Or maybe it’s the same. They attacked soldiers then, too.
It’s too dark for me to identify their targets, but I don’t take time to try. I’m already shooting before Teddy comes to a stop. Screeches erupt when I don’t make killing shots, but I quickly remedy that. I grab for more arrows when my palm empties. I try not to think about the motionless soldiers who lie beneath them, or the scent of blood or the screams on the air. When we were in Briarlock, the king fought at my side, feeding me advice as we faced the advancing enemy. His words are like a litany in my brain now.
Don’t forget to breathe. Take time to aim. Don’t waste your arrows.
I told him I wasn’t really a soldier. I’m not one now.
I hit a scraver through the wing and it screams, and the sound makes me cringe. It’s the last arrow in my palm, so I reach for more.
My quiver is empty. I should’ve kept count.
As soon as I have the realization, the scraver leaps off the soldier and slams into me so hard that it knocks me off the horse. I crash into the ground just as claws scrape across my jaw.
Unlike the soldiers, I’m not wearing any armor.
The scraver rears back, fangs bared, eyes glinting in the moonlight. I suck in a terrified breath. It’s going to tear my throat out, and Tycho won’t be anywhere around to heal the damage.
A sword stabs right into the side of its rib cage, driving the scraver sideways, impaling it with enough force that it can’t attack me at all. It’s screaming, scrabbling for the weapon now, but Sephran grabs hold of its wing and pulls it off me. He kicks it onto the ground, pulls his sword free, and kills it with one quick thrust of his blade. After the earsplitting screeching, the silence is sudden and profound.
I stare up at Sephran, my breathing shaky. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, but he hasn’t looked at me yet. He’s staring at the scraver, as if waiting to make sure it’s really dead. Blood is a dark streak on his cheek, but there’s more of it down one arm. He’s still gripping a sword in one hand and a dagger in his other, so it must not be too bad.
His face is all hard lines. Any sheepish kindness in his expression is gone, leaving only a fierce soldier.
He finally glances down at me, his gaze skipping over my form as if assessing damages for one quick second, before looking out and around again. I shove myself up on my elbows, realizing that there could be more.
But the screeches have stopped. The air is warm, my breath no longer clouding. The scravers are dead—or gone. Soldiers are shouting to each other. I hear a woman crying, and my heart clenches.Molly.But at least she’s alive.
Not everyone is so lucky. Bodies are strewn everywhere. The scent of blood is still heavy in the air.
Sephran sheathes his weapons and puts out a hand, and I take it, pulling myself to standing. My heart is pounding hard, my hair spilling free from its knot. Teddy is a short distance away, my crutches still bound behind the saddle. The horse is innocently nosing at the grass beside a fallen soldier.
Beyond my horse, Niall limps into the clearing. His eyes meet mine, and he glances away without saying a word.
I saved his life.The thought is jarring.
But Sephran picks up my bow and presses it to my chest, drawing my attention back. One of the others calls his name, but he doesn’t look away from me. His blue eyes are a little shadowed, a little bleak, but he gives me a grateful nod. “Nice shooting, Archer.”
I take hold of the bow. The surviving soldiers are panicked and disorganized—and many are still drunk. As far as I can tell, they seem to be yelling for someone to fetch more soldiers. Healers, too, though I can’t be sure. I wish I had a shred of Tycho’s magic, because I see a lot of fallen bodies.
Sephran has moved away, and he’s kneeling beside someone on thefar side of the clearing now, checking for another survivor, but I know how vicious the scravers are. There won’t be many. Even some of the horses are dead. The remaining soldiers are pale in the moonlight, looking at the sky as if trying to determine whether another attack is coming—or if it’s safe to head for the castle.
They’re afraid. Arguing turns to shouting. No one wants to ride out in the open.
My heart is pounding. I don’t either.
But honestly, I don’t want to stay here. I hop to Teddy and untether my crutches, then loop his reins around my wrist. There’s no way I’m riding back without any weapons, so I start pulling arrows anywhere I see them. The ones in the scraver bodies pull free with a wet squelch, and I dip to wipe them in the grass before shoving them in my quiver.
A shadow appears at my side, and I jump a mile, nearly losing a crutch.
But it’s only Molly.
“Sorry,” she says, and tears glitter on her cheeks.
I stare at her. “Leo?” I ask.
She nods quickly and swipes at her face, then points. “With Kutter.”
I follow her gaze and see the youngest soldier. He’s quiet, but the others are still arguing, panic thick in their voices.
