Chapter 10
FACE ON, FACE OFF
Isat with Jasher’s words for several long minutes.
“I told you,” I finally said. Uneasy, I massaged my nape. “With the Ember, I’ll sever all clones from Ian.”
He snorted. “You are more of a fool than I realized. The Ember isn’t—” He smashed his lips together, saying nothing more.
So. He knew something about the Ember, and he didn’t want me to learn it.
I nodded, eager for him to go on. He merely snapped his teeth, then piled the cooked fish on two leaf plates. He actually passed one to me.
“Thank you,” I muttered.
No response.
We ate in silence, and I thought and thought and thought. The Ember wasn’t, what?
What I assumed it was?
Viable anymore?
Located in Hakeldama?
When I swallowed the last bite, I grumbled, “Keep your secrets if you want.” I wouldn’t force him to spill, no matter how desperately I wished to. And I wouldn’t bargain, paying his price for answers.
He tipped his head, all innate grace and carnal indulgence. I caught myself fidgeting as his gaze bore into me, too intense and too different for my liking. Gooseflesh broke out. “Perhaps I’ll win you to my side.”
Oh dang. He’d just brought out the big guns. I decided to respond with nonchalance. “You’ll fail, but if you want to flirt a little, I probably wouldn’t mind.”
“I’m ten steps ahead of you, princess.” He snuffed out the fire. “I’m already flirting, and you’re already loving it.”
And dozens more goosebumps popped out.
Reclining against the tree again, Jasher tapped his claws against the dirt in a slow, predatory rhythm. Shadows rushed up to nuzzle his dusky skin, as he searched my face, cataloging every nuance.
“Do you remember the journal the Guardian kept locked away? The one he used to help him subjugate the whole kingdom?” Jasher asked, all casual curiosity. “I wonder if it’s the one you’re holding.”
Acid filled my stomach. What if I’d carried Ian’s weapon straight into his hands?
Footsteps pressed through dead leaves, reaching my ears.
One set. Two. A cluster. Adrenaline rocketed through my veins, turning my limbs into tight springs.
I shoved the journal into the pack and rushed to stand.
Whether the approaching men were friends or foes didn’t matter.
I must protect Jasher, my father’s thoughts, and the serpens-rosa.
All valuable commodities many would kill to possess.
Cluck Cluck squawked.
Jasher’s expression cooled. He flexed his claws with the lazy menace of a cat. “Do not command me to hide or flee,” he warned, voice low. “I’ll obey, because I must, but I’ll also make you suffer in ways you cannot fathom.”
“Scary.” Decision time. Either I ordered him to follow me like a good boy, or I let him turn this little oasis into a battleground. No way the people, even innocent travelers, would pass him without a fight. They would fear and attack him.
The footsteps grew louder, pace increasing, twigs snapping.
He turned thoughtful. “Soldiers. Twenty-one of them. All armed. Better pick your path, princess.”
“And you still plan to sit here, inviting violence?” I whisper-yelled, swiping up my chicken and marching to Jasher, ready to shake sense into him.
Wink. “Consider it my gift to you.”
What did that mean? “I don’t want anyone else to die.”
“Then I’ll let them live. But you had better stand back. They have something we need for our new quest, and I’m going to get it.” A growl rumbled in his chest, making Cluck Cluck peck at me until I released her.
Off she ran, disappearing in the trees, wings tucked back.
Probably for the best, thanks to Jasher. I prayed she’d be smart enough to keep running. Be safe, my Cluck Cluck.
I glared at Jasher, blaming him for my newest loss. “Stay here if you insist.” Battleground for the win. I would mitigate the damage. Somehow. “But I’m hiding nearby.”
A plan brewing, I darted past him, entering the foliage behind his tree to conceal my presence from the interlopers.
“You’re going to miss the best parts of my performance,” Jasher called, his disappointment clear.
I dropped the backpack in the shadows and crouched. As quietly as possible, I tugged at the zipper. It moved as though it had never been stuck a day in its life. No resistance. Like it had decided I was finally worthy to look inside
I riffled through the contents, intending to confiscate whatever weapons I’d packed for myself. Surely a few daggers. Maybe a gun. Except…
You’ve got to be kidding! I’d packed a dozen or more fist-size black stones, the pointy black hat I’d worn during my first trip, and a small mechanical toy with movable limbs.
It was shaped like a squat action figure, about the length of my hand, but wrong in a way I couldn’t immediately name.
Half of him was made from dull tin, with exposed gears visible beneath a ribbed metal chest plate.
The rest of him was cheap molded plastic.
“Hi, I’m Kevin, your unemotional support companion.” The toy’s mouth opened and closed with soft clicking sounds, tiny gears whirring behind a painted smile that never quite reached his monotone voice. “Press my buttons for a giggle.”
Scowling, I returned him to the pack and dug for anything else. Wait. A note. I withdrew it, hoping for some sort of explanation.
Kangaroos invade lava libraries. Mangoes adopt lost kittens; oceans moo. Ostriches rehearse. Donuts invent eclipses.
What in the—what? That was my handwriting and utter nonsense.
Never mind that past me had gotten an impossible message to current me. She’d left me with more questions and zero answers.
I crumbled the paper but dropped it back in the bag rather than toss it. And what even was that toy? Those stones? They reminded me of eggs.
The mystery shells maybe? Shells meant…eggs?
Or they could be a joke. A woman once filled Jasher’s pack with rocks to tease him about working harder. But no. I’d packed the bag. I would never sabotage myself. Not on purpose.
What if the stones were some kind of weapon? Or used to make serpens-rosa?
Why hadn’t I told myself what this stuff was? Lava libraries? Mooing oceans? Really? It was like I was trying to fail.
My ears pricked, and I forced my gaze forward. Watched through foliage as a line of soldiers pushed into the refuge, armor clinking, horses of various colors stamping a dirt path.
The soldiers moved like men with experience in the trenches: steady and practiced. Overcoming them wouldn’t be easy.
One of them caught sight of Jasher lounging against the oak, at ease with his wings folded in that careless arrogance, and froze. A panicked shout split the air.
“Monstra!”
The tempo of everything changed in a hurry. Horses reared in fright. Soldiers snapped to attention, their hands sliding to sword hilts, bows finding shoulders. The sudden crack of a bowstring trembled through my bones.
My hand flew to my mouth to smother a shout. The men didn’t strike, not yet, giving me a chance to take stock. Thin faces etched with shock were visible beneath dented helmets streaked with soot. Their breastplates were battered—and bore the royal crest. Part of the royal army?
Okay, so, forget the weapons I didn’t have and screw the element of surprise. New plan: get between Jasher and trouble and distract the soldiers, giving my Tinman a chance to flee. If he would.
He wouldn’t.
Maybe I could convince the men to leave. I was a precious water maiden oracle, after all. The Great and Terrible, apparently.
Before my foot even left the dirt, arrows loosed. One struck the tree. The other whooshed past it, slicing across my bicep. Burning pain spidered out. I bit my tongue hard enough to taste blood, remaining silent. An accident, since I hadn’t been noticed, but still an agony.
Jasher shifted with that same lazy nonchalance, avoiding injury. When the archers released a second set of arrows, my monstra became motion. A savage comet of wings and muscle. He detonated, whipping oxygen into a knife while twisting his body to avoid the lethal volley.
Our visitors panicked when they realized they’d failed. They prepared for combat.
Jasher landed with absolute calm, his claws scraping dirt. “Do that again,” he drawled, voice silk threaded with malice. “And I start collecting heads.”
The provocation hit, a match to tinder. A chorus of astonishment rose from the men.
“It’s talking.”
“It’s part man.”
“We take it to the king! Dead!”
Ahav was the only king in this era.
So new, new plan: Trust Jasher to do…whatever he planned. At least a bit longer. If I stepped in, they’d want to take me to see the king and queen, too. Exactly as my mother had outlined at the farmhouse.
I shouldn’t let the past repeat? Right?
But… I wanted to see Mom. Wanted to meet my biological father. Needed to read Morris’s journals for myself. Do a little more studying before heading to Mount Emerald. Maybe King Ahav would provide an armed escort to the mountain, helping us get through the monstra.
Jasher dialed his setting up to beast-mode, an axe suddenly gripped in each palm. “Come at me. If you dare.” But he didn’t wait for them to try. No, he launched forward.
Men jabbed at him and swiped in defense, steel ringing.
Three soldiers went down with savage thuds, but two quickly got back up with only surface injuries.
The third wasn’t quite as steady. The air filled with the sounds of battle: ragged breathing, the wet percussion of split flesh, and the metallic song of drawn swords.
Jasher kept his word, never rendering a death blow, so the men just kept coming at him.
Okay, enough. I grabbed the pack and raced forward, heart a war drum as I planted myself between Jasher and the men.
“Stop!” I commanded. The rawness of my raised voice surprised even me. I lifted my arms to ward the soldiers off. Blood trickled from my wound, but my high-octane adrenaline held the worst of the pain at bay.