The Knight and the Moth (The Stonewater Kingdom, #1)(73)

Rory rounded my body. “There are two rules to that coin. Rule one: Throw it with the smooth side up, and the coin will transport you to any place you toss it. You won’t touch anything—walls, doors, even your opponent. You’ll be like a ghost.”

“And the other side?”

“More aggressive than a ghost,” Maude deadpanned.

Satisfaction stole over Rory’s face. “Rule two: Throw the coin the rough side up, it will break through anything it encounters until it loses momentum. But you’ll have to chase after it—so make the throw count.”

I turned the coin over in my palm. “So if I were to throw it rough side up, let’s say, at your head—”

“You’d be picking the pieces of my brain off Benji’s cloak.”

“Not much of a mess, then.”

Maude went to stand opposite me across the yard. “Toss it toward me, Six. Not through me, mind. Smooth side up—toss it so you’re standing on my left.”

I looked down at the coin.

“Don’t worry, Bartholomew,” the gargoyle called. “If you accidentally kill her, I will not be upset.”

“I will!” Benji’s blue eyes widened. “Just… be careful.”

“Everyone shut up.” Rory’s eyes were on me, a challenge toying within them. “Let it fly.”

I hauled in a breath. Swung my arm, my wrist. Let loose the coin—

And disappeared.

It was just like at Aisling when Rory and I had slipped through the cottage door. Speed and nothingness. I disappeared, my body eclipsed by rain and wind in an exhilaration akin to dancing—and then my hand was out, catching the coin.

I rematerialized at Maude’s side.

I’d hoped to impress her. But there was still doubt in Maude’s voice. “Again.”

I was already away, the coin soaring once more. This time when I caught it, it was directly in front of Rory’s nose.

“Your turn, Myndacious,” I said, breathless. “Hit me as hard as you can.” I flickered away. “If you can.”

The chase began. Maude, Rory, Benji, even the gargoyle—though he hid his eyes behind his hand half the time—tried to tag me before I could flicker away with the coin. Sometimes I did not catch the coin and they caught me. Benji managed a few swipes at my back, my hair, but he was slow—easy to dodge. Not like Maude.

And certainly not like Rory.

The yard was a game board, and he was always a move ahead. Even when I threw the coin in a direction I supposed out of reach, he was already running, already reaching out, already catching me. Long and limber and bereft of armor, Rory kept his knees bent, his eyes tight in concentration.

And his feet fast.

By the tenth, maybe the twentieth time he’d caught me, I was seething, and Rory looking dangerously close to having a good time. “Good. You’re mad.” He turned the coin over in my palm. “Time to break things.”

Maude and the gargoyle and Rory hauled stones, discarded wood—anything that wouldn’t be missed—onto the upland.

This time, I threw the coin rough side up.

And shattered them.

The gargoyle clapped.

They made a square of sticks, mimicking the pool in the Ardent Oarsman’s hall. I practiced around it, never getting too close. “Draw him away from his pool,” Rory instructed. “Deny his oar its magic, its advantage. Stay away from water, and he will be but a man with a stone oar.”

But for every hour we trained, for every time the coin grazed stone or wood but did not shatter it, the lines in Maude’s face deepened.

By night, I was a shell of a human. I wobbled to the inn, ate with the other knights, but was so close to using my dinner plate as a pillow that the gargoyle took me from the commons, brought me to our room—tossed me into bed. I was asleep in seconds.

When I woke, the moon was still a visitor in my window. The gargoyle was snoring next to my bed, a blanket thrown over himself.

Maude’s bed was empty.

That’s when I heard the voices. Just outside the door.

“What, Maude?” It was Rory, snapping. “Just spit it out.”

I tiptoed to the door. On the other side, someone let out a low sigh.

“I already told you. Three days is not enough time to prepare.” Maude’s voice was hard. Steadfast. “It should be you or I facing the Oarsman.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Rory’s voice became perilously soft. “You think I want a single scratch upon her?”

“If the Oarsman challenged her, then we should honor that,” another voice said, softer than the others. Benji. “We should do things the proper way.”

“The Artful Brigand was cruel, but idle,” Maude bit back. “And the Harried Scribe was too enamored with his own wit to put up much of a fight. The Ardent Oarsman is the Omen of strength. He will be ruthless. Six has been stuck behind a wall for years. If we do things the proper way, this Omen could kill her.”

My throat tightened.

“Surely she knows that,” Benji said. “Dying, after all, is the risk of killing.”

“You say that, Benji, and you said it easily, because you know Rory and I will do your killing for you. We swore to it, but Six did not. She’s never killed anything or anyone. And I fear—” Maude’s voice became uncharacteristically rough. “I fear she will die without ever having lived.”