Page 9

Brynla

I’m not going anywhere with this syndikat thief.

I do my best to catch him off guard. I launch myself low, knowing to kick him out beneath his center of gravity.

It works too, for a moment. My boots strike his shins at enough of an angle that his knees buckle, and I have both my swords raised, ready to pin him down to the ground.

But instead of collapsing, he rolls over the craggy volcanic rock, his armor protecting him from the jagged ground.

He gets up on his feet just as I’m coming over him and he quickly twists at the waist and raises his fist, knocking my arm off-balance.

My hands instinctively grip my swords, unwilling to drop them, though the impact makes my bones vibrate.

I quickly spin and move out of the way, trying to regain my footing, expecting the sharp claw of the sycledrage that he so flagrantly showed off to slice into me. But he’s sliding his weapons away into the inner folds of his cloak, as if he knows he doesn’t need them.

He thinks I’m some backward Freelander, I think as I hold out my swords. That my skills are so lacking he barely needs to fight. He’s trying to prove something.

My wounded pride becomes my fuel.

I fake a stab to his left shoulder before I drop to the ground, the rocks digging into my palms as I pivot on my upper body, swinging around and kicking at his ankles. It’s enough that this time he does fall back and I dive over him just as he makes impact with the terrain.

My shins press down on his thighs as I hold one sword against his throat, the other at the soft leather along his side, a weakness in the armor.

“I should kill you right now,” I tell him, pressing the sharp edge of the ash glass up into the crook of his chin. My voice is eerily calm, though inside I feel as if I’m caught in a whirlwind.

His amber eyes stare at mine for a moment and I think I see a shred of fear in them. Then he blinks. “My gods, you’re a stubborn little thief, aren’t you?”

I narrow my gaze. “You should be begging for your life.”

“On the contrary,” he says. His mouth curls up. The bastard is smirking at me. “You should be begging for yours.”

“You’re the one with two blades ready to end you.”

“And you’re the one I’ll be delivering to the Black Guard for your very public execution.”

I don’t want to kill this man, this arrogant product of House Kolbeck. I’ve never killed anyone before and I don’t want to start now.

But if it means saving my own life, I’ll have no choice but to slit his throat.

He grins at me, egging me on, and before I can react he moves with a sudden burst of energy that knocks me backward.

I go flying onto the hard ground, stunned, the air knocked clear from my lungs, and I’m trying to take in a breath just as he comes around me and puts his forearm across my windpipe, yanking me upward and into his lap, the back of my head against his chest.

“You can’t fight me and win, Brynla,” he says gruffly, my throat burning. “Now what will it be? Your execution? Or your servitude?”

I make a move for my swords, which fell when he sprang up from under me, but he holds me even tighter, the strong muscles of his forearm flexing against my throat.

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?” he says in my ear, his breath tickling me, and I feel myself growing weaker with lack of oxygen, the glow of the volcano seeming to become blotted out at the corners of my vision.

I’m losing consciousness.

Slowly but surely the darkness seeps across my eyes, into my brain, my heart, and everything goes black.

—

I wake up to hear the sloshing of water by my head, the creak of timber.

I’m lying on cold wooden planks in the fetal position, my limbs heavy as stone. The world spins. I try to move, to open my eyes, but the pain in my throat is immediate and my head feels full of soft cloth, making it hard to think.

But I have to think.

Where am I?

What happened?

Last thing I remember was…

Oh fuck. I was on Fjallen Rock, fighting someone, some man from House Kolbeck. He strangled me, I…

My eyes fly open into a darkened room, my vision foggy for a moment before daylight starts to seep in.

“Lemi!” I manage to cry out though pain ravages my throat, as if I can still feel the man’s arm against it. I sit up and the room whirls enough to make me list to the side, my head in my hands, nausea rolling through me. A dry chuckle fills the air that smells of seawater and brine.

“You should take it easy. You’ve been out cold.”

I look to the corner of the room where that man—Andor—is sitting on a barrel, elbows on his thighs as he peers at me with a half smile.

“And your dog is fine,” he adds. “Before you start worrying.”

I growl at him and immediately regret it, my eyes pinching shut in a wince as the sound burns me from the inside.

“Sorry about that,” he says, sounding reluctant as he gestures quickly to my neck. “I needed to take you alive. I had no choice.”

No choice?

I let out a pained cough. “You could have let me be.”

“I couldn’t do that. You had to come with me one way or another.”

“You nearly killed me,” I whisper hoarsely.

“I know what I’m doing,” he says as he straightens up. “And it’s become very apparent that you, lavender girl, do not.”

If only I had the strength to wipe that smirk off his face. I’m still dizzy, though the more the seconds tick by the more I realize that the room is actually moving in addition to what my head is doing.

We’re on a boat, in some sort of storage room belowdecks. Faint light creeps in through a porthole window that’s so scoured by salt that I can’t see anything outside.

“Where are you taking me?” I manage to ask, adjusting my seat. I may be on the floor but at least he’s put sheepskins underneath me. I spot a copper canteen beside me, swirling carvings of delicate foliage engraved on the surface giving it a feeling of opulence in this dirty cabin.

“It’s fresh water,” he says, following my gaze. “You must be thirsty.”

“Where are you taking me?” I repeat.

“That depends on if you feel like being a good girl or not,” he says.

I’m really glaring at him now. He’s dressed in the same armor as before except the black salve has been mostly wiped away from his eyes, making them look rimmed in coal, the golden amber of them glowing in contrast. His hair is thick and dark, pushed off his face in waves.

I would have called him handsome, if only he hadn’t kidnapped me.

“I’ve never been a good girl and I’m not about to start with you,” I tell him.

He laughs, though there’s an edge to it. “I’m afraid I’m starting to already regret this plan of mine.” He gets to his feet and walks over. Instinctively I press until my back is against a wooden barrel.

He peers down, looming over me. “I asked you to make a choice, but you never gave me the answer I wanted. We’re a quarter of the way across the White Sea, heading into the port of Menheimr. We’ll be there in another two days, as long as the wind holds up and the waves obey.

But I can make the captain turn this ship around to Esland.

Sail right into the capital. Drop you off with the Black Guard. You and your dog.”

I don’t say anything for a moment, and I drop my gaze from the smug gleam in his golden eyes that tells me I’m screwed no matter which choice I take.

And obviously I want to take the choice that lets me live. I just want to do it on my terms.

I stare down at my armor and suddenly feel overwhelmed by the tight, damp leather, like I’ve been ensnared in it. Trapped. I flex my fingers.

“How long was I out for?” I ask.

“Enough for me to get you onboard. Maybe a couple of hours.”

“And Lemi? Where is he?”

He jerks his chin up. “On deck. Having a great time with all the fish the crew is pulling up. Haven’t seen him disappear once.”

At least there’s that , I think.

“Tell you what,” Andor says, crouching down in front of me. “You can continue to be stubborn, or you can take a chance, makes no difference to me. I just need to know if you’re choosing me…or death.”

“I’ll take my chances with death, thank you,” I tell him.

Then slam my boot forward right into his groin.

He lets out a yelp and topples over to the side, and then I’m up on my feet and running past him.

I push past barrels and mounds of knotted rope and run up to the next deck, which is filled with cabins and the galley.

I hear Andor yelling something from below and I know I don’t have enough time.

I run into the galley and grab the closest knife, then scamper up the rest of the stairs to the top deck.

Outside the wind is sharp and cold, stinging my face, and a low fog is building in the distance, hovering above the dusky blue surf.

The ship is probably a hundred and fifty feet long with clean, empty decks, and there are two large masts, the mainsails fluttering in the wind, and a handful of crew members.

One is at the helm, one at the bow (whom I recognize as the lying son of a bitch who gave me the boat ride to the Midlands, though there’s no time to dwell on the betrayal yet), and two at the side of the ship, fishing overboard.

At their feet lies Lemi, who hops up when he sees me and lets out a bark, tongue lolling to the side.

“Lemi!” I cry out happily as he bounds toward me, though now I’ve attracted the attention of the crew.

“Andor let you loose already?” the man at the wheel, an older, chubby fellow with pale skin and ruddy cheeks, says to me from up on the aft deck.

“No.” Andor’s voice rings out. I pat Lemi with one hand while my other brandishes the stolen knife, just as Andor comes up from the deck below, still looking pained. Good. I hope he can never use his dick again. “She escaped.”

Andor looks at me, eyes sparking as he pauses at the top of the stairs. “And here I thought my temper was bad. That was a cheap shot.”

“You deserved that and worse,” I snap at him. “You’re the one who nearly strangled me to death.”

“Well, you forced my hand, sweetheart. I didn’t have many options.”

“Yes, you do. Let us go,” I say. “Now.” I hold out the knife and watch as the other men stare at me with interest.

“Hey, that’s my knife,” a man with a scarred face growls. I’m guessing he’s the cook.

But he doesn’t move. None of the crew seems like they’re about to advance on me, but I can’t drop my guard.

It’s obvious Andor isn’t about to let me go, and there’s five of them and one of me.

I’m honestly not sure how I’m going to get out of this.

I can’t see any land nearby, and Andor said we were a quarter of the way across the White Sea.

I have no idea what the geography is like in this part of the world.

There might be islands just out of sight, close enough that Lemi would tow me there. I could steal their rowboat…

“I wouldn’t do it,” Andor says, eyeing the knife. “There’s nowhere for you to go.”

“Even if there were, you’d only lie about it to keep me here,” I point out, backing up slowly toward the railing with Lemi inching along with me, his ears perked up, wondering what’s happening.

“Are you questioning Andor’s honesty?” the boatswain asks, leaning casually against the wheel, the wind whipping back his patchy hair. “You won’t find a more honest man out there. He tells the truth like it’s an affliction, until you wish he was lying,” he adds with a chuckle.

“I’ll take my chances,” I tell him, looking back to Andor. “I would rather face death on the high seas than be forced to help you or your house.”

“Such a pity,” he muses as I peer over the edge of the boat. The sea is rough and looks terribly cold.

“What is?” I say, quickly looking back at him. No one has moved toward me.

“That you are so obstinate you would rather die than save your aunt’s life.”

I freeze. “What are you talking about?”

“I told you earlier,” he says calmly, splaying his hands. “You work for us, we get your aunt out of the Banished Land. She’ll be free to go to wherever she likes in the world, and we’ll give her the means to do so. And when you’re done working for us, you can do the same.”

I stare at him for a moment, then shake my head. He’s lying. He’s a rotten member of a syndikat, no different from Dalgaard or anyone else in this world. I want a better life but I know a devil’s bargain when I hear it. Everything comes with a catch.

“What do you mean when I’m done?” I ask. “Since when is there a time limit to this favor?”

Andor shrugs, a strand of dark hair blowing across his eyes.

“It’s not a favor. It’s an opportunity. A favor implies that you would be helping me from the goodness of your heart and getting nothing in return.

An opportunity means you get something too.

Bigger than your wildest dreams.” He pauses, meeting my eyes and holding them there.

“We haven’t yet discussed our terms because you keep trying to kill me.

But it’s possible that you only work for us for a year, enough for us to get a leg up on Dalgaard.

All you’ll be doing is stealing eggs, same as before.

” He pauses and smiles with white teeth. “It’s all negotiable, darling.”

I hate that for a moment I’m intrigued enough to ask more questions. But I quell that feeling and bristle instead. “My aunt is a survivor. She’ll be just fine without any rescue. She’s built for the Banished Land, a place that would eat you alive.”

His gaze remains steady. “Are you sure about that? Willing to bet her life on it?”

“More than I’m willing to bet my life on you,” I tell him.

And then before he can say anything, I lean back against the railing and fall overboard, flipping backward into the sea.