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“He’s not a bad man.” Ramanu guides us through the thickening foot traffic with ease. “Not in the way you think. He’d kill, burn, and maim to protect his people and his humans, but he doesn’t abuse his power. He’s sharing power for the good of the realm. For all its peoples—not just the bargainers. That’s got some folks’ backs up, but it won’t stop his pursuit of the greater good.”
“Folks like Brosh?”
Ramanu almost misses a step. They’ve been so graceful to date, it’s like a record scratch. “I would prefer you don’t say that name outside the castle.”
“Is he like some kind of boogeyman? Speak his name three times and he appears?”
“No. Nothing so dramatic. But he has an irritating number of supporters in the city and beyond. There’s no reason to draw attention to ourselves.” Their tone is breezy, but contains a new tension that makes me think there’s more going on than what they’re saying.
The castle looms large in front of us. It truly is like something out of a fairy tale. I don’t know what kind of rock it’s made of, but the rock almost a cross between granite and opal, strong and gorgeous, gleaming with a dazzling rainbow of colors in the late-afternoon sun. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s home,” Ramanu says simply.
We’re almost within the shadow of the castle when they stop so abruptly, my shoulder wrenches from our still-interlocked arms. “Ow.”
“Get behind me.” They don’t wait for me to comply. With a smooth move, they free themself and shove me behind them. Ramanu is taller than me by about half a foot. And they’re built significantly leaner than Azazel, so I have no problem seeing around their shoulder to where two massive bargainers stand blocking our way.
The largest of them has wings, and I catch myself wondering if this was the same person I saw flying on my first day here. Surely not. That would be too large of a coincidence. They’re even larger than Azazel—apparently the metric I judge everyone by these days—and wear only a kilt around their thick waist.
The other is closer to Ramanu’s size, lean like a blade, with curving ram’s horns that bracket their long straight dark hair. They grin, revealing too-sharp teeth. “Hand her over or this gets messy.”
Ramanu laughs, loud and pretty. “I think not.”
“We have no issue with you, Ramanu,” the larger one says. “Stand aside.”
There’s a faint shtck sound like a blade being drawn. My heart leaps into my throat when I realize what it is. Ramanu’s claws. They were petite and black, but now they’re curved and look vicious enough to disembowel someone.
Any hope I had of this being all posturing and bullshit disappears. Ramanu may be dramatic, but they’ve shown no signs of being u
As if sensing my growing fear, they turn their head enough to speak to me over their shoulder. “Don’t run. They’ll have a third waiting to snatch you if you do. Stay close.”
I don’t know if they mean to reassure me, but I am very much not reassured. “You can’t take three of them on,” I hiss. “We have to run.”
“I have no intention of taking three of them on,” they murmur. “I’m stalling.”
“Stall—” The word dies in my throat as the double doors to the castle slam open with a violence that seems to shake the entire square we stand in. People hadn’t seemed to register the growing possibility of a fight before, but they scatter now, rushing away from us or taking refuge in the stores on either side. In seconds, the square is empty but for the two—three—attackers, Ramanu, and I.
A huge form fills the doorway, and I let out a sound of pure relief at the familiar sight of wide shoulders and horns as he steps into the fading light.
Azazel is here.