Riah leaves me to my thoughts as we journey back to the palace. I tell myself that the reason they treat their soldiers better is because they can afford to. I tell myself that the reason La’tari prisoners often die of starvation is because we lack resources to feed them. And all of this, I tell myself, is the fault of the A’kori, of their king. But no matter how many times I repeat these lies, I cannot make myself believe them.
I’m pulled from the maddening torrent of my thoughts halfway through our journey back to the palace when the lieutenant curses under her breath. I follow her attention to the five riders approaching from the north.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, squinting in a vain attempt to make out what her sharp feyn eyes can so easily see from afar.
“Try not to fight, but if we must, try not to die.”
It’s all she has time to say before they nearly collide with us, halting our procession east. Four humans, three men and one woman, sit astride their mounts next to a white-haired male with dark brown skin and deep blue eyes.
“Shivay lathrek,” Riah greets him.
“Shivay thien,”he replies in a husky voice.
One of the few phrases I picked up as a child, when I was curious after my first encounter with the feyn. It is an ancient and formal greeting from a time in their histories.
Shivay lathrek. May the light of all life greet you in the morning.
Shivay thien.May the light of all life find you in the darkness.
“Perhaps you would be kind enough to offer some assistance. We’ve gotten a little turned around looking for the barracks,” the feyn male says with a knowing smile.
Had Riah not been on edge before, his line of questioning would prickle my spine.
The lieutenant doesn’t hesitate to reply, “I’m sorry, friend. I didn’t know there were any barracks in these parts.”
The male smirks at her, disbelieving, making a show of examining her uniform. Riah pulls on the reins, forcing her mare to step back from their party.
“If there’s nothing else I can help you with, we need to be on our way,” she says.
It’s the tension in her voice that has me sliding my daggers from their sheathes to rest in my palms. No sooner do their hilts settle in my hands than his smile grows wicked.
“I can think of plenty of ways you can be of further assistance to me.” He tips his head toward us, issuing a command to the others, “Take them alive.”
Riah may as well have said nothing for all the thought I give her earlier warning. I don’t think before flicking my wrist, lodging one of my feynstone blades firmly into the male’s eye. I don’t expect it to kill him, my entire life I’ve been taught just how difficult the feyn are to kill. But he falls from his horse, collapsing into a heap of unmoving flesh.
Riah doesn’t spare a glance in my direction as she directs her mare into the midst of mounted humans. She isn’t armed, not with a weapon. I’m convinced she doesn’t need one when she grapples one of the fair-haired men by the throat and he looses an agonizing shriek, abruptly ended by thesickening crack of his neck before he falls from his mount.
Fates.
The men unsheathe their swords, striking at the lieutenant. She goes on the defense, attempting to disarm one and procure his weapon for herself. I loose my second blade at the man attempting to attack her from behind. The knife whips past Riah before sinking into his jugular with a solid thunk. His eyes widen as he claws at the blade, but he’s already dead, removing it will only quicken his descent to haliel.
“Stop throwing your weapons!” Riah growls.
A thank you might be more appropriate, but I understand her line of reasoning. I’ve disarmed myself, even if it was to save her from a sword to the back.
I’m too caught up in Riah’s skirmish to notice that the woman dismounted behind me. A mistake that truthfully should cost me my life. She pulls my leg, pitching me off balance, sending me to the ground.
Standing over me with a cocky grin, she sneers, “You’re about to wish you’d done as your friend advised. If you had any idea who we are, not only would you have remained armed, you would have run.”
Her smile fades to a frown when I grin, the heat of battle soaking into my veins in a rushing wave. I sweep her legs out from under her and round back with a kick to her head just before it makes contact with the ground. With a loud crack, it bounces off a large stone half sunk into the earth. Blood gushes from the wound and her body goes limp. The woman will not rise again.
By the time I get to my feet, Riah is wiping a thick slick of blood off the blade she acquired from her opponent, the remnants of the assailant unmoving at her feet. She points it at me as I pluck my own blade from the feyn’s punctured socket, my eyes lingering on the odd serrated shell of the male’s ear.
“You have some explaining to do,” she says.
I wipe the blade clean, sheathing it in my leathers before retrieving the second and doing the same.
“They were a gift from the general,” I reply.
