Yet Aeduan stayed still, watching the slaver’s blood slide down his neck to mix with the creek.
Then Aeduan shoved the knife in all the way. One puncture, in and out. Blood spurted. The stench rushed over him.
Before standing, Aeduan carefully wiped his blade on the man’s back. The darkness in his gut was colder now.
Run, my child, run.
Aeduan glanced at the sky, sheathing his knife. The mountain bat was headed this way, its membranous wings almost transparent.
It shrieked, setting Aeduan’s teeth to chattering. But he couldn’t run yet. Not without the child who’d drawn him here in the first place.
Aeduan spun for the tent. The girl—for that was what he sensed amid the roses and the lullabies—was inside.
The space within was cramped with supplies and crates. Tucked behind one such box was a tiny figure curled into a ball. Her Nomatsi-pale hands were tied, a sack wrapped over her head.
Aeduan dropped beside her, his fingers flying to release his smallest blade. While he cut the ropes at her wrists, he spoke to her in Nomatsi. “I won’t hurt you. I’m here to help, Little Sister.”
Overhead, the mountain bat screamed again. Wind billowed against the tent, shaking the sides with rhythmic beats, as if the creature hovered directly overhead.
It wasn’t attacking, though, so Aeduan ignored it.
The girl’s flimsy sage-green gown was soaked from the muddy floor. Her skin was ice, her bare toes almost blue. She shook, but didn’t fight as Aeduan turned to the sack tied over her head.
She was even younger than he’d expected—and grimy too, her black hair wet and matted.
Whatever tribe she’d come from, she had been captured by the Red Sails at least a few days before. Which made no sense to Aeduan. Surely, his father wouldn’t work with slavers. Not after everything.
Run, my child, run.
“I won’t hurt you,” Aeduan repeated. The language came so naturally to his tongue yet sounded so strange in his ears. “I’m here to help.”
The girl gave no reaction. No indication that she’d heard his words at all. When he tried to guide her toward the tent’s exit, though, she let him. And when he said, “I’m going to carry you now,” she didn’t resist.
Aeduan bundled her up and stood. She was so light, so fragile. A bird in his demon arms.
Outside, the mountain bat’s cries abruptly ended. The tent shook less and less … then not at all.
The creature had flown away.
“Close your eyes,” Aeduan told the girl as they neared the tent’s flap. He didn’t want her to see the death he’d left behind.
But she refused. Like Moon Mother’s littlest sister who wouldn’t close her eyes when Trickster betrayed them all, this little Owl kept her lashes held high.
That was her choice then, Aeduan decided, and he stepped back into the slaughter.
TWENTY-NINE
Well, Merik had walked right into this trap. He’d seen what he wanted to see—the dead assassin—and sauntered directly into a room full of Royal Forces.
In a breath, Merik counted twenty soldiers blocking him from the bar’s exits, with at least as many blades among them all.
Excellent odds. For the soldiers.
But Merik had one advantage: his magic. A single breath, and the heat was alight. A second breath, and he was moving, spinning into a backward kick at a cup of ox tea steaming on the nearest table with burst of winds, of rage, the boiling alcohol launched through the air.
A hissing rain of ox tea seared into the oncoming soldiers.
One man was clearly ready for this trick. He had dived low and was now zooming in close, ready to tackle.
Merik let him come. When the man collided, Merik rolled onto his back and grabbed tight. They somersaulted, the man’s momentum carrying them over … Where Merik instantly fishtailed on top.
One punch to the nose. Blood erupted. A second punch to the ear with Merik’s winds looping in along for a wind clap. The man’s eardrum ruptured; he screamed.
Good. The word tingled in Merik’s fingers as he snatched the officer’s cutlass free. This felt good. Vicious. Vengeful.
Merik turned. His blade arced up and clashed against a matching naval sword. He swiveled his pommel around this new soldier’s wrist. A single tug, and the man tumbled down. His cutlass fell, and Merik retrieved it easily.
Now he had two swords. His odds were improving.
Except, of course, for the crossbows that several soldiers now aimed his way.
Down charged Merik’s foot. Crack! went a table, toward the floor, and out flung two more cups of ox tea. Then Merik dropped behind the overturned table as bolts twanged loose. The table crunched, flagons shattered, and a flash of heat and light ignited.
One of the candles had fallen off the chandelier, sparking nearby ox tea. A wall of fire would soon erupt between Merik and the soldiers.
Which meant now would be a good time for Merik to dive for the bar. He dropped both cutlasses before flipping behind the counter, just in time to feel the heat and hear the sound as true fury let loose.