Nicu.
Seething, Aspen ripped the axe from her thigh harness. I reached behind, tore the broadswords from their scabbards, and flipped them in my hands. Together, we charged at my former brothers and sisters-in-arms.
A gale piloted through the wilderness. Creepers flattened under our boots.
Limbs pumping, Aspen and I vaulted into the quagmire. Reading one another by some elemental force, we flew in opposite directions, scattering east and west.
Nicu could be anywhere. But while these soldiers had numbers on us, we held knowledge of the complex’s layout. And the enclave’s blessing.
Predicting their next move, Aspen shot up a flight of winding stairs. Seconds later, my former brethren leaped off their horses. Separating like ant trails in her wake, they sprinted up the ramps and steps.
Alarm chilled my blood. She would be safe. She would protect Nicu. Any other outcome would destroy me.
Spinning my broadswords, I smashed through the trees and intercepted the west unit. A troop of stallions screeched and reared backward. Countless eyes widened on my features, shock claiming their expressions. Rhys might have briefed them, but facing their commander was another matter.
Also, they had expected a retreat. Not an advance.
Righting their mounts, they surged into a delayed gallop. Taking them off guard, I cut between two equines and bounded into the air. Criss-crossing the broadswords, I lashed two pairs of throats mid-flight.
Blood sprayed the leaves. The instant my boots struck the ground, I thrust one crimson blade and sliced it behind me, impaling someone’s vital organs. With my other weapon, I blocked an incoming thrust.
Catching the man’s flail, I yanked the other sword from my victim’s gut and speared through my next opponent’s larynx. Globs of red splattered my chest. Grunts of agony resounded, both bodies hitting the earth.
I spun, facing my actions. Four corpses in less than one minute, each recognizable countenance gawking at the sky through lifeless eyes. Torment seized my chest.
At the clamor of Aspen’s yell, panic overrode this sensation. I cut through several more assailants, intermittently checking the platforms.
A feminine silhouette darted in my periphery. Aspen barreled across gangplanks, her axe chopping a path through clusters of attackers. The blade extended and retracted, figures toppling around her.
Reaching a bridge, she hastened down the extension, blood soaking her skirt. Halfway across, she paused. Her gaze plowed through the ground-level, treading a fine line between worry and hope.
She was searching for me too. And Nicu.
Another outline materialized at the bridge’s landing. Dame Muriel rushed forward, a curved plate of steel glittering in her hand.
“Aspen!” I roared.
She wheeled and collided with my third commander, their weapons clashing overhead. As they lunged into combat, a slender form raced toward them with the speed of a launched dart.
While running on short limbs, Nicu evaded several figures on instinct, hopping and swiveling out of their reach. Then he yanked a custom knife from his jacket. As my liege bolted to help Aspen, a knight barreled in his direction.
Terror speared through me. In the midst of ducking, Aspen spotted the same dreadful scene.
“Nicu, stop!” we shouted.
He did not stop. Hurling his body in the path of that knight, Nicu careened backward at the last moment, his stomach dodging the point of a sword by a centimeter.
“Stay your weapon!” I bellowed, as if they would heed my command.
Growling, I snapped another warrior’s neck and hastened for the stairs. Meanwhile, the knight stalled long enough to identify the Royal Son. Treason had already been committed, but slaying a member of the ruling family amounted to a longer, more agonizing form of execution.
The male wavered, a glower creasing his face. He gripped his mace and raised the handle—then yelped in pain. Nicu’s fist rammed into the man’s jaw. Once, twice, three times in succession. Bone-shattering crunches rent the air, the blows delivered with enough adrenaline to stagger the man, despite my liege’s compact size.
As I sprinted up the incline, Nicu unbalanced the man enough for Nicu’s knife to finish the job. The blade’s point stabbed through his shoulder. Crimson popped from the opposite side, momentary horror gripping Nicu’s face before he ripped his weapon from the wound.
He’d been rushing to Aspen’s aid. Yet he never shed blood until this day.
Aspen panted while combatting Muriel. “Aire!” she cried.
