“They won’t give you the same quarter, little temptress. Not if they see you with me.”
“Which is why you’re carrying Palacia and staying out of sight.” I stop at the mouth of the alley we’re plodding through, turning to him with imploring eyes. “Please, love, don’t kill any of my people. Don’t give them a further reason to hate you, Skar.”
The hard, angular planes of his face soften as he reaches out to cup my cheek. Though his touch is cold, I ignite with fire inside. “The humans don’tneeda reason to hate me, my dangerous girl. There’s hundreds of years of precedence already for that.”
With a sigh, I nod into his touch, wishing we had the time so I could melt deeper into him. I pull apart, clearing my throat of the lump, and look down at Palacia in his arms. “Hold her head up while we walk, please. I don’t want her neck bobbing around like that.”
Three streets later, we find the first fracas. We’ve made it all of ten blocks past the Firehold—passing the Temple of the True and the House of the Broken along the way. I didn’t give my house of upbringing or the house of worship a second glance.
Blocking our path, a gaggle of about ten men stand outside the doors of a dimly lit tavern. They’re brandishing weapons, checking their sharpness, speaking in hushed tones. A few of them wobble where they stand. I can practically smell the drunkenness wafting off them, even from this distance.
I duck back in behind the wall. “Fuck. Lots of them.”
“I could make this easy.”
“I’ll handle it. Stay behind me.”
I march out from the building, with Skar keeping to the moonlit shadows on the edges of the road. He’s visible but muted, which will have to be enough since he can’t use his shadowwalking with Palacia in his arms.
The grizzled men turn to me as one. I’m silhouetted by the moonlight, which works to my advantage, though I know my wide hips and build isn’t fooling anyone.
“Hoy, lads, what do we have going on this pleasant evening?” I call out. “Nice breeze we have—”
“Not a good time to be roaming the streets, ma’am,” says the front-most man. He’s a stocky fellow with a thick neck, and I instantly imagine the ways I would bring him down if it came to it. “Ain’t you know what’s going on in these parts?”
I cock my hip. “I’m just trying to get through. Way I hear it, the Silverknight’s bringing madness to the streets.”
“Madness? You mean liberty, woman?” He spits on the ground at his feet.
“Hoy, what’s that creepy fellow doing behind you, lass?” one of the men asks, pointing past me.
Shit. I said to stay hidden, Skar!Of course the arrogant ass is bringing up the rear, ten feet behind me, no longer on the shadowy fringes of the road.
In his most ridiculous twanging voice, which sounds neither Nuhavian or Olhavian, Skar says, “These misters bothering you, Mistress?”
“Same can be said about you, boy!” yells the stocky man. “Why you got that hood pulled so low, huh? Show us your—”
“That skin,” adds his buddy. He chokes a sound. “So bright.”
“Vampire!” shouts a third.
Skar sighs. “Fuck this.”
The men charge us—a huge swaying blob of humanity and sour scent. They raise clubs, daggers, and a few nicked swords, and shout to the sky.
“Over here, lads!” one yells. “Get ‘em out the tavern—we got a live one!”
“Rotten slaver shit-stain!” shouts another.
My swords come out in a blur and I move to the thick-necked man in front, spinning, knocking his club aside, elbowing him in the sternum.
His body deflates, clearly not expecting to get the wind knocked out of him while in his drunken stupor. It sobers him up fast. His red-rimmed eyes roll when the pommel of my longsword connects with his temple.
He collapses, leaving two men in his wake.
The first gives an awkward, errant slash with his dagger, and I crouch low to meet him. The second tries to flank me—
Before his own shadow begins strangling him from behind. He shouts in a gurgle, dropping his weapon and pulling at the black band around his neck. His legs kick and his arms flail.
