“I – I –” Nefari mimics. She strides to the man and punches him in the nose. The man falls off the chair and thumps to the floor, and as he does so, his hand releases the pommel. Nefari catches the sword before it has the chance to clatter to the floor, and then she swirls it once in the air just to hear the whoosh.
She stares down at the man whose hand hovers over his nose. His eyes are wide, and he frantically scoots away from her until his back hits the cupboards.
“You shouldn’t take what’s not yours.”
“They told me to!” the soldier pleads. Finding some semblance of bravery, he squares his narrow jaw and clambers to his feet. “They told me to protect the weapons. I won’t let you take them.”
Nefari cocks a hip and tips her head to the side. “You won’t?”
“No. The Queen of Salix had sworn me –” A blade flips through the air and sinks into the soldier’s open mouth, cutting off whatever he was going to say next.
Huffing, Nefari’s lips thin when the man’s body falls in a heap to the floor he just crawled off of. “He was just getting to the good part,” Nefari says as Patrix steps up beside her. She leans to study the blade’s hilt. “Is that the blade I handed the woman? The fool. She should have kept it.”
Patrix grunts as he sifts through the weapons scattered across the table and finds his own blade. As he frees it from the tangle of weapons, half the pile teeters and falls to the floor. Patrix sighs, steps over an ax and three swords, and says, “The villagers are all in the forest now, in case you’re wondering.”
The battle has reached further into the village, and the shouts grow louder, but Patrix pays it as much attention as he does to the mess he made. Instead, he toes the young soldier’s leg upon passing. “You’re like a cat. You toy with your food before you eat it.”
“Life’s too short to be as efficient as you are.” Nefari bats her lashes.
“Mmhmm.” Patrix strides to the door and whirls her to face the battle raging outside. “I don’t know what is going on with you, but this – all of this – could have been less messy if you had just gone with the plan, little shadow.”
“I like you, Patrix, I really do, but if you call me little shadow one more time, I’ll –”
He sighs and pats the top of her head. She bats away his hand and smooths her shadow-shaded hair. “Come on. Let’s help them finish this and get the hell out of here.”
Nefari exits the hovel and stops abruptly. There, just off the path, is a shadow person. His body lay twisted in the snow, and his unseeing eyes stare back at her. The world falls quiet as it always does when she’s reminded of all the death in her past, present, and certainly her future. Memories bombard her, sharper than any blade. Nefari swallows thickly to the sounds of her dying people rising in her head and the way it had echoed down the halls of the shadow castle.
“Fari?” Patrix calls. He hadn’t noticed her stop and spins to face her. He follows her line of sight, sighs, and returns to her side to grip her shoulder. “He was harvested just like the others, Fari. We both know death is far easier than a life harvested. Push it from your mind like Sibyl taught you.”
Saliva pools in Nefari’s mouth like it always does when she feels guilt. Nodding, Nefari blinks away the memories, freeing the breath she’d been unknowingly holding. It fogs around her face as soon as it meets the winter air.
She lifts her sword, and together, they dive into the dwindling battle for this village’s freedom.
CHAPTER TWO
Nefari stares at the fire while she leans against a hovel’s outside wall. She barely hears Fawn Whispersong when she asks, “Is that the last of the harvestmen?”
Fawn, the centaur who cares for the Rebel Legion’s armory, has been Nefari’s reluctant companion since the moment she arrived in Kadoka City with a handful of other mentally scarred shadow children. As far as Nefari knows, she and those children are the only remaining shadow people without shackles permanently around their wrists. Fawn wasn’t one of those who had rescued them, but Nefari knows underneath all the snark is a woman who doesn’t know how to show she cares. She struggles to build relationships beyond one-night-stands in another warrior’s bed, be it man or unwed woman. Perhaps she’s a woman who thinks she has something to prove. Perhaps she’s a woman who fears connection. Most likely, it has everything to do with her past.
Rubbing her eyebrow, Nefari turns to the centaur. Fawn’s braided red hair whips in the wind, and the fire raging behind her makes her rust-colored fur appear orange. The storm is getting closer now, and the closer it gets, the darker this part of the realm becomes. They’ll have to leave for the mountains soon if they plan to reach Kadoka City before the heart of the storm prevents them.
“Yes,” Nefari answers tiredly. Her shoulder’s throbbing is far less than before. A healer had already tended to it. The cut hadn’t been deep, but she was still rewarded with a needle and thread.
Fawn throws the last of the logs onto the already flaming fire that’s burning the bodies of the harvestmen. If they don’t burn, they will rise again. That’s the last thing Nefari wants. She can’t fathom what kind of dark magic it takes to accomplish such a feat.
“And the other soldiers?”
Sighing, Nefari points behind her to the other side of the village where the corpses of the unpossessed are enduring their own flames. There were too many bodies to burn in just one fire, and since Nefari knows Fawn is obsessed with order, she had asked the other centaurs to separate harvestmen from regular men. Thankfully, they agreed without question. Everyone avoids Fawn’s shrewd gaze when they can.
Truth be told, they’re lucky there’s a storm. The wind is carrying away the smoke as quickly as it rises. No one will know for days what has happened here though Nefari has no doubt the gossip will spread quickly. The pungent scent of burning flesh, however . . . Well, there’s nothing to be done about that.
Patrix approaches with a half-eaten loaf of bread in his hand and a wad of food bulging from the inside of his cheek. “Where did you get that?” Nefari breathes excitedly. Her stomach rumbles and gurgles at the sight of food.
He tosses her a purse of coins – her share in the village’s agreement for protection.
All the villages in the Kadoka’s territory pay a fee once they’re saved. At first, it had made Nefari sick to her stomach, knowing she’d be compensated for saving someone’s life, but as she grew wiser, she understood. The people of the Kadoka Mountains cannot survive on their trade of ale and sheep. They need coins to survive. It’s a disgusting trade but a trade nonetheless.
Nefari tucks the purse into the inner pocket of her cloak.
“There was a lady I rescued so valiantly,” he claims, wiggling his eyebrows. “This is my reward, among other things.” His grin spreads wide, cheeky and full of chewed food.
“My Divine, Patrix,” she mumbles under her breath, grimacing with disgust. She shouldn’t be surprised. Patrix can pretend to be anyone he wants, and even though he has large pointed ears, it doesn’t stop him from charming his way into anyone’s bed. But here? Now?