There’s no time to repeat myself, though.
The men are getting closer.
Every molecule in my body shouts in protest when I leave Mayah alone and creep through the trees.
Six men appear in the clearing, mere feet from where I’m crouched. They’re clad in dark leather with sheathed swords belted at their waists.
Rebels.
“—believe she did that?” one of the men laughs, eyes crinkling in amusement. “I thought the poor man would faint.”
“Mona’s a firecracker,” another rebel agrees, slapping his bulky friend on the back, while the other men chuckle in agreement.
They keep walking, but I don’t let myself relax, don’t let the tension seep from my muscles.
I keep watching, and then—
A sharp whistle echoes through the clearing. Once, twice, then a third, long note.
The men freeze.
Fuck.Another rebel—somewhere in the trees. Too far for me to sense his energy signature.
“Would you look at that, boys?” one of the men says loudly. “Some sneaky bastards are hiding.”
I don’t hesitate.
I bolt through the underbrush, sword in hand. I plunge my blade into one man with asquelch, his neck spurting blood. The other men fumble to unsheathe their swords. Ill-trained bastards. The clang of metal rings out as I block their attacks, searching for openings in their defenses.
Another man falls to the ground, dark blood seeping into the earth.
Block. Duck. Swipe.
One man aims for my knees, but I jump out of the way, elbowing another rebel behind me. My sword cleaves through muscle and flesh.
Another man falls.
The remaining men eye me warily, their confidence fizzling into fear. Good. I move toward another rebel when—
“Zevayr!”
My blood runs cold.
Mayah’s voice, filled with panic.
Her energy signature—as familiar to me now as my own—thrums wildly. She’s coming closer.
One of the rebels pivots, heading toward her.
I turn, sword raised.
She runs faster, nearly reaching us—
The haunting whistle of death.
An arrow hurtles through the air, piercing her side.
Her knees buckle.
