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I hear a yell and Adele looks away from me. I wince, feeling physical pain when our eyes unlock. She pushes away from me and I know I did something wrong, was too forward with her when I grabbed her hand. What can I say? I’m not thinking clearly.
Something flashes past my field of vision.
I follow her to a standing position and see why she left my embrace so suddenly. At least I hope it’s the reason. It’s too painful to think that she pulled away because she was put off by me—due to the odor that’s been imbued in my skin from hard days on the road, or because of the crazy eyes I was surely making at her.
Her big friend, the one who tackled us, is charging toward Rivet, who is further down the platform, fitting an arrow into his bow. An arrow—that’s what flew past my head. Adele lets out a yell and chases after her friend. “Take El somewhere safe!” she calls over her shoulder to her white-haired friend.
This can’t be happening. I can’t let it happen. Regardless of whether she was turned off by me and will never speak to me again, I have to save her. Rivet will rip them both to shreds. I don’t doubt their fighting ability, but am just being realistic. Rivet is a pro and a sadist. A deadly combination.
I start after her.
* * *
Adele
Why did he touch my hand? His hands are so tender, so electric. As I lie on the hard ground gazing into his deep blue eyes, I wonder what is happening. I can only think of two possibilities. Either he’s mistaken me for someone, or he’s completely lost his mind. I hope it isn’t the latter, because I already have enough craziness in my own life that I don’t think I can bring any more crazy into it. If it’s the former, and he thinks I’m someone else, maybe he’ll never even notice that I’m not that person. I’d be perfectly happy with him calling me by some other name. And yet…that can’t be it. He called me Adele already. He knows my name, probably who I am. And yet he touched me.
Although I don’t want to look away from him, or leave his embrace, I see something moving behind him and I know it is important. Glancing past him, I see Rivet let loose an arrow. Cole lets out a roar as it pierces his shoulder, the sharp tip exiting through his back. Blood spatters from the wound. His entire body torques hard to the left, forcing his head around toward me.
Those eyes. Dark, serious, strong. I know what he’s going to do.
Despite the excruciating pain he must be in, Cole turns and charges Rivet. This is it. All his pent-up emotions: first and foremost, sadness; then anger; misery, loneliness, and desperation follow; all sprinkled with a lust for revenge, hidden well by sarcasm and joviality in stressful situations.
It is suicide—I have to stop him.
I push away from Tristan and race after Cole. Rivet’s next arrow zips past us, narrowly missing Cole’s legs, my stomach, and Tristan’s sprawled-out form.
I brush past Tristan’s friend, whose mouth is opening and closing like a fish out of water. He looks shocked by the whole situation, unable to cope with what is happening. I am probably in shock, too, but I don’t have time to think about it.
So I won’t slip, I avoid stepping directly on the trail of blood that Cole leaves in his wake. Cole is faster than me, reaching Rivet twenty feet ahead. Lifting his bow, Rivet tries to get off another shot, but Cole plows into him, sending the arrow twanging end over end into the air. The bow flies out of Rivet’s hands and clatters harmlessly to the stone.
On top of Rivet, Cole is in a rage, pummeling him with iron fists. Five other men charge out of the thi
His men stop just short of him, hesitate, and then follow his order, rushing past him and toward me. I am ru
They are already right on top of me. The first one has a sword in his belt, but leaves it hanging, probably in the mood for some hand-to-hand fun against a helpless girl.
Not so helpless.
I duck under his haymaker punch, kneeing him in the groin and then cracking him in the back of the head with my elbow as he flies past. He crumples to the ground. Seeing what I did to the first guy, the other four decide against the idea of fighting fair, and whip out their swords. They are too close for me to run. I have to try to dodge their swords and somehow manage to win. I have to do it for Elsey, for my father in Camp Blood and Stone. For my mother wherever she is. For myself, too.
One of the guys swipes at my arm and I move away from it hard. He wasn’t really going for me, though. It was a fake, a feint, a trick maneuver to get me moving in the direction he really wants. A highly trained swordfighter’s move. Mid-swing, he reverses his blade and sends it slicing in the opposite direction, right into where I am moving. There is no way he can miss.
I close my eyes.
* * *
Tristan
I’m impressed by the big guy. He’s manhandling Rivet like a bear mauling a camper. Then the other guys show up and go straight for Adele. I sprint so hard that I don’t really see how she takes the first guy down, but it looks quick…and impressive. The others pull out their swords.
Adrenaline is a weird thing. I’ve heard of miners who are able to lift massive boulders off of their friends who’ve been trapped by a cave-in. Boulders they have no business lifting and which, after the fact, they can’t budge even an inch. Well, the adrenaline makes me run faster than I’ve ever run before. There are a few steps where I swear I don’t feel my feet touch the ground, as if I’m ru
One of the guys fakes a move and then attacks in the other direction. It is a professional move, but he is so focused on her that he doesn’t see me coming. Clang! I barely get my sword in front of the stroke before it cuts Adele in half.
I shove her out of the way and jam my sword into my surprised opponent, whose eyes roll back into his head before he topples to the ground. The other three swing at me simultaneously, two getting in each other’s way and missing completely. I parry the third’s stroke and slip my sword between two of his ribs, thrusting upwards for good measure. As he falls, blood bubbles from his lips.
The other two improve their communication in a hurry, circling to opposite sides of me and closing in. One goes for my head while the other aims for my legs. I hop over one sword while blocking the headshot with my blade. Using my off hand, I backhand the guy that tried to cut off my legs, stu
The guy that wants my head on a platter continues taking aggressive strokes at my neck, but I block them all, and manage to slash his hand, causing him to drop his sword. He throws his hands up in a request for mercy, but I’m not in the mood so I stab him in the heart.
Searing pain rips through my body as the final guy slashes me across the back. Attacking from behind isn’t particularly fair, but I don’t blame him given what I did to his friends. This is clearly life or death. I am rooting for both life and death. Life for me; death for Rivet’s guys.
I spin around and block his next attack—a jab at my midsection. My back is on fire and starting to spasm, making it hard to hold myself up. I need to end the fight or I’m toast. I swing desperately for the guy’s head, but I’m not as fast as before, my energy waning as the adrenaline burst expires.
He easily ducks my attempt and slashes at my leg, splitting my thigh open and forcing me to the ground. He looms over me, his sword black and ominous under the night sky. Raising the hilt above his head, he prepares to thrust the point through my chest.