18. Esther
ESTHER
Regent and I haven’t spoken for three days. We descended the mountain on the second day, and by the third, we returned to the Boey Jungle, which takes up over half of the edge of this continent.
Grimace jumps from one tree to the next. In truth, I haven’t seen him so playful in such a long time. My heart grows heavier the longer we remain in the wilderness; I realize how much I’ve stunted him by forcing him to hide, even if it was out of necessity for survival.
The Felia-blessed beasts in the bathhouse came fast, scaling the cliff-edge walls. All I cared about was keeping the pixies safe. But I ruined that sanctuary for them. Whether or not it can be cleaned and rebuilt doesn’t change the fact that everything I touch turns to shit.
I graze my hands along the grass that comes to my hips as I follow Regent and his mare. Since our stay in the sanctuary, Regent seems to have returned to his usual brooding self with no falter in his step.
If I’ve been counting correctly, the Volmere auctions are only a week away. The closer that time grows, the more desperate I become to find an opening to escape.
There are moments when Regent allows me to bathe, out of his sight, but I am under no illusion that I am ever alone.
Even though he now lets me carry Blaze’s blade, I’m certain he has the arrogance that it’ll do very little against him.
Hand-to-hand, perhaps I can manage with him, using my speed instead of my strength, much like Blaze taught me.
But it’s his magic that is loathsome, and those thick vines that appear everywhere, shackling me—they are problematic.
My invisible chains rattle and perk my keen instincts at the same time as Regent puts his hand in the air, signaling for me to stop. His magic twists around his face, conjuring the illusion of scarred and burned skin on an old man.
The first to step out is human. Bald with a jagged scar down one side of his face.
“Concealment talismans,” Regent implores in a gravelly voice that differs from the usual one he uses on me. Now it sounds aged and withered like his mask. “You would’ve been better suited ambushing us. You might’ve stood half a chance.”
My eyes narrow on the group of men, some walking, others on horses who reveal themselves from the shadows.
“I thought you said it was unusual for humans to walk through the jungle?” I side-eye Regent.
“I said any sane person,” he corrects, sounding more annoyed by me than the men.
Regent focuses again on the man. “I’ll be blunt. I want you to tell me where you acquired that talisman, and then I suggest you stop blocking my path.”
The man throws his head back and laughs. Yeah, this is going to go down well. “How about you give us whatever gold you have, your weapons, the mare, and of course, the girl, old man.”
“She can keep this one company,” one of the men says, tugging on a woman who cries and folds into herself.
Anger bubbles in my veins. Assholes like this don’t deserve a second thought. How many other women have they done this to?
Two of their horses rise on their hind legs, screaming and most likely susceptible to my fluctuating chaotic magic.
There’s eight of them in total, all magicless. Odds that work in my favor.
“Regent?” I say in a sickly-sweet voice. “Do you mind if I handle this?”
His facial features do not shift under the guise of his mask, but I can sense him studying me.
“Who am I to interfere with a greer’s demands?
Just don’t create an opening where I have to save your sorry ass.
” I smirk, pushing back my hood. “Take this.” Regent unsheathes one of the two swords he carries crossed over his back and offers it to me, handle first.
I wrap my fingers around it, delighted by its weight and Blaze’s blade at my hip. I appreciate the carved hilt with two faces of Neina, her hands in prayer with eyes closed. Interesting. He says he doesn’t believe in gods but carries their weapons. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll turn on you?”
He steps back, only to lead his mare farther into the bushes. “I am not afraid of anything, Denva. Least of all you.”
“Oh, look at the cute little princess with a sword. Gramps taught you a trick or two, did he?” The bandit who first spoke steps forward, unsheathing his own blade. I make an assumption that he’s their leader.
“Just make sure you keep that one alive,” Regent says. He casually crosses his arms over his chest and ankles, leaning against a tree. “I have questions for him.”
Regent is likely using this to his advantage to gauge what I’m capable of, and I don’t even care. This irritation has been building for as long as I can remember, and instead of having a magical breakdown like I did in the canyon, I can chip away at this frustration here.
Keep him alive. Death is what my kind is known for, and yet, I’ve never killed.
I take in a harsh breath, making a choice.
It’s inevitable to kill these men who snicker and leer at me, who dare imprison this woman who appears no older than myself.
It may be the door to something unhinged.
I certainly don’t consider myself a savior, but maybe this once, I can be, because these men don’t deserve to breathe.
My magic pulses greedily, receptively, as my grip tightens on the sword.
Kill, my magic seems to sing.
And for once, I choose not to hold back.
The bald bandit is smiling, holding out his hands in a theatrical way. “I’ll give you thirty seconds for a fair fight.”
“I only need two.”
His smile drops, and he lunges. I step out of his sword’s way. Too slow. His face contorts, shocked by my speed, but it’s already too late as I sever his hand holding the sword and kick him in the back. He flies forward, screaming, with blood spraying the long grass as he falls before Regent.
Regent’s coppery eyes flick from him to me, unimpressed.
“Make sure you get your answers before he bleeds out,” I suggest, before pure madness breaks loose.
His men unsheathe their weapons, suddenly aware of their error in underestimating me. The man holding the woman shoves her out of the way, and the gentle hum of a song only my magic can hear begins to play. I lean into it, imploring the chaotic muse.
I dodge and slice, one at the abdomen, the second around the throat.
I should feel guilt or remorse for taking a life, but it doesn’t come.
There isn’t even a pinprick of hesitation as my magic buzzes around me like living armor, imploring me to dance among them as if Felia herself has come for them.
This haunting part of me further delves into the bliss and enjoyment of how easy it is to overpower these men. It’s a dance of death only my body knows, the sword an extension made specifically for me.
Blood gurgles from the third man’s throat as I yank my sword out. I barely have time to raise it to block the next man, whose weight and strength leverage over me. He tries to force me to my knees, and that inner burn to kill him eats away at my stomach like a need and pestering demand.
My arms tremble under his weight as another man runs, his battle cry giving him away.
I throw my weight to the right, forfeiting my sword to roll to the side and throw the heavier man’s momentum off.
I bounce back, grabbing the blade at my waist, and pounce on the back of the heavy bandit, plunging it into his neck and throwing him with my weight.
I jump back with my small blade, a smile playing at my lips.
Regent’s sword lies on the ground, and I have every intention of cutting this next man down to get to it.
He swings a spiked ball, and I balance from side to side on the weight of my toes, waiting for my moment to jump out of the way.
I’m aware of the other two men approaching me with caution on either side, and we shift into a peculiar circle.
I sense the way they sneer and how they believe I’m cornered, but how quaint that thought is.
The man with the spiked ball swings and releases it.
The ball comes barreling toward me, and the breeze of it sweeps past my torso, almost catching my coat as I break into a run toward him.
He yanks back on his chain, but it’s too late as I slide against the ground, slicing across the back of his knee.
He collapses as my hand glides against the gravelly ground, catching Regent’s sword.
I jump back up, plunging it into the man’s back and driving it through his heart.
My chest rises and falls, my eyes darting frantically as I take in everything and everyone as the last two men approach.
Death is exhilarating. This call and muse that only I seem to be able to hear. My hands are soaked in blood, the red far more beautiful than any other color I’ve seen. All that hatred and rage, finally finding an outlet.
“I must thank you,” I breathe as I rip my sword out of the man’s back. Both blades feel equally strong in my hands. Regent’s heavier one and Blaze’s smaller blade, built and preferred for stealth.
A loud, harrowing squawk pierces the air, and I look up to spot two red eyes. My vision goes hazy for a moment, then focuses on the valther. All that adrenaline and joy immediately seeps out of me.
Dahlia’s valther.
Suddenly, I sense more men encroaching on us, my invisible chains catching onto magic. Greers.
“Fall back,” Regent yells, shoving the bald bandit he holds by the scruff of his shirt to the ground. The last two bandits look at each other, unsure about the commotion, but use it to their advantage as they both run for me.
“Too slow.” The voice doesn’t even sound like my own as I ignore Regent’s warning and continue to dance the path that I see so clearly, my footing is light as a feather as I come between them.