Chapter Five The Man in Black #3
“I just want to talk.” Slowly and deliberately, reading her panic, he moved her ruby dagger back to his throat. “Does this make you feel better?”
Reya almost laughed, awed by his nerve even as her dark lips curved with victory.
She flicked the ruby just below the cross guard with her thumb.
It slid to the left, revealing a tiny, thin compartment.
She blew, and glittering red dust flew into his nose and eyes.
He jerked, but it was too late. It only took a few seconds for the keel powder to work.
He stayed awake longer than any human could stand, but then his grip slackened, and those golden eyes rolled into the back of his head. She exhaled.
Too close. Way too close. Reya climbed off him, clutching her screaming hand. It hadn’t even been a fair fight. He’d been playing with her. She shivered despite the cloying heat, unable to remember the last time she’d come so close to losing. With the toe of her boot, she moved his cloak aside.
“Holy Mother.” Layers of black leather covered every magnificent inch of him, from his calves to his abdomen, to the skillfully crafted pauldrons that cascaded down his shoulders in steel-lined plates. It was armor from another age. She was in so much rotting trouble.
She’d only ever used keel powder on humans, so she had no idea how long he would stay unconscious. Quicker than she’d ever worked, she slid her good hand down the length of the impressive armor, looking for hidden compartments just in case. There were none.
Cursing, she loosened every strap and buckle of the leather that was practically molded to him.
How the hell did he get this on and off?
Apparently, not quickly. She’d never seen anything like it—or him.
Focus. When she’d removed it only to come up empty, she began turning over the room, checking every drawer and crevice and pocket. Nothing.
Reya grabbed his leather bag off the armoire, doubting he would be so careless but needing to be sure. She found clothes, a waterskin, spare weapons, a whetstone, and a stack of crinkled papers—but no Earth Star.
Her hands stilled when she noticed the royal seal in dark blue wax over a long silver ribbon on the parchment.
The seal was broken, but the iron crown sigil of King Rothmire Daranathius II was unmistakable.
What was this Sage doing in communication with the king?
Reya stuffed the letters down the back of her pants, knowing she didn’t have time to read them.
If she didn’t get out of this room before he woke up, she was as good as dead.
Reya took the vial from her cloak pocket and pursed his lips, emptying the concoction down his throat.
He would wake up tomorrow with a parched throat, one hell of a migraine, and several hours missing from his memory… she hoped. The thing was, the drug wasn’t foolproof, and she’d never tried it on a Sage before. He might remember her. Worse, he might remember her scent.
Men had tried to hunt her down before. But Sages were not men. They hunted with a whole other set of abilities. And this one was a trained warrior—an old one by the looks of it. If he found her again…
Reya ran her hands through her hair and drew her dagger. Moonslight flashed along the blade and set the rubies glowing. The Sage had baited her into this room. He was not some helpless female who’d been beaten and chained. He knew who he was tangling with.
Lennox’s voice echoed in her memory as she hovered over the Sage’s unconscious form. There is no such thing as a cheap shot. There is only survival.
But then she heard another voice. Her father’s voice. Faint but strong.
The mountain folk were nothing if not superstitious.
To hunt without the sting of hunger, strike without defending, take a life without need, was to tempt the All-Gods’ wrath.
Reya didn’t pretend to stand on a moral high ground.
But even in her line of work, she killed with purpose, ending only those who would have ended her.
Whatever this Sage’s intentions were, he’d had an opportunity to kill her tonight, and he had chosen not to.
Reya closed her eyes, wasting precious moments. The ghost of Reyanwyn of the Mountain laid a gentle hand on her arm. Memory or no, she couldn’t kill him. She put the weapon back in its sheath.
Just before she reached the door, she paused at the sight of the double-headed axe propped up in the corner.
Reya held the blade up to the light and whistled.
It was the closest quality to Etellinian steel she’d ever seen.
There were no visible inclusions, and it had been blackened, a painstaking process usually done with oil, beeswax, and heat to turn the color.
Like her father’s sword, there were words engraved into the bits in the First Language, though they weren’t ones she recognized.
She adjusted her grip on the carved handle, twisting the weapon thrice in hand. It was huge, much too heavy for her, but surely worth its weight. She smiled.
It was no Earth Star, but it was a fine start.