Then Aire’s head jolted up, his gaze sweeping the woodland. “Where is Nicu?”
Shit. I flipped around. Paved dirt lanes edged in grass extended around the trees, running parallel to the stream. We rushed down one of those paths, calling out for our friend, the acoustics bouncing off the trunks.
Rounding the corner of a twining staircase, I smashed to a halt. Behind me, Aire’s boots came to a more graceful stop.
A well stood beside the creek. Tufts of willow dime bloomed along the water’s edge, the herbs stretching toward a ray of afternoon light.
There Nicu stood, his head angled toward the treetops. You’d think he’d been admiring the setting. Not angling his chin to avoid the tip of a dagger.
Although the spy camp resided outside the enclave borders, we had assumed this foreboding complex was abandoned. Yet a blade played beneath his jaw, and a lazy arm slung across his upper chest, trapping him in place.
Aire ripped a broadsword from its scabbard, the hiss of steel piercing the quiet. Not that it made a difference.
From behind Nicu, a masked figure loomed in a dusty, raven black coat, his rogue voice tossing out a threat. “Drop it, motherfucker.”
23
Aspen
A scarf covered the lower half of the stranger’s face, hiding everything but the deep olive skin, nefarious dark eyes, and a vicious object clamped to the ledge of his right ear. Some piece of sterling jewelry with a row of spikes lined the outer shell. An earring that resembled a weapon.
Nicu’s throat bobbed against the knife’s tip. Cylindrical handle made of bone. Triangular blade with a needle point meant for puncturing like an ice pick and delivering clean, deep wounds.
A rondel dagger.
I lunged forward, only to be jostled backward by a firm hand. Goddammit, Aire!
Flipping out my axe, I snarled, “Let him go!”
“Who? This pretty little songbird?” The stranger’s blade nipped Nicu’s jaw. “Nah. I like my prey right where I got him.”
Aire stalked in front of me, his growl borderline savage. “Release the boy.”
“Fuck off, knight.”
All right. So this asswipe had somehow registered Aire’s rank quickly. Either one of us could fling down our weapons, satisfying Nicu’s captor, then stun the cocksucker by whipping out alternatives, namely my right hook or whatever surprises Aire stashed beneath all those layers of clothing. Keeping onehand free to take our host off guard was the only justification for why he wielded one sword instead of two.
I chucked my hatchet to the dirt. This gave the knight a maximum of sixty seconds before I took the initiative.
“Sword down,” the bastard ordered to Aire, then to me, “Hood off, bitch.”
A mercenary growl skidded from the knight’s throat. “Do not speak of her that way unless you’d like your head detached from your neck.”
I skirted around him. “Besides, what if I’m a killer bitch?”
The stranger cocked his head, getting a better look at the leaves and stems weaving across my wrists. “Well, well, well. Looks like someone escaped from a Spring carnival. How much for a peek at the rest—”
Steel flew across the divide. A knife whizzed past his ear as he yanked Nicu with him, the weapon’s bit slamming into a tupelo trunk.
Aire lowered his throwing hand. “Keep your eyes off her. And on me,” he cautioned.
Hissing, the stranger’s blade nicked Nicu’s throat, a ribbon of blood trickling down the edge. “How about you say that a little louder?”
“This is an act of treason.”
“In case you’re wondering, I don’t give a shit. Drop the sword, hero. Both of them!”
Festering, Aire flung his broadsword to the ground beside my axe, then relinquished the second from its scabbard.
