It’s a cry of fury because with every passing second, my own thoughts are disappearing.
Even my panic is fading as my feelings grow as cold as my skin and so much less like my own emotions.
So much less likeme.
With every heartbeat, the hatred in the band is smothering the humanity within me and filling me instead with calculated anger.
Too much cruelty floods me, until my shoulders are hunching, my fists are clenching, and my lips are twisting.
I am filled, not with defeat, but with acceptance.
If the malevolence within this medallion is now a part of me, then I will use it to stay alive.
I consider my surroundings with cold eyes and await the dangers coming my way with an even colder heart.
In the distance, I can now hear whispers. The men who attacked me with crossbows seem to be calling to each other, checking that their comrades are still alive.
I identify at least five different voices. Their whispers are quickly joined by calls from farther back—presumably from the wall because I recognize one of the voices as Braddock’s.
“Find Asha Silverspun’s body!” he roars. “Bring it to me. We will hang it beside the Vandawolf’s corpse for all to see.”
Calls from the ground acknowledge the order.
Judging by their voices, the men on the ground aren’t that far away from me. They must have dived for cover behind the monolith.
But they won’t be able to see me. This pall of smoke is so dense and must stretch for at least half a mile in each direction, made worse by the still-burning trees.
I should be choking on the smoke, but for now, it continues to taste like honey on my tongue.
Crimson coal belongs to Blacksmiths.
My brows draw down and my lips twist.
They thought they could destroy me with forge-fire?
Fuck them.
Rising slowly, I listen intently to their footfalls, identifying that the nearest man is now about twenty paces to my left.
I glance back at the Vandawolf. His body is vulnerable now that the stretcher lies in the ash beside him.
I take a moment to consider my chances of maneuvering him onto the stretcher and pulling him away under the concealment of the smoke.
I’m certain I could make it a good distance, but the sound of the stretcher being dragged would attract attention. The men would know I’m alive and they would set upon the Vandawolf where he lies vulnerable on the makeshift bed.
No. Better to attack my enemies while they think I’m dead and escape before more humans are sent down from the wall.
Carefully, I angle the stretcher back up over the Vandawolf, taking my time to ensure I don’t make a sound.
Once I’m done, I plant my hand on the monolith’s leg and leap over it, landing silently on the other side.
It’s only when I touch the ground and rise back up that I’m aware of a stabbing pain in my left shoulder. It has to be the wound I sustained in the fight with the wolf. My armor was split there and the flesh was impaled by the wolf’s sharp fur.
I have a higher pain threshold than humans and, until this moment, it was the least of my worries.
Craning my neck to examine it, I find the skin mottled and rough. It looks like the fire licked across the exposed flesh. It must have happened before I got my hand up into the flames.
The wound appears to be cauterized—at least the edge of it that I can see—but it hurts like the aftermath of a real burn and sends a dangerous signal to my brain.
