Page 12

Panting, Quinn barks out a morbid laugh.

I look up at him and can’t help the low laugh that erupts from my own lungs at the ridiculous sight.

I didn’t intend to behead the soldier, but it worked.

Quinn claps a hand on my shoulder, his face covered in blood, his ebony hair streaked with it and falling from the knot at the nape of his neck.

“Are you alright?” I ask, scanning his face and body to ensure none of the blood is his own.

Quinn nods. “Fine. Your arm isn’t though.” He gestures toward the wound from the soldier.

“It’s nothing,” I say, brushing it off.

It isn’t nothing, but I can deal with it once we get back to the camp.

Carnage lies around the small village. The inhabitants managed well enough, killing the five other intruders in addition to those Quinn and I took out. Though, from the looks of it, they lost quite a few of their own in the process.

A thin, middle-aged man around my height strides over, his long legs quickly eating up the grassy expanse before us.

He amply professes thanks to Quinn and me, expressing his gratitude for our support in the attack.

I’m just glad we happened upon the village in time.

They would have fallen to the king’s forces had it not been for us and we are all well aware of that fact.

A younger man stands slightly to the side and behind him, keeping his head down, blond hair falling over his forehead.

His skin is a golden tan like my own usually is.

The kind of color that comes from too much time in the sun.

They are absolutely farmers—the older man is the one I saw armed with a shovel.

The two sport the same bright blond hair and I gather the boy is his son, given the protective stance he takes up in front of him.

“Why are you here? Did you know we would be attacked?” the older man asks, his eyes darting over the leather armor we wear, the armory of weapons tucked around our bodies. No royal crest, no symbol of any kind, no inkling as to who we are or where we came from.

“We are part of the northern rebel forces,” Quinn explains to the men.

Most know that Helara and Reinhardt had split up the rebels after the Uprising.

Most know that we still survive but finding information on either camp is difficult.

I know that firsthand. “Given what we saw here, it appears as though you and your people are not sworn to the Crown,” Quinn continues, looking to the older man for confirmation.

He lifts his chin, responding to Quinn, “We have reason not to be.”

I keep my eyes focused on his son, tossing my head toward him as I wipe droplets of sweat from my brow and call, “Would that have something to do with you?”

The question is pointed at the boy, and he knows it.

His head tips up and piercing blue eyes meet mine over his father’s shoulder, glowing with an icy fire.

He straightens himself to full height as he fixes that frigid steel gaze on me.

I swear there is a faint white light emanating from his fingers, but his father shifts to shield him before I can get a good look.

“Please,” he begs with a soft look toward Quinn and me. “He’s only nineteen, gods know what the high priestess will do to him.”

I know what the high priestess will do to him.

I know the exact details of what she will do.

I lean my weight into the hilt of my sword, the tip perched on the hard ground.

“He’s gifted,” I remark. It isn’t a question.

I saw that white ball of fiery light and I’m willing to bet it came from this boy.

“Y- Yes.” The man stretches his thin arm out behind him, tucking his son further back.

It’s a fruitless effort as his son is nearly a head taller than him, putting him around Quinn’s height if not taller, but the sentiment is felt.

He wants to protect his boy, at all costs—including rebelling against the Crown and the priests to keep him safe.

I look beyond to the bright patch of grass in the village green.

The remaining survivors stand clustered together, whispering and staring back at us, aware that the conversation occurring is important, even if they cannot hear what we are saying.

They hid this boy for at least a year from Braddock and his men.

They’re a tight-knit community willing to die for their own.

The temple door opens, and tiny heads peek out, eager to rush from the threshold, but are held back by the adults all waiting with bated breath to see what will happen.

They can’t stay here, I know that. When the soldiers and scouts don’t return to Easthallow, they will send more.

King Braddock will stop at nothing to get the boy, knowing he is gifted.

And the rest of the village...well I know how that will go too.

And I’m not going to see them burned or murdered for protecting him. I’m not letting that happen.

“You are coming with us. All of you,” I say to the man. “Go pack your necessities, gather as many horses as you have and get a move on.”

Quinn shoots a glance at me, eyebrows raised, but doesn’t utter a word.

The man thanks us again and hurries back to inform his village of the impending travel, shoving his son along in the process.

They will come. None of them will want to wait for the return of the king’s men.

There is nothing but death for them here.

The boy glares back at me with those glowing eyes and I resist the urge to shudder, his gaze sending spiders crawling up my spine. That white ball of firelight did a lot of damage, and he’s still on edge from the fight. Even I’m not stupid enough to provoke him right now.

“Don’t say anything,” I warn as Quinn opens his mouth to speak.

“Oh, I won’t...but Helara might.” He stares at me, his dark features flecked with blood.

He’s right. She won’t be happy with this unannounced delivery of civilians.

“By the time we make it back to inform her of the attack, more scouts could ride through. There’s too much risk in leaving them here. Especially him.” I nod my head toward the boy walking with his father back to the rest of his family.

He’s too young and the thought of the king taking him and using him, of the priests and the high priestess getting their hands on him...I grit my teeth. I can’t stomach the thought.

Quinn shrugs and heaves his sword into its sheath. “Let’s get going then,” he responds and starts toward the group.

I watch him walk away and suck in a deep breath, steadying myself.

I brave a glance back at the bodies behind me and see the beginnings of snow starting to fall, intricate diamonds fluttering down to land on the blood, so dark red it’s almost black now.

I close my eyes to block out the image and turn to follow.