“We already searched your house. And once we’re done with ya, we’re going to torch that lice-ridden place.” He leaned closer. “And we’ll do worse to your daughter.”
By now, Kanthe’s group had reached the others. He remembered overhearing Goren’s earlier threat, directed at Nyx’s whole family. Clearly the highmayor intended to carry it out, to exact vengeance for the death of his son in all ways he could. Luckily, there was another who represented the king’s order.
Anskar barged through the highmayor’s men. “You’ll do no such thing, Goren. The lass is wanted by the king. You even bruise such a prized plum, and you’ll face His Majesty’s wrath.” The Vyrllian hefted his ax from his shoulder to his other palm. “And mine.”
Goren sneered, his face darkening with fury. “So be it,” he muttered through a clenched jaw. “But the king’s shield does not defend all.”
The highmayor swung around, and with a flash of silver in one hand, he stabbed a long dagger into the old man’s belly. Surprise, more than pain, burst across Polder’s face. Goren reached his other hand to better grip the dagger’s hilt and shoved high, driving the point of the blade deep into chest and heart.
Kanthe lunged forward, though he knew it was already too late. A cry rose from the raft, from Nyx’s brother, but he was clubbed to his knees before he could act.
Anskar knocked Goren to the side. “What have you done, you beef-witted fool?”
The highmayor glared back at him, triumphant.
Polder stumbled back, cradling the dagger still plunged in his belly. Then he slowly slumped downward. As he did, he continued to stare at the sky. Agony etched his face, but he did not cry out.
Instead, his pain screeched down from above, rising from a thousand throats, shivering the very waters with its might.
As terror welled inside him, Kanthe suspected the true source of this shrieking chorus—along with the fury behind it.
* * *
NYX CLUTCHED HER belly, bent in half by pain and shock.
A moment ago, her winged brother had swept down, wheeling in clear panic. His keening shattered her world, erasing the slow trudge of Gramblebuck and deafening the words of Jace sitting next to her.
Instead …
She stares from on high. Her scrutiny snaps from one pair of eyes to another and another, spreading into a dizzying view of the scene below. Men cluster at the edge of the swamp, near a raft she recognizes. Fear incites her. She needs to see more. Demand becomes intent. One set of eyes sweeps lower.
Below, someone falls to his knees, holding his belly, his eyes gazing up at her as she rushes down. She smells his blood, his pain, his shock.
Dah …
She cries, louder and louder, until it fills the world.
Below, frail hands fall away, revealing the hilt of a dagger. Life flows out around it in a wash of crimson. Then the body slips to the side, as if exhausted by all the hatred and cruelty of this harsh world.
No, no, no, no, no …
With a breath, her grief sharpens to a blood-tinged fury.
Movement flicks the gaze of the predator to the side, to a wide-bellied figure. Triumph is on his lips as he laughs, on his scent as he gloats. The man’s hands are bloody, drenched in the life of her father.
She dives down as he looks up. His joy turns to terror in a flash. Wings buffet wide as she slows, leading now with her claws. Others scatter to all sides. She strikes Goren in the chest. Talons dig through leather and flesh. Claws hook into ribs. She beats her wings and lifts him off his feet and into the air.
Goren screams, pouring blood from lips and lungs. She carries him higher still. Shadows dive past, her fury spreading as far as her screams, igniting a thousand fiery hearts.
She sweeps into a roll, tossing Goren’s body high. He cartwheels, limbs spread, blood spraying from his torn chest. But he still lives.
Good …
She whips around. Talons catch him again, piercing his back, snagging his spine. He still wails. She bends to bring her prey closer. Fangs flail flesh from bone, limb from body. She guts and hollows until finally there is nothing but dead meat in her claws. She throws him far into the swamps, to feed what slithers and lurks below.
She dives again, her anger far from slaked. Her gaze multiplies and spreads. Her bloodlust stretches across the breadth of the sky. Below, men scream and die. Instinct demands she joins the fray.
Then her gaze—fueled by her own heart and memory—fixes on the raft, on a familiar figure that momentarily dims the predatory fire. She knows that face, her nose scents the swamp and bullock on him.
Ablen …
She struggles to beat back the savagery still raging inside her and across the sky. She begins to drown in that darkness, losing control. On the raft, her brother fights with four men. They stab and threaten with spear and hook. He bleeds from a score of cuts. As he falters, a man runs at his exposed back with a raised dagger.
She struggles to go to her brother’s aid, but bloodlust has burned away her control. Even her vision darkens.
No …
Then the attacker with the dagger falls to the side, an arrow impaled through his throat. Her gaze shifts as the predator inside senses another hunter. Kanthe, down on a knee, snaps arrow after arrow toward the raft, defending her brother.
Ablen breaks free. He rushes and dives headlong into the swamp. He vanishes under its black mirror and escapes. She sees herself reflected for a breath in those waters, a shimmering winged shadow that sweeps past overhead.
Shock loosens her control further.
Unable to stop, she rolls in the air, drawn by the blood and screams.
Her vision dims as she drowns in the otherness, in the vastness around her. Again, she senses ageless eyes staring back at her out of the depths of the darkness. The intensity of the gaze shoves her away, as if finding her unworthy, disapproving of her blind fury.
She is cast aside, a gnat before a gale.
Nyx tumbled back into her body with such force that she nearly toppled off the bench. But Jace caught her, pulled her back into the seat. He took her, held her close. She shook and trembled, balanced still between fury and grief, unable to settle. Tears blinded her, soaked her cheeks, filled her nose and mouth.
Jace squeezed her. “Nyx, I’ve got you.”
She sobbed a refrain, “Don’t let me go, don’t let me go…”
“I won’t.”
She felt his heat, the press of his muscles, took in his sweaty scent. She used his familiarity like a muck-anchor, to draw herself back into her own flesh. She sensed how close she had come to losing herself to the savage otherness, of being lost forever in that darkness.
As she came back into her own body, the grief inside her ached more sharply.
Dah … no …
Her anguish grew quickly, becoming too much to bear, to carry in a single heart. It seemed impossible she could survive it.
Then a quiet peeping reached her. Its plaintiveness drew her eyes open.
Over Gramblebuck’s rump, her winged brother hovered. She met those crimson eyes glowing nearly golden under the shadowed bower. As if drawn by her grief, wings tipped lower, and he glided toward her.
She straightened out of Jace’s arms. Her friend also caught sight of the bat’s approach and gasped. But she held her place and lifted a hand, her fingers trembling.
The bat drifted and sniffed at her fingertips. Whiskers tickled for a breath, then the little creature soared up her arm. He reached her shoulder, and tiny talons found a roost. Wings battered her head, then folded tight. Claws shifted and tucked the softness of his fur against her cheek and neck. His body was a furnace. His panting like tiny bellows. Tall ears rolled to touch their tips together.