Page 19 of The Incendiary

I regained my bearings and saw no one coming, then called for Shera.

“Can you still hear me?”

“Yes.”

Relief lifted a weight off my chest.

“Can you see me?” I asked.

“No.”

Maybe that was for the best. The last thing I needed was my rare wildcat reacting to any perceived danger and tearing a chunk of flesh out of someone. Or worse.

The closer I came to the fortress’s front entrance, the more I realized it was eerily quiet, even for so early in the morning. Perhaps many of the guards were still asleep. Or maybe they weren’t used to anyone approaching.

Remorse and unease tangled into a knot in the pit of my stomach. This wasn’t going how I’d planned. I’d wanted a cordial conversation with Elias, not a fight with one of my own soldiers before I could reach the front door.

I pushed away lingering guilt and moved through the trees toward the entry. Their queen was alive and well. They would find out soon enough that I was more than a pawn in Simeon’s game.

To my left, someone coughed. Another guard on patrol in the woods, this one massive and burly. I stepped back and looked up at him, cursing my luck. He was just about Gavin’s size.

“Halt!” His fists rose, level with my face. “Who are you?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but he raged at whatever he saw over my shoulders. I glanced back and saw the soles of the first soldier’s boots protruding from behind a tree.

“Listen, I’m here to help,” I rushed out. “He came at me. I don’t want to hurt anyone⁠—”

I ducked to dodge his enormous fist.

“Come on!” I groaned, dropping low and gripping the hilt of my ancient blade. Just like the first guard, a long sword was sheathed at his hip. “I just want to talk!”

I didn’t give him time to reach his sword, swiping my blade across the top of his thigh. Blood painted the forest floor, but the wound was shallow and wouldn’t be fatal. He stumbled, allowing me to strike between his eyes with my elbow. He teetered, giving me time to thrust an uppercut into his jaw and send him crumpling to the ground.

My knuckles throbbed as I cringed down at his unconscious form.

“Maybe I should have just let them apprehend me,” I said to Shera.

“I really prefer you defend yourself,” she replied. “Clearly they’re on edge.”

This wasn’t off to a good start. I groaned in frustration and moved toward the main gate of the fortress, interrupted by the snap of a whip before I could get too far. I looked down to where I felt a sharp sting and a rope lassoed around my ankle. On the other end of the rope was a sizable male fighter with light hair. He jerked it tight, yanking my legs out from under me. I hit the ground, the impact wrenching air from my lungs, and then I was being dragged across dirt and twigs toward the front entry bridge.

“I just want to speak with the commander!” I shouted in frustration, scrambling for my blade and narrowly dodging the lethal swing of his sword. “But I guess this is how it’s going to be.” My core was strong enough to propel me forward to grasp the rope. I unsheathed my blade with one hand. Four rough slices later and I cut myself free, then retreated and regained my footing, just in time to dodge the second deadly swing of his blade.

“Scrappy bitch,” he snarled as metal struck gravel instead of me. The sword clattered from his grip. I dodged his fists—left, right, up, back, down. His size and strength might usually guarantee him a win, but I used my small, nimble body to my advantage, waiting for him to exhaust himself.

I barely escaped his brass-knuckled right fist more than twice. I could have struck back, but that would require me to get closer. One good blow from any of these fighters could knock me out. I’d have one shot, and it needed to count. Hurting these people was not my objective.

“Are you going to dodge like a coward or fight back?” he barked.

“This is me fighting back!” I snapped. “Though I wish you’d just listen to me! I!” I dodged his fist. “Want!” Left. “To!” Right, then left. “Help!”

He stumbled and reached again for his sword, his leather-gloved hands fastening around the hilt before he lurched upward, swinging. I darted backward, but the blade was long. I yelped when the tip sliced into my shoulder through my leathers.

“Aryella!” Shera cried out from the forest beyond.

“I’m fine!”

The wound burned and smarted, but it wasn’t that deep. I gripped my bloody shoulder and groaned while my opponent circled me. My feigned weakness convinced him to approach slowly. He wasn’t expecting the heel of my hand to swiftly strike his chin, nor did he predict the knee I drove straight into his side. The crack of his ribs sounded gods-awful as he went down. He fell to the ground unconscious.