Farrah faked a dramatic groan. “Well, IsupposeI can let it slide, then. Stargazing is fun, but not when you’re getting rained on.” She moved to the back of the cart and lifted the box of fruits. Not entirely light, but small enough for Jyva’s tiny arms. “Think you can get this?”
The little girl lifted her chin, squeezing her fists and tensing her arms like she was trying to flex. “Yes. El said he sent me because I was the strongest.”
“That you are, love,” Farrah said, placing the box in her arms and snagging an apple from the top. The girl wobbled for just a brief moment before steadying herself. As Jyva started walking toward the building, Farrah moved to offer Moonheart the apple, whispering, “This place is falling apart, isn’t it?”
Moonheart snorted between bites.
“I’m not giving up on it, but there’s only so much we can keep patching before the walls come down on us.”
“Miss Farrah?”
Farrah spun, her heart clenching at the shake in Jyva’s voice. She located the little girl in an instant, her legs already propelling her toward the man who towered over Jyva and was trying to pluck food out of her box.
The man was taunting her, a teasing style in his manners, but Farrah knew all too well that it was evil. He was dressed in blinding armor, but Farrah’s eyes were locked on the sword at his belt and the hand that hovered just over the hilt.
“Jyva, go!” Farrah snapped. The girl’s eyes widened but Farrah jabbed toward the orphanage door. “Drop it and go!”
At least the girl didn’t hesitate a second time as she dropped the box and sprinted toward the house. Fruit spilled onto the grass as the man laughed after her. Deep. Disgusting. His eyes turned to Farrah as she neared, his hand still hovering over his sword.
“I was just being friendly with her,” he jeered.
Farrah had already calculated every move she would make against him by the time she had positioned herself between the man and the building. There were three weak spots in his armor she could take advantage of immediately, another two that would open up if he actually went for his sword, and then if he reached for her… the dagger in her sleeve would meet his throat before he got that far.
“I’ll rip you apart if you take one step toward her again,” she growled, taking in each movement the man made; watching his deep green eyes scour every inch of her body with hunger. Farrah gripped her fists and swallowed. “I suggest you leave.”
His smile grew, tongue darting over his lips. “And I suggest you watch your mouth, pretty lady, before I give you something else to choke on besides your words.”
“Merik!”
Another man’s voice called from the road behind him. Merik’s eyes darted over his shoulder, narrowing briefly as he judged the distance between himself and the man who wasn’t dressed in armor.
Farrah saw the movement before Merik had even turned back to her. As his right arm lifted to grab her, Farrah punched swiftly. Even with surprise on her side, she didn’t hold back any power as her fist connected with his throat.
Both of his hands were thrown around his neck in an instant as he doubled over, coughing and wheezing.
“Choke on that, you sick pig,” Farrah hissed, spitting at Merik as he stumbled back.
The man that had shouted at Merik was already standing with them, faster than Farrah had predicted and much taller than she had first assumed. She held her fists up again, prepared to fight, but the man just yanked Merik off the ground by his collar, causing him to choke again.
“Disgusting,” he growled. Farrah watched the blonde-haired man let go of Merik’s collar and straighten his own shirt and trousers, hand hovering over his own sword. Simple, unassuming, but Farrah could see by his muscles and graceful stance that the man didn’t need a fancy blade to be deadly with it; he didn’t even need a blade. He nodded toward the street. “Get out of here before you do something else you’ll regret.”
Merik snarled, his face still red as he rubbed his neck and glared between the man and Farrah. There was almost a flash of fear in his eyes when he looked at the other man. Did it have to do with the tattoos she saw peeking out of the taller man’s left sleeve? He hadn’t done a great job of covering the moon-blessed storm ink that traced all the way to his wrist. The man was strong, and that meant dangerous.
“I can let her punch you again, if you want,” the storm-wielder snapped. “I’d imagine she’d probably use the dagger in her sleeve over her fist the next time.”
Farrah froze. How could he know about that blade?
Merik huffed as his nostrils flared, his glare leaving Farrah as he turned to the man. “Rynn will hear about this,Valkip.”
“That’s not exactly a threat, you know,” the man replied with a shrug, chuckling to himself as Merik stomped back toward the street. He let out a sigh and turned back to Farrah, his gray-blue eyes focusing on her raised fists. “Where’d you learn to punch like that?”
“I have older brothers,” Farrah lied. It was an easy comeback that flowed like the truth, just as Brela taught her. She still didn’t lower her fists. “How did you know about my dagger?”
His brow furrowed. “You had a dagger? Lucky guess, I suppose.”
For a moment, Farrah was too stunned to move. She opened her mouth only to close it again.
The man shrugged. “I said it to scare him more than anything.” His face tightened as he looked over her—not lustful, just concerned. “Are you okay?”
