Zorn's voice: If you can save yourself, don't wait. Being on the run gives you better odds than being locked in a box.
Tarian stepped away. One of the largest males stepped forward to grab her.
She knew a moment of pain and confusion at the deception. A moment of vulnerability as she struggled to process his actions. Tarian had been lying about several things, and she'd stupidly let down her guard. After all they'd been through, after how well they'd worked together, he'd always planned to screw her in the end.
But she only took that one moment, because he'd always said he would do it. She should've been ready for this. She should've known this was coming. She'd been a fool for forgetting the dire situation she was in that he had created.
So she bottled up the fleeting hurt and quickly morphed it into rage and action.
She launched at them. They were big and strong, but she was quick and had extensive practice in fighting multiple people at the same time, almost always larger than her. Thank you, Kieran, for the gift of your guys training me. She'd only do enough damage to get out from under them, and then she'd run. She needed to get far enough, fast enough, to hide. Or hell, take her chances with the wylds.
She darted at the two bringing up the rear, then ducked and jabbed, stabbing the first in the underside of his thigh. That spot hurt like a fucking bitch. He staggered.
The other got hold of her hair, and she stabbed him in the gut. He yanked hard, but she didn't need hair, so she let him pull out as much as he wanted. It would grow back. She slashed him under the arm, kneed him in the balls, and wished she had another weapon so she could get him in both sides at once. Instead, she had to rip across his stomach, not as deep as she'd have liked, but it would take him out of the fight until he could heal enough to keep his intestines.
Another came from behind her, advancing before she could get away from these two. She grabbed the ornaments encircling the neck of Hair Grabber and yanked him closer. He staggered forward in surprise, holding his stomach. She quickly twisted and head-butted the one coming from behind to grab her. She slipped out from between them, catching the legs of the new guy. He staggered, tripped, and got tangled with Hair Grabber. They were not used to catching hogs, and it showed.
She sliced off the ornament she held and thankfully didn't also have to slice off her hair. Hair Grabber let go to hold his stomach and shove off the newcomer at the same time.
She went for the first guy, his expression dark. He held his sword up this time, his legs set in a fighting stance.
The ornament, a sort of heavy amulet, hit him in the nose. He flinched too late, and the pain in his face registered. Before he got around it, eyes watering and squinting shut with the nature of the wound, she'd sliced his forearm, relieved him of his sword, and stabbed him in the shoulder because she fucking missed his neck. She yanked the light and well-made sword back out and threw it at the fourth one, who was wading into the melee. It would have to do.
She was around them in an instant, a moment away from a burst of speed, when magic froze her body, and she teetered over to land on her side. Fuck. In times like this, it would be really nice to have magic of her own. She'd own the world if she could compete in a fair fight.
A slow clap echoed along the path.
Her blade pulsed before curling over the back of her hand and into the spell. It kept growing, freeing her arm. Damn she loved this blade. Tarian was a fool for giving it to her.
Except…
Work for me just this once, she begged it. Couldn't hurt. It wasn't like she had any alternatives. Just this once.
She held herself still as the blade returned to normal, hoping Tarian hadn't noticed it elongate with the other males groaning and spitting and talking. She waited for Tarian to walk up close to her, his boots near her face, her anger burning hot.
"My goodness, little dove, you—"
She dug her knife into his calf, higher than she'd wanted. Wasting absolutely zero time, never having moved so fast in her life, she slashed down her body to cut away the magic and ran. Ran so hard and fast she could barely feel her legs. She just needed to get out of his range. Just needed—
Her legs locked up, and she was barely able to twist so that she didn't fall on her face. But her knife still worked. She freed herself and hopped up again, then once more, struggling for distance. Trying to—
Her knife was knocked out of her hand, and her whole body was caught. Fucking magic!
She breathed hard, thinking about struggling. About twisting or inchworming or anything to get away.
Worry only about that which you can control, she told herself, needing to hear the words in her head. Not Zorn's this time, but her own. Learn how to adapt to everything else.
She relaxed further. She'd lost this battle, but she had not lost the war. She'd see Tarian again. She'd kiss her way through those big guys, with the long hair and half man-buns. She'd kiss her way through a castle, if they took her to one. Through a dungeon. She didn't give a shit. Until she died, he'd be constantly busy. Constantly.
She knew it was him by the shoes. And the limp. Then the lean. He was getting good at the leaning…
Her face was frozen, so she snickered in her mind so he could hear it.
Blood soaked part of his pants and dripped down his shoe to the ground. The knife had gone in deep.
"Ouch," he said as he picked up her weapon. "Your love bites really do sting, dove. That one worst of all, I think. And look, now it's my pants you've ruined! I could've just washed these, but holes? I can't pull off a patch. It's simply not my style."
The magic surrounding her disappeared, and she sat up slowly, tilting her head up to offer him a look of loathing. His eyes were dancing, shining brightly, like Daisy fighting for her life had all been one big joke.
"You really do help me make a statement," he said in a murmur, reaching down.
"I have no interest in helping you make a statement."
Daisy's teeth ground together, her expression displaying utter disgust at Tarian's obvious amusement. He hadn't been betraying her; he'd been once again playing games. He'd been using her for his entertainment, or maybe just showing his people what she was capable of. Because they were his people. That was obvious now. Not buyers or traders, but part of his outfit. He'd never intended to give her up, but to have a little fun as they integrated into this next faction.
And she'd fallen for it, hook, line, and fucking sinker.
"All the same," he said. "Here, take my hand. The station is not far away. There's food there. And rest. And healing ointments that everyone will now be needing. You almost killed one of my Fallen." He said the last word in a strange accent, almost as though it were a name and not meant to be translated by her blood gift. "I had to freeze the sword you threw in midair. Good aim. Perfect rotation. It's not a magical sword, but it almost seemed like it was…and on your side. Like this clever little knife here." He studied it for a moment. "It likes you better than me. Imagine that. And all the fun times we've had."
She shook her head, really fucking annoyed, not least because she'd known that moment of hurt when he first began the trick. She was an idiot, and he'd proven it. Zorn would slap her silly, and rightfully so.
Images and words and emotions tumbled through her mind from his point of view, starting from when she'd noticed the strangers' presence until right before Tarian limped over to collect her. These guys were part of his Starwardens, whatever that meant. Four of ten total, they'd been sent out to look for him. The other six were back at the station, like the one they'd stayed in last night, only much bigger. They were all waiting for him. Worried about him.
"Well, bully for you," she groused. "Someone gives a shit about your wellbeing."
There was no denying it, though. She felt their concern. Their closeness to him. They'd known each other for a long time. Since they were kids, if she had to guess.
She saw what she looked like through their eyes, all four. In summary, not much. Scrawny, one thought. Scared, thought another. Weak, pitiful. They didn't seem to notice her filthy hair or the dirt streaking her face. Her pants caked with filth or her bra kinda loose and ill-fitting, on a little lopsided. They might not have noticed, but she did. She scrubbed at her face immediately.
"You don't care that they think so little of your prowess, but you do care about the dirt you collected while trying to stay alive?" Tarian asked, amused.
"My greatest strength is being underestimated," she replied. "I'd much rather do that while looking good. I look an absolute mess."
"You are very vain."
"Like you can talk."
"I can talk, yes. I, too, am very vain. Takes one to know one, as they say."
She took his hand and let him pull her up as the rest of the memories tumbled through.
Can she actually use the knife, or is it just to communicate? Mr. Pitiful asked.
Do all humans look that frail? Mr. Weak asked. I could snap her in half. How have you even kept her alive?
Tarian's plan had been simple: threaten her and watch her dance. He'd been trying to show off her skills, for whatever reason. He'd manipulated her into looking like a fool.
"Not even remotely," he whispered, pulling her in close until their energy buzzed between them. Their chemistry set her to vibrating.
The next point of view was just in his eyes, in those vibrant colors, watching her twirl and spin. Dance like a sprite. Like a wild thing. Beauty in motion. She felt the glow of his pride. His smugness at what she could do. He thought she was magnificent, and he wanted to show her off to his people. His toy was a rare and beautiful sight.
She shoved that sentiment away. Fool her once…
"And I assume this means you aren't selling me." She pushed away from him.
"There is not enough gold in all the kingdoms." He held out her knife. "I want to make a deal with you."
"I don't make deals with fae." She paused. "Except for the kissing thing, but you were cheating."
He shook the knife a little. "You will need this. In the wylds and beyond, you will want a way to protect yourself. I want to allow you that freedom. But…I can't have you killing my Fallen. I know you will try. There are but ten unloved." There it was again, that deep accent. "They are all I have. They are all you have. They are my protection, and because of that, they are yours. I will ensure you have plenty of enemies to kill. You'll get as much blood as you desire. Just spare their lives. They are innocent in this, just as you are. I am the villain here. Ultimately, if you should kill me, that will be the end of it. You can try killing me as often as you like. I do so love the game. Aim for me, not for them."
She really wished she could read his mind, to see if he was lying. He'd said he couldn't, but how could she believe that now?
Quite easily, he said. I didn't lie once a moment ago. Think over it and you'll see. I told you I had a cunning way with words. I was not lying at that, either. All fae do, though some are better than others. I've had to become the best of them all.
She also didn't know why he would barter on behalf of someone else. Almost offering himself up in their stead. That didn't seem like his style.
Despite his words, she didn't know how to trust him. The recent situation still burned. She needed more pieces of his story.
"And you shall have them, before the end, though you will likely wish you hadn't," he said. "Regardless…" He held the knife higher. "I will return this to you if you do not try to kill the Fallen. Not any of the ten. Not ever."
She made a face at him. "Really? Not ever? They come for my throat and I just whistle and look the other way?"
A smile tried to peek through his serious exterior. "I will return your knife—"
"For how long?"
The smile grew a bit wider. "I will return your knife…forever, only borrowing it from you if your life is in danger or should you will it. In return, you will not kill or seriously harm my Fallen, unless they are trying to kill you. If I should keep this weapon from you, the deal is off."
"Any time I do not have that weapon in my possession, the deal is off."
The smile was in full bloom now. "You continually surprise and impress me. You are also continuing to help me make a statement. Okay, let's see if I can get this right…"
He couldn't. They went at it for a few more rounds, tweaking and adjusting until each of them had a deal they could live with. When they were done, she wanted to sag in fatigue and hunger.
"Yes, let's get back," he said, handing over the knife and the sheath, which had dropped from her person in the struggle.
The others waited where she'd left them, not as straight and tall as when they first stepped into the path. They had a few more holes in their bodies too. A few more cuts and scrapes.
"Daisy, these are four of my ten Fallen," Tarian said as he limped beside her.
"What does that mean, the fallen?" she asked.
"They gave up their place in a proper society, and within a proper court, for me. I take their allegiance very seriously."
She wondered why they'd do that for him but didn't ask. She'd undoubtedly learn more through observation and analysis.
Tarian inclined his head, hearing her thought. "This is Lennox." He indicated a male of about six-two with the muscular build that they all possessed, the mark of a warrior. His wheat-colored hair was half tied on the top of his head and then flowed down around his face and over his back and shoulders in gentle waves. A couple braids tamed a portion, but otherwise, it was loose and wild and more than a little pretty. His reddish beard had a ponytail-holder thing right at his chin with a metallic decal. Leather cords and amulets and leather braids circled his neck and hung down his heavily inked-up chest. Except for the one she'd cut off, which was clutched in his fist. A similar mess of tattoos covered his arms and dotted his legs. It was like he'd been in prison and gotten bored and started marking himself up. His nose was straight and came to a fine point, and his light brows hung slightly low over sky-blue eyes. He was a looker with terrible taste in jewelry, and looked exactly like the Vikings in the Chester history books. She wondered if those hadn't actually been fae raiding and pillaging their way through the lands. It would make a lot of sense.
"Ryoden," Tarian said, indicating a slightly slimmer male. He had black hair, straight, with that same topknot, a couple braids, and strands of his thinner hair flowing down his back. His head was half buzzed, with a wavy line through it as a decal. The other two had the same. She assumed the Viking had a similar style hidden within that mane. Ryoden didn't have any facial hair, showing off his square jaw and cleft chin. Also a looker.
Let me remind you, Tarian said with an edge to his mental voice, what would happen should your lips land on anyone but me. I do not want to have to kill my own men.
She grinned at the hint of possessiveness in his voice.
The other two, Niall and Darryn, were similar in appearance, as though they might be brothers. A little shorter than the others, they stood at about six feet and had been the last to engage in their skirmish. Niall's long braid rolled over his shoulder and reached down to his stomach. The rest of his wispy hair half floated around his back because it was so thin and light. He really needed a trim. Darryn had a little dusky-brown braid on each side of his forehead with white string or ribbon or something entwined within it. His topknot was wild, as though someone had yanked on it, and more ribbon-entwined braids streaked the otherwise thin and straight hair. They…hopefully had great personalities.
In addition to no shirts, they all wore a sort of skirt with fur around the waistline and a round metallic emblem where a belt buckle might go. The fur dripped down in places, creating pockets or adorning pockets in the otherwise loose and flowing fabric. If Boman was a kilt guy, he'd be interested in this fashion. She wondered if there was anything under it.
Bandages wrapped their various wounds, and blood stained their fingers and skin.
She nodded in hello. They stared back. Their acquaintance was off to a swimming start.
"Let's get moving." Tarian put his hand on Daisy's shoulder. "It's been unnaturally quiet all the way from the station. It has unsettled the Fallen."
She and Tarian walked side by side, and the others created a square around them, half tramping in the grasses and brush to keep the formation. It was a bit stupid, really, at least while there wasn't anything hanging around. They could walk on the path like normal people and stop making so much noise.
"You haven't asked if they have the mindgazer magic," Tarian said quietly.
"With you as my jailer, it doesn't matter if they do or don't. I assume you'll tell them anything of relevance if they can't hear it themselves."
"Well, they do. All of my Fallen do." He slipped her a side-eye. "You know, in case you want to rein in some of the very blunt observations."
"If they don't want to hear it, they shouldn't be listening to things not meant for their ears. My head is supposed to be a private place. Don't eavesdrop and we'll get along fantastically."
"You practically shout your thoughts. It's hard not to hear the cursed things," grumbled Darryn, the one with a small braid on either side of his forehead. "I do, you know." He glanced back at her, his face hard. "I have a great personality."
Someone behind barked out a laugh.
"Interesting place to put your knife." The other one at the front, Niall, didn't turn to look at it as he commented. "Was that your idea or Tarian's?"
Tarian didn't respond, but after a moment, a couple of them chuckled. Clearly, he'd answered without words.
"It's easier to relay info via the mind, as you've learned," he told her. "You're new to it, so we don't do it as often, but that's the main way the Fallen communicate. You can receive our thoughts, and so, when it is relevant, we will share them with you. You can obviously broadcast your thoughts, and so we'll hear them. When any of us wish to keep our thoughts to ourselves, we shield our minds. We'll teach you how to do that."
"Why?" she asked.
"Because you are incredibly distracting," Lennox muttered. "Also, what is a Viking?"
A mangy, unwashed cretin who raped and pillaged his way through Europe, she thought grumpily.
"Her barbs are worse when she thinks them," Lennox growled. "Much more colorful."
"I'd take mangy and unwashed over just plain ugly," Niall called back. "At least she thinks you're a looker, even if you are those other things."
"Careful, Niall," Ryoden said, his voice pleasantly pitched. "You'll lose personality points if you keep it up. Then what will you have?"
"An ugly brother," Niall replied, and they all started snickering…except Darryn, who was pretending not to hear.
"She's like a running commentary of what we're all thinking but too nice to say," Niall said, laughing. "I can't decide if I like it or not."
"When she's not talking about you, I'd say you like it just fine," Lennox said, his voice a deep drum.
"Yeah. That's what I mean."noveldrama
They kept up their banter throughout the rest of the journey, which thankfully wasn't long. Hot, though. The sun beat down on them mercilessly without so much as a whisper of a breeze. Sweat poured down her face and collected in areas she'd rather it didn't. She finished the water in her skin and denied Tarian when he offered his, not wanting to appear as frail as they'd made her out. Besides, he was the one bleeding, not her. He'd been worse off than her last night, as well. He needed it more.
Occasionally the guys in front would glance back at her, and she'd avert her eyes to the side to avoid their gazes. Obviously Tarian was detailing their journey through their mind communication. No one reacted to any of it, though—not a huff, a laugh, a scoff, nothing. She was thankful. She'd rather not know their thoughts on her journey and her various hiccups and transgressions.
The only good news was that the mind chatter acted like talking to a degree. Two people talking at once was confusing, so while they communicated, they didn't seem to notice her thoughts. She let her mind wander where it would, thinking about various aspects of their journey and noticing the plants and flora they passed. A tune shouldered its way into her mind at one point, and she thought of her family while she mentally sang it. They were probably pissed that they couldn't find her. Scared shitless that something had happened to her. Hopefully they didn't blame themselves. Hopefully they didn't follow her.
That brought a wave of fear that clenched her heart, and so she switched gears, thinking about the scuffle with these fae and how she could've been better. She'd completely ignored Tarian. That had been a mistake. She should've at least thrown a weapon at him to make him scramble. That might've given her those few more seconds to get out of his reach.
Of course, he would've just tracked her down anyway. It had been stupid to run. A waste of energy. But then, she hadn't had time to think, and as she remembered, it was better to run than tuck yourself into a box for someone to bury at their leisure.
When a small collection of shacks, clustered close together, came into view, she was glad for it. The heat and lack of sustenance were getting to her. An electric zigzag appeared in her vision, blocking some of her view—a coming ocular migraine often set off by exactly these circumstances. Her vision would continue to get blotchy, her mind hazy, and a headache would set in. Maybe she'd feel sick or her fingers would start to tingle or go numb. It wouldn't kill her. The cold shivers racing across her body, however, weren't as great. Heat stroke, most likely. Hopefully a slow onset. She hadn't completely stopped sweating yet. She'd need water and shade, preferably cool. As a captive, she probably wouldn't get to make those demands.
It took her a moment to realize the guys in front had slowed, turning around. Tarian pushed in close, one arm around her shoulders and the other scooping her up under her knees.
"What—" She shoved at him weakly, which was not her finest moment. "I can walk just fine. How'd you even hear that?"
"Mental communication isn't exactly like talking, no," he said, increasing his pace. The added weight made him limp harder. "The mind can do more than one thing at a time. More than two things at once, even. Especially a mind trained to keep track of multiple situations or conversations at once. Your analytical ability is incredibly interesting and a little humbling. Your rambling is entertaining. Your current state is worrying. How bad are you? Don't lie. You're no good at it."
"I'm"—she shoved at him again—"very good at it, actually. I'm a master at it. You just cheat by listening to the truth in my head."
"Yes. Which makes you no good at it with my kind. How bad?"
"Water, food, and a cool and dark place—that's all I need. The possible heat stroke is the only worrying thing, and it isn't too far along yet, I don't think. I'm assuming we're going to stop soon, at the Shanty Township. I'll make it. Please put me down so I don't look like a frail human who needs to be carried through the fae lands by Lord Dick."
He smirked at her. "Lord Dick. I like that. But don't you like being underestimated?"
"I look plenty pitiful, thanks. Plus, I doubt it'll stick after you replay the scuffle earlier. This is your last warning. Please put me down."
"That was a very polite warning—"
In a swift, fluid motion, she swiped her hand up, grabbed the hilt of her knife, turned it blade side up, and bonked him on the head. He squeezed his eyes shut and staggered, letting go of her legs. She twisted to get out of his grip, but anticipating it, he squeezed her upper half to him and grabbed her wrist with the other hand.
I cheat. Remember that, he thought as he secured her. She wheezed within the hold.
He must've directed that into her mind alone, because then he said, "That wasn't very nice, little dove. Now we have to do things the hard way."
His lids slid open, but she could barely make them out. The fuzzy zigzag had grown within her vision, pulsing in time with the oncoming headache, blotting out a solid chunk just off center. She had to look away and see the situation from her peripheral vision. These things were seldom timed well, but in the human world, she had medicine to stave it off. No such luck now.
"Take her knife," Tarian barked, and someone pried it from her fingers.
"Careful," Lennox said in his drum-deep voice. "She has the ability to kill us now."
Tarian hoisted her up and tossed her over his shoulder. A wave of shivers washed over her body, and her head felt woozy. Yeah, heat stroke. Super.
"Go." Tarian directed his team on. "Go!"
"I'll…be…" She grunted as his shoulder repeatedly dug into her middle.
"Curse the wingots, Daisy. Do not say you are fine. What are these human maladies? You can't see!"
"You guys don't have migraines? Well, technically, it's an ocular migraine. It's a little different."
"No. I need you alive."
"You need me alive?"
"Fine, I want you alive. I want to show you off to the court as I play with you. I didn't put all this effort into getting you here just for the sun and situation to kill you off. I have plans for you. You will be a much-needed distraction to give me time to work the chalices."
A distraction. She knew something about how liberal he was with those. How deadly they tended to be. That was where he probably thought she'd break.
Well.
She started singing a song to end the thought. Because there would be a way out. She just had to learn the rules, break the rules, and—
Fuck.
So, so bad at telling lies, my little treasure. So bad. We shall see if you can match my cunning. How's that?
He'd regret that challenge. Somehow.