Page 14 of Mistress of Bones

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AZUL

Horses again. Azul hadn’t spent so many hours on one since she’d been forced to learn how to ride as a child, and she rued that her inexperience was slowing them down when all she wanted to do was fly.

Oren and Anané were the two guards lent by the grace of Lina del Valle. They introduced themselves first thing in the morning, after Azul and Nereida donned their new clean garb and broke their fast.

Azul liked them. They wore traveling gear themselves—riding pants, high boots, short cloaks, brown hats—and rapiers hanging low against their hips. Their smiles were wide and their words warm, so unlike Valanje’s guards, who had remained impassible and silent during her forced stay.

Oren kept up a chatter about the people they passed, the owners of the buildings, the contents of the fields, and the farms in the distance.

Azul welcomed the distraction and threw herself wholeheartedly into it.

The sky was clear, the air crisp. Monteverde receded into the distance, and with it went all her tension, all her nightly worries.

The countryside opened ahead of them, fields as far as the eye could see peppered with old trees.

Azul’s chest eased at their familiarity.

For all her wishes to travel beyond Agunción, she now saw this was the land she belonged to—her domain.

Sancia belonged to the Blessed Heart and the Lady Dream, not Death and his emissaries.

Shortly before midday, they came by an inn and decided to stop for lunch.

Azul had disagreed—the faster they got to Cienpuentes, the better. Unfortunately, her companions had not listened.

It was too early for the evening countryside crowd, and they had the small hall for themselves. The lack of other guests felt eerie, and Azul was reminded of the devastating silence that had followed the demise of the small bird.

Her companions didn’t seem to notice the unnerving lack of noise or care.

They sat around the table, eating in companionable silence. Even Nereida appeared to be enjoying the bread and cold cuts of meat, until the door slammed open and four figures crowded in.

Oren and Anané tensed at once, letting their food fall to their plates.

The newcomers were all wearing the same hues of black. An insignia was embroidered on their tabards, marking them as someone’s personal guard. Their gazes surveyed the room, settling on Azul’s group. Their leader stepped forward. Azul did not like the look of any of them.

“You are the group from Monteverde?” the man asked.

Azul choked on her food. Coincidence, nothing else. The road was well used, the existence of an inn proof of it. How could their group not be from Monteverde?

Anané stood slowly. “Who wishes to know?”

“It is no concern of yours. We’ll be accompanying the sireses from here on.”

Oren burst to his feet. “Is that so?”

The man smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. It wasn’t a nice face: craggy and somewhat scarred and with a nose that had been broken at least twice.

All at once Nereida was on her feet, and six hands touched their rapiers’ hilts. All but Azul, who had none, and the leader of the guards, who had his men lining up behind him instead.

“Who do you belong to?” demanded Anané.

Azul’s hand crept toward the heaviest mug on the table. They might’ve taken her dagger in Valanje, but she was not defenseless.

“For the sireses to know,” the man answered.

“Then speak,” said Nereida, tall and calm and feathering the grip of her rapier.

The man inclined his head in respect. “Sireses, if you’d step outside without your companions so we can explain.”

“The women are under our care,” Oren said. “They won’t be leaving with you.”

Azul slipped out of her chair. Anané extended her free arm and gently pushed her behind her back. The edge of a table dug into her thigh. Nereida and Del Valle’s guards would make their stand here with the tables and stools, not outside, where they’d be easily surrounded.

Anané’s and Oren’s rapiers came free. The men behind their leader responded in kind.

The man lifted a hand. “There is no need to put the sireses in danger. Do you think you can take on all of us? For what? Some vestige of pride? They’ll be safe with us.”

“And yet you do not answer our questions,” Nereida said, her sword still sheathed. “You do not ask for permission. I will not be taken by riffraff and kidnappers.”

One of the men hissed loudly. “Do as you’re told, woman.”

Nereida arched her eyebrows. “Or what? You will try your luck dragging me outside?”

“I don’t need luck,” the man assured her. “Not for someone like you.”

“Watch your tongue,” Anané warned, “or we shall cut it out of you.”

A couple of the men laughed. “You and how many more?” one of them said.

“We don’t need a crowd to win fights, unlike you,” Oren returned, sneering.

“Enough,” the men’s leader snapped. With a swift kick, he sent the stool in front of him flying to the side, clearing the way to Azul’s group.

And then Nereida’s rapier kissed the air.

“The flower has fangs,” commented one of the black tabards. The others tittered.

Nereida appeared unfazed by the laughter, her stance one that spoke of many hours with a rapier in her hand. Azul could recognize familiarity with sword fights when it stood in front of her—she had seen it on Isadora plenty of times.

“Take care of the trash, then.” The tabards’ leader gestured toward Anané and Oren. “Don’t harm the women.”

One of the men stalked toward her, an unnatural gleam in his eyes.

Azul recognized this look too. People often had it when they’d spent too long sitting around with nothing exciting to do.

Azul would cure him of that soon.

It didn’t matter that she was standing by Nereida instead of Isadora, that this was an inn on the road and not a watering hole at Agunción—the movements came easy because she, too, had been looking for an outlet since stepping on Valanje and having her world come crashing down on her.

She spun the mug in her hand, then threw it at the man’s head.

It hit him full in the face, eliciting a shout and a spurt of blood.

The man staggered back, crashing against a table and some stools, one hand going to his nose, his rapier wobbling uselessly in the air.

Anané whistled. Oren laughed loudly. “What an aim!”

Exclaiming in outrage, the other two plain black tabards rushed forward and were met by Oren and Anané. The rasps and clinks of swords meeting filled the air while Azul searched for another weapon, not taking her eyes off the fight.

How many times had she been in this position before? How many times had she stood behind, watching Isadora’s back? Exhilaration filled her to the point of bursting.

A sword tip came close to piercing Oren’s side, and he was forced back against the tables. His opponent used the advantage, but his sword was diverted by Nereida’s rapier.

With the ease of a thousand duels under her belt, De Guzmán stepped in front of Oren and drove the black tabard back.

Oren gave her space and leaped over a table to stand by Azul’s side.

“Sirese,” he said with a grin.

Azul answered with the flash of a smile that showed too many teeth.

The tabard she’d felled was now back on his feet, a murderous glint replacing the unnatural glee in his eyes. He advanced toward them, shoving one of his companions aside and allowing Anané to claim a hit.

“What are you doing?” the other man demanded, scrambling back with a new tear on his upper arm.

“Shut up,” bloody nose replied, striding forward with the single-mindedness of a starved hunter.

Many had thought Azul prey, figuring her weaker than her outspoken sister, and she’d always been happy to prove them wrong.

Oren stood in front of her, ready to meet the tabard’s attack. Their swords met, the tabard’s motions angry and powerful and missing all finesse, and Azul wasn’t surprised when he brought out a dagger with his free hand.

“Dagger,” she warned Oren, wishing she had another clear shot at the black tabard’s bloodied face. Relieving the man of a tooth or two would only improve his countenance—Azul was sure he’d thank her for it.

A cry brought her attention back to Nereida. Her rapier had found its way deep into her opponent’s shoulder, although the lack of expression on her face would have anyone think she had simply threaded a needle rather than pierced flesh.

Nereida pulled the rapier out, then thrust toward his neck.

The man dodged in the nick of time and brought up his own rapier. Nereida retreated, a cool, calculated move that dared the man to press whatever advantage he thought he had left so she could deliver a final blow.

Azul’s gut churned in an unwelcome way.

Fights to first blood, fights to unconsciousness, fights to settle debts—all those she was used to. Fights to the death? Those didn’t happen often in Agunción.

But this was not Agunción, and the reminder was like a dunk in a river’s winter tide.

This was no simple fight to pass the time, just as their rush from Diel hadn’t been a mere game of hide-and-seek. This was about life and stealing people from the Lord Death.

This was about the trail of corpses they were leaving behind when they sought only to keep people alive.

About the Emissary of the Lord Death, all magnificence and virility and life, falling dead at their feet because Azul and Nereida had decided his life was worth less than their plans.

This should never become the norm.

“Nereida—”

“De Biel,” a new voice said from the open door. “Have your men stand down.”