10. Riggs
RIGGS
“Are you sure everything’s in here?” Riggs asked, rummaging through his saddlebag.
He would have double-checked in Dagon, but the bastard guards followed them for twenty minutes.
“Killian?” Riggs was met with silence. Whatever.
Scanning for his test kit and notebook, Riggs was relieved to find both at the bottom of his bag.
Wishing he packed fresh clothes, he frowned. His skin was already slick with sweat from his suffocating suit, and the humidity wasn’t doing him any favors. It always got worse right in the middle of spring. Yesterday’s clothes would have to do.
It’s not that he hated the humidity…well, actually, he did hate the humidity.
Did it have to be so sticky all the time?
Riggs didn’t know how he was going to survive without his morning and evening bath.
“Rope, canteen, and where the hell are my clothes?” Riggs murmured.
He pulled at the collar of the suit, loosening the buttons and popping them one by one.
“Killian?” He sighed as he finally felt the breeze brush against his skin.
Killian growled, his gruff voice distant behind a bush. “What? I’m taking a piss, do you mind?
“I think those assholes stole my weapons.”
“They’re in River’s saddlebag. Give me a minute, will you?”
Riggs sucked his teeth, throwing his head skyward.
As the clouds sailed by, his mind drifted to Esemeray.
Once the king spoke her name, Riggs whispered to himself, making sure her name was etched into his brain like a tattoo.
He didn’t know why, but thinking about her made his heart swell.
Worse, he couldn’t get her face out of his mind.
Gods, her face. Good thing for the shackles holding him back.
Once he set his gaze on her, nothing would have stopped him from reaching her.
She possessed the eyes of a goddess. Her perfect symmetry, Riggs knew, could only be found in dreams. The gods must have spent millennia crafting her lips.
The memory of her face would torment him for all eternity.
He was already haunted.
A sudden expanding heaviness rushed into Riggs' core, the same devastation flowing between them when the king announced his ruling. He knew she felt it too, and it had been pure torture to watch her crumble.
It was a complete catastrophe, and he was thrown into the godsdamned middle of it all.
Killian emerged from a shrub, his buckle rattling as he clipped his belt and dusted his hands on his pants. “We need to have a little chat.”
Riggs sighed, throwing his hands in the air. “I know, I know, I fucked up. You don’t need to keep reminding me.”
Killian growled. “The fucking princess?”
Riggs cheeks stained scarlet, running his hands through his hair. “Look, I didn’t know.”
“Did you even question her?”
Riggs swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I was getting there. I was trying to ease into it,” he lied. He never intended to question her. He was more interested in learning about her.
Killian rubbed at his temples. “You’re lucky we were able to get out of that.”
“You mean you were lucky.” Riggs pointed a thumb at his chest, grinning. “I didn’t have to serve time.”
Killian closed the space between them, his face crimson.
“Yeah worse. Get caught with Princess Esemeray, and you’re a dead man, motherfucker.
” He shook his head. “And I still do have to serve time if we don't find the other princess.” Gripping the collar of Riggs' tunic. “I can’t get locked up! Who’s going to find Layalara’s killer?
” His voice raised higher. “The man that killed my family is still out there, and if I don’t avenge them, who will? ”
Riggs stiffened, noticing Killian starting to hyperventilate; he sucked in a sharp breath, bracing for impact.
Last time, Killian fractured his jaw. Riggs reached for Killian’s shoulder, offering a gentle squeeze to ease him, quiet reassurance that everything would work out.
Like it always did. The punch didn’t come. “We will find the princess, brother.”
The last thing Riggs needed was Killian having another panic attack in the middle of the woods. He could still hear Killian’s scream rip through the trees from the last time. He could still see Killian’s bloodied and beaten knuckles with remnants of bark embedded into his skin.
He’d been drinking then. Riggs didn’t have the mental strength to talk him off the ledge; but now, maybe he wouldn’t need to.
Killian’s face returned to his normal shade, his breathing easing. Riggs released his hold, deepening his gaze. “Everything will be alright.”
Killian nodded, rubbing his face. “Yeah…just like everything else…right?”
“Right.” Riggs strode over to River, reaching in the saddlebags and grabbed his tunic and pants, then stripped bare.
“C’mon, Riggs!” Killian shaded his eyes. “Nobody wants to see all that.”
“The women would disagree.” Riggs grinned. “I’m just grateful the lipstick is gone.” Glancing down to his abdomen. A barmaid once left a trail of rouge down to his?—
Killian grunted. “Please tell me you found something out.”
Riggs warmed with the comfort of his clothes, clipping his belt and counting seven daggers. All of them there.
Riggs faced Killian. “In fact, yes. I spoke with their aunt. It sounds like someone stole Elora from the castle.”
“Why? Did the king and queen have enemies at the time?”
Riggs buttoned up his tunic, shrugging his shoulders.
“Who knows? One of the guests mentioned something about wards.” Adjusting his collar, he said, “They might very well have enemies. I mean, what are they using to power them? Magic is forbidden in Dagon.” Riggs mentally went through endless possibilities of potential rivals, recalling the surrounding areas.
The Kingdom of Thrasher? No. Wraithwood?
Maybe. Monsters and beasts infested the forest, lurking in the shadows.
Even Riggs had no interest in studying them.
No one who wandered into Wraithwood, lived to tell the tale.
“Wards? What are they keeping out?” Killian asked.
“Or what are they keeping in?” Riggs mused.
If, somehow, they got their hands on a beast from Wraithwood, a creature could fuel wards. Magic ran deep in the soil of Wraithwood. It’s possible, very possible.
Warm droplets landed on Riggs' cheek. Turning his gaze toward the rolling clouds. “We should get going before it starts dumping.”
“Let’s head home and question as many people as possible, including Conwell. We will plan our route from there,” Killian let out a defeated breath. “We got seven months, brother.”
You have seven months, Riggs urged to say. “We will find her before then.” Riggs squeezed his shoulder again. “Let’s just do what we do best, yeah?”
Thunder rumbled across the dark, gloomy clouds and the rain cascaded. There was a reason why Riggs named his horse Storm besides the white bolt on her snout. The mare endured shitty weather, persevering despite the sky’s fury.
River on the other hand…
“Woah…River.” Killian raised his voice, gripping on to his reins. “Easy girl!” River neighed loudly, nearly bucking Killian off, his massive hooves flying in the air.
Riggs grinned, galloping through the muddy ground, holding steady with each step.
He glanced around at the many tupelo surrounding them—an indicator that they were close to Eldritch.
He shifted in his saddle, the hair on his neck rising.
The bridge was the only crossing point between Dagon and Aldmoor.
Riggs' lips thinned. They had no choice.
Dark Water Lake was not an option.
“I say we hit the bridge in twenty minutes,” Killian declared, beads of water slid from his cloak like clear gems.
Riggs' lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “I say we can make it fifteen.”
Killian threw Riggs a weary look. “Don’t you even think about?—”
Storm’s thundering hooves drowned out Killian’s voice as they passed. “Fly, Storm!” Riggs urged her to move faster with a kick to her side, exhilaration thrumming under his skin.
Killian never turned down a race. Last time Killian beat him by a few seconds.
Riggs was certain he would win this time.
Leaning forward, he kept his gaze locked ahead and shouted, “Try to catch me, brother!” The rain pierced his skin like needles.
With one hand, gripping the reins firmly, he slipped his other free, throwing his arm out, the wind and rain crashing against his palms. Adrenaline pumped through his veins.
He laughed, tossing his head back, embracing the lightning that struck, its power branching throughout the clouds. He knew the thunder was coming, and he knew River was going to lose his shit. I’m definitely winning this race. Storm moved in rhythm, and he moved with her.
“Riggs, you idiot. Stop!” Killian’s shouting sounded like a faint whisper over the rushing wind. But there was an urgency in Killian’s tone that sobered him.
Glancing ahead, Riggs' posture went rigid, jaw dropping in shock. A brown furry creature emerged from the brush.
Not just any creature
A renshee.
Riggs' breathing faltered. He pulled back on his reins, halting Storm.
Renshees were one of the deadliest mammals to roam Razareth. Its claws alone were lethal, venom pumping beneath its nails. Riggs froze. Luckily for its prey, the beast would strike to kill before the toxin did. As dangerous as they were, their heads made good wall decor.
The renshee crept slowly, its starving eyes pinning him. Riggs calculated the distance between them. He had enough clearance to take it down from here. He’d wait for Killian before making a move.
Killian approached. “Damn it, Riggs! Didn’t you hear me shouting?”
Riggs nodded ahead. “We have a problem, brother.”
“No shit.” Killian’s jaw tightened. “I saw one in the tree line back there. We’re surrounded.”
Riggs glanced around the forest, stomach twisting. “How many?”
Killian kept his eyes locked on the creature. “I’d say just these two, but you know they travel in packs.”
Riggs swallowed hard. “At least four or five at a time, but if they’ve spread out, they’re already hunting prey.” He unsheathed a dagger and glanced at Killian. “Us.”
“Fucks sake,” Killian murmured, drawing his sword. “Here’s the plan?—”
“Fuck your plan, we kill them.”
Killian scoffed. “Well, no shit.”
Riggs knew his typical plan anyway: Blind them with daggers, then Killian would take the kill. But Riggs didn’t want to do that. Not today. Today he would take them down his way.
The renshee snarled, saliva glistening on its long, sharp canines. It opened its jaws and roared, the dumping rain doing little to drown out its bellow.
Two more leaped from the brush, shaking water off their glorious fur.
Riggs' lips curved in a cruel smile. “Oh, they want to play.”
Urging Storm to move at a steady gallop, Riggs calculated the time between him and his target. Now. He flicked his wrist with lethal precision. Blood sprayed as his dagger found its mark, embedding deep into the renshee’s eye.
Unsheathing another two, he threw the blades with force. Both daggers found their place, between the eyes of two of their foe. They shrieked, their death rattling his ears.
Four daggers left.
“A dagger for each eye,” Riggs chuckled, pulling the reins, Storm turning around swiftly. “Smooth; atta girl.” He patted her neck in praise, her muscles working with every stride of her powerful legs.
Riggs surveyed Killian, his sword raised in hand. With one single swipe, Killian sliced the head off an incoming renshee. The decapitated lump thumped and rolled, staining the mud red.
Riggs grinned. “Who’s the Head Roller now, brother?” Killian grunted, relentlessly swiping through the air, driving his blade deep in another, never missing. Riggs couldn’t help his smile. His brother was good at this. It was why Riggs gave him the nickname, Kills.
Oh, shit.
Riggs' heart lurched. A renshee jumped toward him, swiping its claw too close for comfort. Too close.
“Riggs, pay attention!” Killian warned, “Watch your left!”
Gaining enough distance, Riggs leapt off Storm, and in midair flicked his wrist, aiming at the head of the roaring beast running toward him. Riggs landed on his feet, a prideful grin stretching across his face. The dagger he threw landed home, knocking the beast down the hill.
A flock of birds spread out through the skies as the renshees’ cries reverberated through the forest.
Riggs approached the edge of the hill, his chest tightening in disappointment. The beast tumbled down, his ruby hilt glittering in its eye socket, going down with it.
Riggs frowned. Fuck. There goes my blade.
“Move out the fucking way!” Killian demanded, swiping his sword, and slicing through another, and another.
Riggs rapidly blinked, fingers skimming over his last two daggers. A feral growl vibrated around his ear. His blood turned to ice. “Oh, shit…” Riggs drew his blades, turning to find a renshee a foot away from him, its black beady eyes staring into his soul.
“Watch out!” Killian bellowed, swinging his sword, blood spraying as he sliced right in the stomach of the rabid beast.
Riggs leapt backward, nearly getting taken out by River’s thundering hooves, and Killian’s blade. Godsdamn. The renshee screeched, clawing through the air mindlessly. The creature crashed down, its intestines spilling and soaking the muckwater red.
Riggs' stomach churned, vomit climbing up his throat. Fucking disgusting. Regaining his composure, he quickly scanned the fallen beasts, deciphering which ones held his daggers. He needed them back before he lost those too.
“Get on your fucking horse, Riggs!” Killian ordered.
“Give me a minute, will you!” Riggs shouted. The ruby jeweled hilt shone, reflecting in his eyes. Crouching down he removed his daggers, wiping his blades clean then sheathed them back in his belt.
Approaching Storm, Riggs scanned the area, waiting for the others to emerge. But when there was no movement he questioned, “Maybe we scared them off?
Killian bared his crimson stained teeth. “Nah, that was too easy. They are watching us. I feel it.”
A knot formed in Riggs' belly, his breathing increasing. He, too, could feel it. They were lurking, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Leaves rustled beside them, but nothing was there. Riggs threw Killian a curt nod. “Why do I get the feeling they’re fucking with us?”
Killian placed his fingers over his lips. “Not one sound.” His voice was little more than a murmur.
Riggs rolled his eyes. As he makes a sound.
Minutes passed, yet nothing emerged from the brush. Riggs blew out a breath of relief.
Riggs cantered close to Killian and nudged his arm. “I think they left.”
Killian smirked, his gaze darkening. “Let’s go hunting, brother.”