The commander roared. A bellow of pain. Far more pain than the move should have earned, and he released his longsword—as if the muscles in his arm and hand had ceased to work.
He’s hurt, Safi realized. She charged her heel once more into his left shoulder.
He doubled over.
She kicked again.
His knees buckled.
She kicked again and again until he fell back, hands clutched against his shoulder. Head lolling back. His helmet slipped off to reveal his face.
Safi froze.
It took her half a shallow breath to sort out what she saw. He looked so familiar … and yet so foreign.
Maybe it was the stubble that had grown across his jaw, or maybe it was the blood crusted down the left side of his face, as if his ear had been punched and the blood left to ooze for several days.
Or maybe it was simply the fact that the odds of the Chiseled Cheater being here—of him being a Hell-Bard commander …
It was unfathomable. Impossible.
Hell-Bard commander … what had Lev said? Fitz Grieg. Caden Fitz Grieg.
Never, never could Safi have guessed he’d be the Chiseled Cheater. He was the reason she was here. He had stolen her money after a taro game, and it was that trickery that had lit the fuse on all events to come.
If Caden hadn’t stolen her money, Safi wouldn’t have tried to steal it back the next day. If she hadn’t tried to steal it back, she wouldn’t have held up the wrong carriage. If she hadn’t held up the wrong carriage, the Bloodwitch monk would never have gotten her scent. And if the Bloodwitch had never gotten her scent, she’d probably be free right now.
Free and with Iseult at her side.
Never could Safi have predicted that Caden would be the man behind that helmet. She had spit every time she’d said his name, and she’d vowed if she ever saw him again, she’d shred his face right off his high cheekbones.
Behind Safi, the sounds of struggle continued. Vaness’s cries and kicks. Zander’s grunts and clanking armor. Safi scarcely noticed. All she could do was absorb the Chiseled Cheater’s face and try to assemble the pieces of a story she didn’t understand.
Perhaps if she’d had a chance at actual escape, she would have tried. Perhaps if she’d seen a way to wrestle Vaness from Zander’s grasp and that cursed collar, Safi would have tried that too.
But that wasn’t the terrain before her, and she had too many questions churning to life like a stirred-up wasps’ nest.
Which was why Safi didn’t notice when Lev returned from her excursion to the settlement. It was why Safi didn’t try to fight when Lev emerged directly behind her and kicked out her knee. Then, when the Chiseled Cheater, wincing, hefted up his helmet and became the Hell-Bard commander once more, Safi simply observed mutely. Even when they wound a rope around her ankles so she couldn’t run or kick or fight, she let them.
Yet when the commander wrenched Safi around and growled, “Nice try, Heretic,” Safi finally reacted. She grinned.
It had been a nice try, and worth the swelling right knee. Because she had learned more about her opponents than she’d ever expected. She knew the giant was strong but slow. The commander favored his right side in a fight because he was hurt—and his old wounds could clearly be reopened.
Best of all, Safi knew the Hell-Bards wouldn’t hurt her. The commander could have as soon as the fight had begun. He could have sliced her open—just enough to slow her, and Lev could have taken Safi down with a lot more force than she’d actually used.
Yet neither Hell-Bard had hurt Safi or Vaness. Which meant they wanted both women alive. Unharmed. Or rather, the Emperor of Cartorra wants us alive and unharmed.
It gave Safi power, even with her legs bound and the empress collared.
The next time Lady Fate offered up an opportunity, Safi would be ready.
*
The sun was hidden by rain clouds when Aeduan awoke. He couldn’t gauge how long he’d been out, but he was certain it was longer than he ever allowed himself. His magic had demanded energy from somewhere, and when food wasn’t an option, unconsciousness it had to be.
It had been a shallow sleep. The kind where dreams fused with reality. Where he thought he was awake, but upon actual waking, he could see how strange the world had been. Bear traps as big as a man. Pine needles sticky with a blood that would never dry. Rain to flay off fresh skin.
And the scent of silver talers, ever present in Aeduan’s nose.
His eyes snapped wide. With his new muscles protesting and the skin stretching too tightly, Aeduan hauled himself into a sitting position. His clothes were soaked through.
A quick glance around the area showed nothing save a gray sky rippling overhead and fresh mud all around, while a quick inhale revealed nothing dangerous near. He turned his attention to his healed leg. The breeches were shredded, and the new pink wet skin gleamed in the cloudy light. It itched, but he ignored that, instead crawling stiffly on all fours toward the talers.
The bag hadn’t moved since Aeduan’s blind stumble into the bear trap. With his hands trembling ever so slightly from exhaustion, he lifted the sack and peered inside.