26. Rorax
The war drums from the Siege of Surmalinn were beating in Rorax’s ears as she yanked herself free of her nightmare and threw herself out of bed. She staggered, catching herself on the smooth stone walls of her bedroom as she desperately sucked in haggard breaths.
Fifty years later she could still see it, the blood on the hands of her soldiers as they carved the ten-pointed stars into the necks of the House of Death guards they had deafened with dull knives, right before rubbing in the black salt to the wound to make sure it scarred forever. It still made disgust, shame, and hatred curl around violently in her stomach. It was all aimed at her. Rorax had brought those men to Surmalinn. She’d broken through the city gates and let the Wolf’s army in, and she hadn’t stopped what they were doing. Not at first.
Rorax blinked furiously, dropping her head back to stare at the ceiling—but the wooden beams had been carved into beautiful, intricate paisley patterns. It was some of the best sculpture work Rorax had ever seen, a luxury fit for a queen . . . or a future Guardian.
A faint ringing started in her ears, and the walls seemed to press in on her. Gods, she was going to vomit.
She jerked herself away from the wall and forced her body into her leathers as quickly as she could. She needed to get out, needed some air. Needed to run or fight or climb or scream, something.
Rorax wrapped Glimr’s sheath around her waist, buckling it just above her hips before she grabbed some of her favorite hair knives and shoved them into the band of the thick braid she’d done up before falling asleep.
She couldn’t feel any witch-wards or runes on the window. Her room was only on the second floor of the keep, so she opened the window as far as it would go and stuck her head out. When she didn’t spy any guards in the tents below or prowling the wall, she slid out.
Rorax hit the ground in a crouch, rainwater and mud flying up and splattering into her face and her eyes. She wiped it off as she looked around for the guards that were supposed to be patrolling the field and tents around the castle, but everything was dark and unmoving, even the late-night revelers had long since gone to sleep.
It was about a hundred yards from the castle wall to the edge of the clearing, and almost every square inch of the grounds was covered in tents or makeshift stalls for merchants. From their haphazard placements, it was obvious that no one had been on the ground organizing where they were supposed to be set up, which Rorax was thankful for as she half jogged through a diagonal pathway. It was easier to slip around unnoticed this way.
Rorax made it to the last tent and paused. She waited for several minutes searching for movement from the soldiers she had seen swarming the forest earlier, but there was nothing. It was completely still.
She dashed from the line of tents to the nearest tree and pressed her back to the trunk. She listened and waited for a soldier to yell, or to approach to see what she was doing, but everything remained quiet in the forest around her.
Cautiously, she pushed deeper into the forest, farther away from the tents and the castle, farther away from her prison. She moved slowly through the underbrush to make sure she didn’t make any noise or leave any tracks and eventually found a tall cottonwood, with perfectly spaced limbs to climb on, looming over her head.
She grabbed the lowest limb and climbed halfway up the tree until she collapsed onto a limb and sprawled out like a lazy cat.
Rorax considered tying herself onto the branch to keep from rolling off in her sleep but opted for the quick escape in case anything or anyone found her. If she fell from this height she wouldn’t die anyway.
She sighed, taking her first real breath all night, and looked up into the stars, tracing over the familiar constellations.
Volla used to spend hours with her, looking up at the stars and teaching Rorax everything she knew about the cosmos, which was a lot. When Volla had been a girl, House Ice students had been required to go to university to study something besides warfare, and Volla had chosen Astronomy. That requirement hadn’t applied to Rorax going through her education. Through the Wolf’s curriculum, the only thing she had ever been required to do was fight, brutalize, and kill.
Rorax closed her eyes and shoved Volla and House Ice out of her head, banishing them into the void.
Moments later she fell asleep.
Yelping, Rorax jerked up straight and gripped the branch underneath her with both hands.
The branch—with her attached—was swinging violently in the air.
She peered down just in time to see a dark band of black and red magick wrap around her branch and yank it down. With a loud crack, the wood broke from under her and Rorax fell hard. She hit one branch with her hip, another raked over the side of her face leaving a violent scratch over her cheek, before her body slammed down on the ground with a painful thud.
She landed on her shoulder before flopping onto her back. Pain rocketed down her arm as she rolled to her stomach to scramble and get up.
A boot on her back shoved her down into the mud, pressing into her and forcing Rorax to faceplant hard into the ground.
“Gods above, what the—” She moved to turn her neck, to see who was shoving her down, but froze when a cool blade pressed against her throat.
“Don’t move,” a male voice above her growled.
The hair on the back of Rorax’s neck rose, and her lips curled over her teeth.
“You move even an inch, and I will slit your throat.” The man pressed the blade closer to her, as if daring her to try. Her eyes darted around for something she could use, but all she could see was useless dark underbrush.
She tried to summon Glimr, but the sheath had slid up her torso to the middle of her back and the man standing above her had his boot pressed onto the metal, stepping on it and trapping it in its sheath on her back.
Rorax’s fingers flexed into the wet soil, grabbing two handfuls, and squeezing tightly. Sticks were poking at the burns that Isgra had made on her arms, and it hurt enough that adrenaline started to pump through her in response, activating the fight in her blood.
She pressed her forehead onto the cool ground and tried to take a deep calming breath. If she didn’t relax, she was going to kill this man the second she got free, before she even got to see who he was.
Her voice was steady, low, and completely lethal as she growled her warning. “Get the fuck off me, or I will bleed you like a pig.”
The man above her snickered, and it made her squeeze the dirt in her hands harder. “You are not in a position to be making any demands.” As if to prove a point, he pressed more weight onto her back, driving her farther into the earth. “Who are you?”
Rorax grunted at the additional weight. “I’m a guest staying at . . . the castle.” She panted, air pushing out of her lungs.
“Then what in God”s name are you doing out here? There’s a curfew at the castle for a reason.”
Rorax tried to struggle against him, to lift or slide out from underneath his boot, but he just pushed down harder, so hard her burns on her arms throbbed in more pain, her breasts started to ache, and her ribs groaned.
“What”s your name?” He pressed his blade against her neck until there was a little pinch of pain as he broke skin.
She snarled when the hot, wet drop of blood slid down her throat. “None of your fucking business.”
She tried to lurch away, to wiggle just enough that she could free her knife and stab this son of a bitch, but she didn’t accomplish anything besides his sword cutting deeper into her skin.
“Name. Now,” he said through his teeth, increasing the weight he had on her.
She tried to gasp in a breath, but the pressure was too much. She gasped like a goldfish out of water. Her mouth was moving, but she couldn’t breathe.
“Gemma!” she wheezed out as black spots started to gather in front of her eyes. “My name is Gemma Sumner.”
“Gemma Sumner.” The man above her spit, like the name was a rotten fruit in his mouth. “Why are you out here, Gemma?”
He released her a bit, and she sucked in a half breath before telling him the truth. “I was sleeping. I couldn’t fall asleep in my room, and I came out here for fresh air.”
He paused. “It’s dangerous out here, Gemma.”
She wheezed a dark laugh from underneath him but said nothing. She was probably the most dangerous thing in this part of the woods, and most creatures knew to stay far away from the Guardian’s castle.
The male let out an exasperated sigh as he peeled his sword away from the cut on her skin and sheathed his sword. “Get up. I’ll escort you back to the castle. Hurry, I want to get on with my rotation.”
He stepped off her.
The second his weight moved off Glimr, she summoned the knife into her hand, twisted her torso up and around, and sliced.
She cut into the flesh of his calf as deeply as she could from that angle, his blood splattering across her face as she cleaved into him. He yelled in pain and staggered away from her, freeing his sword from his sheath again.
Rorax rolled away, raising herself into a low crouch, coiled on the balls of her feet. She watched for the perfect opportunity to lunge, ready to throw her knife through the mother fucker’s neck.
She was going to cut him into bits. He was going to look like sloppy dog chow when she was done and it didn’t matter who he was, he wouldn’t be able to do anything to stop the knife from severing through the tendons, arteries, and bone in the column of his throat.
She was about to throw the knife when she caught enough of the male’s face in the dim starlight to recognize him. He was from the House of Death. The prince had called him his ‘lieutenant’.
The House of Death lieutenant took one purposeful step towards her, and she couldn’t help but swallow down her sudden unease. He would probably be able to pluck the life right out of her if she gave him too long to use the power he held, but she didn’t want to kill him if she didn’t have to. He was a friend to the man with the ten-pointed star, and she had caused that man enough pain for one lifetime.
Her survival instincts jolted her forward, and before he could block her, she threw her elbow across his face, the hard bone splitting the skin on his eyebrow. Blood immediately ran down the side of his cheek.
He grunted and blindly reached for Rorax, but she ducked under his arm and watched as he stumbled back a step from the force of her blow.
A dark, deep laugh rattled out of his chest as he reached up with his free hand and slowly untied the black cloak from around his neck.
“I’m impressed. It’s not every day that I meet someone quick enough to get the jump on me.” His smile was threatening and bloody, and Rorax’s hackles rose as he dropped his cloak onto a bush and turned fully toward her. Something about the way he moved, with such confident grace, made her want to sprint, to run to the castle as quickly as she could.
He was injured. The lieutenant would never be able to catch her.
Blood had started to trickle into his left eye, but he didn’t seem to care. He just let it run down his face. “I think it’s time you tell me your real name, Gemma.”
Rorax lunged with her knife, but with a loud ring of steel he deflected her to the side with his sword.
She thrust up again, and again he blocked her, but the blade missed his throat by a mere inch this time.
She took the opportunity to use her other hand to land a solid hook to his stomach with her fist, then stepped back.
He grunted in pain, nearly doubling over as he reached for her, but she slid just out of his reach, his fingers unable to grasp the few strands of hair he managed to brush with his fingertips. The lieutenant used his forward momentum to his advantage, forcing her to dance backwards to avoid his blade’s reach.
He kept advancing, and Rorax managed to raise her knife to block an incoming blow, but the impact slammed her body against the wide trunk of a tree.
She gasped, shocked by the force of the impact against her spine. With his sword hand—his fingers long enough to wrap around the wrist of her hand holding her knife—he pinned her arm above her. He shoved his knee between her legs then pushed his knee against the apex of her thighs, using his giant body to effectively pin her to the tree. With his other hand he grabbed her throat, squeezing just hard enough to warn her.
Rorax’s free hand came up to grip the wrist around her neck as he lowered his face down to hers and snarled. The lieutenant narrowed glowing silver eyes at her. His jaw was square and defined, made even sharper by the trimmed facial hair and the hint of dark tattoos that crawled up his neck under his jaw. His face screamed menace, like he could melt her bones away with a look.
Given the fact he was from the House of Death, it might not be far from the truth.
His snarl softened slightly as he took in her face. “Wait, I know you.”
Fuck. Adrenaline pumped in her veins, and she tried to buck her hips to push him away. He didn’t budge.
His eyes scanned over Rorax’s face rapidly, and his head recoiled a bit in shock. “You . . . you’re the one from earlier. From the ball. The woman who knows the Language of Hands.” Suspicion and anger deepened in the lines of his face. “Where did you learn the language? Who are you?”
Rorax bared her teeth at him, choosing not to answer his questions. “I’m a guest at the castle. I told you that.”
“Innocent women don’t attack castle guards,” he said as he shoved her a little harder against the tree.
She tilted her bleeding neck to the side for him to see the cut he’d made there. “You drew first blood, Lieutenant. I intend to draw the last blood.”
Rorax released her free hand holding his wrist and reached up into her hair. His eyes tracked the movement in the dark, but before he could stop her, she plucked out one of the two hair knives and in a swift move, she plunged it deep into the lieutenant’s thigh.
“FUCK!” the lieutenant barked out into her face. He released her throat and used that hand to wrap around hers still holding onto the hair knife embedded into his thigh.
His fingers became instantly slippery with his blood, and it took him two tries to jerk the knife up and out of his quadricep.
Rorax used the distraction to free herself of his grasp and ducked under his arm, twirling away, just out of reach of his bloody fingers.
“I should have snapped your fucking neck,” he seethed, taking a stumbling step toward her.
She gave him a sweet, sardonic smile. “I should have aimed for your throat.”
The lieutenant snarled and they clashed blades again, engaging in another dance, this one far more lethal.
Surprisingly, the lieutenant was good, really good. From his steady breaths, he was in just as good shape as she, and she grudgingly admitted to herself that his technique was even superior to hers. He had an actual sword; the lieutenant was also stronger than she was, and just as fast. Gods knew how old he was, and he moved like he had been training for this moment every day of his life.
Rorax was talented, and she was naturally and magickally gifted with a blade. Her knife, for K??n”s sake, was literally attached to her soul.
But if she wasn’t going to use Glimr, the only advantage she had in this fight, the lieutenant was going to win.
If they both survived this, she would have to ask him for tips. The possibility of her making it out unscathed, however, looked bleak.
She breathed hard and twirled to land a blade through his shoulder, but he deflected her, swinging his sword all the way around his back to simultaneously push her blade away from his body and prepare for his next offensive strike.
He was about to land a high blow. Rorax raised her knife and hair dagger to block him, but he was too strong. He blew through her defenses and the tip of his sword bit into Rorax’s skin, slicing down her cheek and across her collar bone.
Blood started to run down her face, and she looked down in horror as the neck of her shirt started to stain with blood. “This is one of my favorite shirts, you bastard.”
“It’s going to be a shame when I stab a few more holes in it then, isn’t it?” he purred, and her fingers around her knife itched to simply decapitate the fucker.
Rorax bared her teeth, taking a step closer to shove her knife into his chest when he flicked his sword up, locked her knife into the guard of his sword, and sent it flying away into a nearby bush.
The lieutenant took a step back and the edge of his sword was suddenly at her neck. Again. “You move, you die.”
She believed him, she could see the truth of it in his cold eyes as they both glared at each other, breathing heavily.
Her teeth ground together, and she summoned Glimr back to its scabbard. “Fine,” she seethed.
The lieutenant jerked her hair knife out of her raised hand and he sheathed his sword. “Get your hands behind your back, you little bitch.”
“You bloody bastard.” She hissed in pain when he rested the blade against her throat, against the same cut he’d made earlier. But did as she was told, and slowly pulled her hands down to her back.
There was a metal clanking sound, and real fear penetrated her mind. His belt— his other hand was undoing his belt. Why was he undoing his belt?
She jerked her hands up to her chest. “What’re you doing?” Rorax snapped, ready to bolt, unable to keep a line of panic out of her voice.
He growled. “Put your arms back here now. I’m not going to touch you; I don’t have anything else to restrain you with to ensure you don’t stab me. Again.”
Fear still sat heavy in her chest, but she complied. He used his belt to strap her hands together and when he was done, she wiggled her fingers around, testing his knot. It was secure, but if she needed to, she could unlatch herself in four seconds.
He shoved her forward, and the movement made the knife he still held to her throat slice the skin open again. “Let’s go.”
“I’m going to kill you one day,” she promised. “It’s going to be slow and painful, but very, very satisfying.”
The lieutenant gripped the back of her neck with his hand and squeezed tight in warning. “If you can’t keep your mouth closed, I will keep close it for you.”
Rorax bit back a snarl as she started to move forward. He kept her hand wrapped around the back of her neck, and she wished he would put those fingers closer to her mouth so she could bite one clean off.
The lieutenant guided her through the trees and then through the tents, pushing her to enter through the outer gate, which had been left open for vendors and merchants to scurry through mostly unimpeded.
There were torches there, and as soon as they stepped into the light, his hand released her neck and instead grabbed onto her bound hands.
His fingertips brushed over the scabbard holding her knife, and he abruptly halted.
“Is that . . . the knife you used on me earlier?”
Shit. Rorax glared at him from over her shoulder, but kept her mouth shut.
The lieutenant shoved a hand into her hair and yanked her head back, so she was forced to look up into his snarling face. His grip tightened and a little whimper of pain slipped through her lips before she could trap it. “How the fuck did you get that back?”
Rorax bared her teeth at him. “None of your God’s damned business.”
He pushed her back into the stone wall, shoving his forearm across the base of her throat over her collar bone. She grunted as her bound hands were smashed behind her back. But he just pressed into her harder, his face inches from hers.
Gods, he was beautiful. It was distracting to have him so close to her. Men shouldn’t be allowed to be so handsome; it really didn’t seem fair.
“Why did you attack me?”
“Because you held me down, Lieutenant. Because you put your weight on me until I couldn’t breathe.” She moved into him, becoming the aggressor in his space. “And because you made me bleed while I was helpless in the dirt.”
Something that looked a lot like shame crossed over the lieutenant’s face, but as soon as he parted those perfectly proportioned lips to respond, Rorax used Glimr to slice apart his belt, freeing her hands.
She slammed him in the temple with the hilt of her knife as hard as she could, and the lieutenant’s giant form crumpled to the ground at her feet with a loud violent thud. A little plume of dust flew into the air.
“Fucking bastard.” Rorax spit on the ground next to his bleeding face and turned away. She flung the severed parts of his leather belt onto his unconscious body from over her shoulder and didn’t look back.