I lessened the tension in my bowstring. Not fully, but enough to listen. “What in Xamor’s name are you talking about?”
“Don’t play stupid. Allie would never stoop so low.”
“Hey!”
He took a menacing step toward me. “Where is she? If you’ve done anything to her, I will destroy you in such a way that cautionary tales will be whispered about your miserable fate for generations to come–”
“It’s me, you oaf!” I shouted, but didn’t lower my arrow. “Put the dagger down.”
He took another step. Damn Vegheara stubbornness.
I wasn’t about to shoot my own cousin–but I wasn’t about to let him maim me. Dax would never forgive himself if he’d wound me.
“You saw me use my Protectorate power,” I said. Meek as those tendrils had been, after the last few days’ exhaustion, I’d managed to flick his blade out of the air. And I could flick it again from his hand just as easily.
But I wanted him to understand on his own.
Dax prowled closer. “Any Protectorate member worth their talons can do that.”
“I know you have a tattoo you’re ashamed of,” I blurted out.
His bronze cheeks flushed. “So do dozens of women across Malhaven.”
“You’re disgusting.” I grimaced. “I know you probably brought me Fangloop as a surprise.”
He froze, but held on tight to the dagger. “Orion knew about Allie’s archer ring. He could have told you to trick me.”
I gritted my teeth until they hurt. The shadow of Orion’s betrayal was still cast upon us all.
Dax’s shoulders tensed, ready to attack.
“For the love of–” I rolled my eyes. “You’ve always wanted to do it the hard way.”
I tightened my bowstring to its limits. Just before Dax pounced on me, I let the arrow loose.
It hissed through the air, but didn’t impale itself in his chest. Instead, the arrow arced through the air, almost nicking his shoulder, before embedding itself with a thunk in the tree right behind him.
A curved arrow.
A shot only The Huntress could make.
Dax froze, eyes wide.
The forest grew solemn and tense.
“Now do you believe me?” I breathed heavily, words turning to mist and concealing the lower half of my face.
It took too long for him to lower his weapon and nod.
I exhaled a long breath.
Of relief.
Of shame, for even thinking he would attack me.
Of being sick and tired of treason, even the ghost of it.
“Godsdammit, Allie, you could’ve shot me,” he said, but it lacked bite.
