Chapter 7 #3
Center of gravity lowered, Lory hovered a few feet from the edge of the roof, where it melted into the twenty-foot-high wall, and flashed the Veiled Hand a grin. “Doing what I can.”
He came for her like a beautiful predator, every step slow, deliberate, his arms casually at his sides as if he had nothing to fear from her, but Lory didn’t make the mistake of believing he wasn’t prepared.
She’d seen what he was capable of, and something about the way his eyes darkened as they locked on hers told her he wouldn’t hold back this time.
Hold your ground, Lory. Heart pounding like a drum to a frantic dance, Lory assessed every last part of her body: the feel of the roof beneath her boots (smooth, but sprinkled with grains of sand from the gusts of wind roaming the courtyard), the distance to the left, where the roof ended in a steep drop, the next element of the parcours a few feet away and so narrow a less-experienced person would slither over the edge and break their neck in the fall.
The sliver of shade the wall provided in the merciless midday sun.
Khayrivven lunged for her so fast she barely managed to twist to the side, but her patience and speed paid off as the edge of his dagger scraped along the rough limestone behind the spot she’d been standing a moment ago.
On feet fast like the wind, Lory darted left, palm sweaty on the hilt of the sword she was gripping like her life depended on it. Two more steps. One.
With a powerful leap, Lory catapulted herself off the roof, praying to the Guardians that she hadn’t overestimated her abilities.
Thud!
The breath was knocked out of her as she landed in a crouch, instantly rolling over her shoulder to lessen the force of the impact, and ended up back on her toes, teetering dangerously close to the edge of the platform fifteen feet above the ground.
But her sword had remained in her hand, angled upward, ready to strike.
“If this wasn’t training, I’d shove you right off and laugh about it,” Khayrivven announced from not two feet behind her.
Of course he’d managed the same leap, needing only half the distance to make his landing.
“Or if I were to take you prisoner, I’d simply do this.” Something sharp pressed between her shoulder blades—the tip of the dagger. “Stand up and lower your weapon.”
Ugh—
How could someone be so skilled and beautiful, yet be such a dick?
Slowly, Lory pushed to her feet, Khayrivven’s sword still fast in her fist. Yes, she could follow his orders and still find a way out of the situation.
He might have been playing with her, his skill level way above hers, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t think on her feet.
That she hadn’t escaped worse situations in the streets of Dunai.
“Step away from the edge.” His calm, calculated tone didn’t let on if he was amused by how easily he’d caught her or if he was disappointed. It was the voice of the captain who’d trained countless thornlings before her. “Now, Thornling.”
It would be so easy to do just that, to get closer to the man to whom the voice belonged, to use the heat that was always simmering between them to disarm him… But Lory had a better plan. One that would work, no matter what the person behind her thought.
“Surrender your weapon.”
Lory did just that.
With a grin, she dropped Khayrivven’s short sword, watching it plunge between the tall platform she was standing on and the cube-like, crooked obstacle not four feet away. The uneven surface provided plenty of hand and footholds.
Without a glance back, Lory jumped after the blade, throwing her arms forward. Khayrivven’s gasp followed her like a tether, and for a moment, she believed he might leap after her in a useless effort to catch her.
But the Veiled Hand knew better.
Lory’s fingers screamed as they hooked into the rough rock, slipping a few inches, nails and skin breaking, but she didn’t fall.
One look down to assess how far the distance to the ground remained, and two efficient movements later, Lory let herself drop into the narrow space between the two obstacles, landing a few inches beside Khayrivven’s sword.
She picked it up with a wince, spinning around to face the obstacle she’d started the maneuver from.
When she craned her neck to check whether he was following after all, the Veiled Hand was standing on the edge of the platform, a broad grin on his face as he pinched his dagger between his fingers.
Lory rolled her eyes. “I know you could still throw that dagger at me and hit me in the eye or the neck or whatever body part you prefer for killing your opponents.”
“Damn right I could.” Instead of throwing the weapon at her, he hurled it at the obstacle Lory had just used as a ladder, jumping right after it.
The hilt shuddered as the blade embedded itself in the wall, Khayrivven’s fist closing around it a heartbeat later.
He didn’t hang there longer than a second.
Feet pushing against the rock as he pulled the blade from it, bracing himself against the wall to break his speed as he let himself fall to the ground right in front of Lory. And the dagger was back at her throat.