His blow hit.
The metal surrounding the area stopped his blade from going too deep, but the angry snarl from Gareth confirmed that Ian had caused some injury.
Gareth dropped his sword arm, holding it tightly to his side as he gripped his sword. His face was furious as he sidestepped around Ian. “You think you can change anything?” Gareth taunted. “That your stand here can make a difference? I have already won.” Gareth spat out the words, his voice low and menacing.
Ian listened, not letting Gareth’s words affect him. The man was buying time. He had not yet lifted his sword arm again, which left Ian to surmise that the injury went deep. That was good.
But Gareth also had not switched his sword to his other hand. That would confirm his injury but also put him at a disadvantage.
If one could be at a disadvantage when he was fighting against a single man but had two armies at his beck and call.
“Take your soldiers and return to Chendas,” Ian said, stepping in toward Gareth with his sword drawn.
“Why?” Gareth stepped backward, moving away from Ian. “So you can take your father’s throne? I’ve made that easy for you; he will be dead by morning.”
Ian lunged forward, seething with anger at Gareth’s threat.
Gareth smiled even as Ian’s sword neared his face, pleased that his words had hit Ian so hard. He seemed completely unable to move the arm that Ian had injured.
Ian stopped his sword at Gareth’s throat. “Let my men go free,” Ian said. “Their deaths will not benefit you.”
“Your men?” Gareth replied, still smiling. “Shall we see who they choose to follow?”
Chapter 50
Ian had no time to react as the tall man behind Gareth leapt forward with inhuman speed. The man grabbed Ian by the upper arms, literally lifting his feet from the ground and throwing him backward.
Ian hit the ground on his side, his sword spinning out of his hand and all the breath leaving his lungs. Sand filled his mouth.
Not waiting for his next breath, Ian pushed himself up to a seated position. Nothing felt broken, but his entire side would be bruised for days.
The tall man bent over him, his fist swung back.
Just before the blow made contact, Ian noticed the man’s face.
From this close, Ian could see behind the matted hair. His eyes were a sickly orange, the pupils tall and thin like a cat’s. This was another of Gareth’s chaos-magic beasts.
The man held his fist, noting Ian’s stare and returning his gaze. Then he smiled, a cruel, distorted shape that broke through his thick, fur-like beard to reveal pointed fangs.
Ian braced himself for the man’s punch, unsure if he would survive it. This man clearly had the enhanced strength of oneof Gareth’s beastly experiments. But it was even more terrifying that he appeared to have retained his human mind—at least most of it.
As he watched the beast-man’s fist move toward his face, Ian saw his whole life packed into that single moment. Every effort he had ever put in, every decision he had made, led to this moment. He felt...resigned. Disappointed perhaps, that he’d had little opportunity for happiness in his life. But he had no regrets. He had lived his life as truthfully, as rightly, and as justly as he’d known how to do, even if it had amounted to nothing. He had no...He had one regret.
He wantedto lean forward and kiss her lips so badly.
But she would leave. And he would stay. His heart would survive the separation. The break. The ending of this friendship. He knew he was stronger than his feelings. They were merely a distraction, dragging him down from his true responsibility as the future king of Iseldis. He must stand strong. The pain would fade in time.
He wanted one more moment with her. But, she was no longer his. He had no right to put them both through the pain of a goodbye kiss. She stood just too far away for him to reach her easily. She did not want him either.
Suddenly, she threw herself forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. And he responded in kind, holding her with a grip that flattened her to his chest. He had never held someone that fiercely, but Robin was not weak. She would not snap in his arms.
She tightened her grip around his neck, squeezing his shoulder blades into his collarbone. He welcomed the pain. Histhroat closed up, threatening to cut off his ability to breathe. He was not sure if her grip was strangling him or if that was the surge of emotion in his chest. He forced the tightness back down his throat and past his chest until it settled in his stomach, pinching and squeezing the bread he had eaten that morning.
After an eternity of moments—which was not nearly enough time—the iron strength in his arms gave out. And he could feel her slacken against him.
The moment her body went limp, she stepped away.
Ian wanted to scream and rage and run away with her, never looking back. But he held his control. The only sign of his weakness was the shaking in his arms.
