Liana smiled. “I’ll make a ruffian out of you if you’re not careful.”
He laughed in earnest. “I’d let you do whatever you please with me.” He paused, shocked by the words that had slipped out of his mouth, and looked down.
She laid her palm on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, his quick breathing.
“Liana,” he said. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue.
She let her body lean towards him until their hips met. He was hot with exertion, rigid with tension.
“Amron.” His name rolled off her tongue, sweet like pomegranate syrup. Her fingers touched his cheek, guiding him to her.
Abruptly, he lifted his head, looking behind her, and his expression changed. “We’re not alone,” he said.
She turned to see half a dozen people materialize out of theshadows. At first she thought Amril’s friends had followed them, but then her brain caught up and her stomach dropped. A long-forgotten terror sent a shiver down her spine as she recognized the embossed leather vests, the broad belts, the wide pants gathered at the ankles. The dark scarves wrapped around their heads and over their noses to stave off dust. Seragians. Each one of them brandished a long, curved blade. In Abia, where any weapon longer than a hunting knife was forbidden during the wedding celebrations.
“Get behind me,” Amron whispered. He had nothing but a dagger on his hip.
The Seragians moved in a wide semicircle, cutting their route of escape.
“It’s the wrong prince,” someone said in the language Liana had hoped never to hear again.
Their leader appraised Amron and Liana with dark eyes gleaming under two exquisitely curved eyebrows. “He will do. His whore as well, don’t let her get away.”
Amron could speak Seragian, she knew. “I’ll distract them,” he whispered. “You go and get help. There’s guards at every corner.”
She nodded.
“Help!” he called. “Guards!” He lunged at the nearest man. The Seragian swung his blade, but Amron pivoted, stabbed the man between the ribs, and snatched his weapon.
Wooden shutters opened somewhere above their heads.
“Help!” Liana screamed. “Call the guards!”
Amron was armed now, but he was still facing five attackers closing in. Liana couldn’t leave him alone. By the time she returned, he’d be dead.
She didn’t know if she could die in this past the gods had sent her to, and she didn’t care. She was faster than any mortal, and stronger than most of them; she’d been a huntress all herlife. She ran into the melee kicking and biting like a rabid fox. She broke one man’s nose, kicked another in the throat. A hand grabbed her hair, pulled her head back. A pair of coal-black eyes met hers, and darkness rushed at Liana, engulfing her in a cloud of miasma. She choked, unable to breathe.
Amron pushed between them, elbowing the leader in the chest. Liana jumped back, filling her lungs with fresh air, and kicked the Seragian approaching Amron from behind. The man swung his yatagan at Liana, forcing her to sidestep and narrowly avoid the blow. On her left, another Seragian lunged at Amron, but he was ready and knocked the attacker off-balance.
“On your right!” Liana screamed as the leader swung at Amron one more time. The Seragian’s aura, darker than the shadows in the street, wrapped him like a cloak. His movements were strange, as if he wasn’t—
A hard punch landed between Liana’s shoulder blades. She fell and rolled on the ground to avoid the yatagan. Two attackers closed in, their movements practiced—these weren’t some ragged bandits, but trained soldiers. One was limping, though, favoring the knee Amron had kicked.
Amron was still fighting the leader, locked in a deadly dance. Their blades flashed in the weak light. The Seragian whose nose Liana had broken was leaning on the wall, spitting blood, but the one she’d kicked in the throat was sneaking closer to Amron.
Liana kicked the limping man in the injured knee, sending him down, and grabbed his yatagan. She turned to face the other one, but at that moment, Amron cried out and stumbled. The leader swung at him. Amron parried and pushed him away, barely fast enough, just as the other Seragian rushed at him from behind. Liana roared and threw herself at the man, opening a deep gash across his arm. The man screamed and retreated from her furious attack.
Amron was fighting two men now, the wall at his back,his attackers closing in. Liana’s last opponent was nursing his injured arm. The one Liana had snatched the blade from now rose and pulled a dagger, but instead of attacking her, he joined his comrades surrounding Amron. The prince was the main target, Liana was just a nuisance.
“No,” Liana cried and ran towards them. She stepped in the dead man’s blood, and her useless silk slippers slid on the wet cobbles. As she fell, Amron shouted her name.
They were going to get killed.
Above them, faces peered through the open windows, the good people of Abia always happy to watch a bloody show. Their doors remained firmly shut, though. No help was coming from that quarter.
Liana scrambled up, hands slick with blood, and charged at the leader, ignoring his putrid darkness. The Seragian’s eyes were unnaturally bright, filled with murderous frenzy as he turned to face her.
“Stop right there!” someone shouted. A thud of heavy boots on the cobbles.
