The lynx, my final spectator, lets out a low, intimidating imitation of a meow. Judging by its feline scowl, it’s either contemplating what a crappy ally I’m turning out to be, or hungry. Then it too sways out of the room, leaving me alone to ponder what in hell I’ve gotten myself into.