Just One Knight

by Bridget Essex

Synopsis:

A warrior woman (sort of), a baker, and a love story that's out of this world...

Cinda has been baking cakes since she was old enough to measure sugar, and she’d tell you that she has a good life. A relationship with one of the sexier royal knights of Arktos City is high on the list of what’s good…but when the lady knight breaks up with her for a fairly stupid reason, Cinda needs a night out on the town to forget her pain…

Talis has been working as a stablehand in the royal stables of Arktos since she arrived in the city three years ago. She wants to be a knight more than anything else in the world, but when she gets the bad news that because of her notorious family she might not ever even get the chance to become a squire—let alone a knight—she needs a night out on the town to forget her pain…

But when her best friend, Lellie, convinces her to wear a suit of stolen armor (and “borrow” a warrior mare), it sets into motion a night of fantastical adventures, mistaken identity and a sweeping love story.

Can two women fall in love in just one night?

JUST ONE KNIGHT is a funny, sexy, romantic novel that is set in the same world as A KNIGHT TO REMEMBER, DATE KNIGHT, A DARK AND STORMY KNIGHT and FOREVER AND A KNIGHT but it is a stand-alone book. It is part of Bridget Essex's Knight Legends Series: women knights, real-world high jinks, and love stories that transcend space and time.

"Just One Knight"

© Bridget Essex 2017

Rose and Star Press

First Edition

All rights reserved

No part of this e-book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Rose and Star Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews.  Please note that piracy of copyrighted materials is illegal and directly harms the author.  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dedication:

For my own lady knight. I cherish you.

And this book is especially dedicated to James. In an alternate universe, you’re my brother, and we’re both knights, and we go on countless awesome adventures in our super clanky armor. We may not be knights in this universe, but thanks for the adventures you’ve shared with me here. I love you more than rainbows.

Contents:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

More from Bridget Essex

About the Author

Chapter 1

CINDA

“You’re breaking up with me because…I bake cakes?” I stare at Asla, and though I’m attempting to regard her with the appropriate amount of sadness and reproach, I’m up to my elbows in bread dough, so it's a difficult look to pull off.

Asla leans indolently against the door frame and gives me her most knee-melting smile. She’s a Royal Knight, so her grin is pretty dazzling. She’s dressed in her best armor, shone to perfection, the silver chest plate practically twinkling at me in the hearth light of the kitchen.

Like most of the Royal Knights, Asla’s tall. She told me once that it’s not a requirement that applicants for knighthood tower over us mere mortals, but excess height certainly isn't frowned upon. Her long, curly blonde locks gleam in the firelight, and her stunning blue eyes—so icy and piercing—pin me to the spot with a sincere expression of regret.

“Beautiful, you’re twisting my words.” Her tone is patronizing, as if she’s speaking to a child.

Regret, my ass.

“No, I am not twisting your words.” I stand there glowering, trying to peel the dough off of my fingers, but it’s sticky today because of the gray clouds lingering in the distant sky. Whenever it’s about to rain, the dough clings to my hands. I give up attempting to free myself of it and just stand there, doughy fingers held in the air. I feel like an idiot. “Asla, you just told me that because I’m a baker and you’re a knight, we aren't truly compatible, so you want to end things with me. I can only conclude, therefore, that you dislike the fact that I’m a baker.”

“It’s not…that, Cinda.” Asla cocks her head to the side, downturning those gorgeous, full lips of hers as she waves a gloved hand, searching for the right words.

She doesn't find them.

With a wince, she informs me, “My issue isn't with your profession. It’s with how much you enjoy your profession.” And then—honest to Goddess, I’m telling it truly—she shifts her blue gaze to my waistline with a starkly disapproving frown.

Our relationship has been lukewarm of late, and we haven't been seeing one another as often as we used to, but I’d chalked that up to Asla's training, since she has been trying to master a new style of swordfighting. Asla is a faithful knight; she takes her job very seriously, always striving to better her skills.

But I realize now, as I gape at her with gooey dough dripping from my hands, that she isn't leaving me because she’s deep in her work.

Asla may be a faithful knight, but she is also as vain as a peacock and as shallow as a ditch. She's ending our relationship because I’m a bit more plump than I was when we first met.

She observes my figure now with apparent scorn.

“Get out,” I tell her, and I’m pointing a doughy finger toward the door.

Asla’s mouth twists into a soft frown. She sighs, as if to suggest that I’m overreacting. “Cinda, please. I don't want to part on bad terms—”

I shake my head. “You just told me I’ve been eating too many cakes.”

“Well, you have—”

“See yourself out, please and thank you.”

Asla’s eyes glint with chilly anger, but she shrugs her armored shoulders elegantly, and then she turns and leaves, her cape flying behind her in a swirl of cobalt blue, revealing her silver-clad posterior.

Damn her for having a gorgeous silver-clad posterior.

I’m shaking as she aims for the stairs and the front door of the bakery, and I have to grip the table’s edge, dough-covered fingers be damned, when I hear the shop door close, the bell over the door tinkling out blithely, with an incongruous suggestion of happiness.

“Damn it,” I mutter, and then—much to my dismay—I begin to cry.

You must trust me when I tell you that I’m not the crying sort.

But I liked Asla. Now, love is a word that I haven’t employed in ages, but I was beginning to wonder if something akin to that feeling stirred in my heart when I gazed upon her, lying back on the coverlet, her long lashes fluttering against her too-pale cheeks, her chest rising and falling with easy, measured breaths. She is very beautiful, and our lovemaking was topnotch.

And she could be sweet…

Well, sometimes.

Mind you, her vanity was all consuming, and so was her pride. She had to be the best at everything, which—as a Royal Knight of Arktos—is nearly impossible to achieve. The knights in the royal legion are the best of the best, so Asla found herself striving harder and harder, obsessed with her desire to surpass them all. And when she stopped being as thoughtful to me as she once was, I assumed it was due to her tireless ambition.

And maybe that was the case, in part. But it hurts deeply, like a poisoned thorn, to realize that Asla ended our relationship over something so stupid and superficial as the fact that my curves have grown slightly over the past few moons. I’ve gotten a little fatter, and my vain knight has decided that I no longer look pleasing by her side.

I dash away my tears with an angry swipe, and then I hug the bread bowl and stare down at the mass of dough in front of me without truly seeing it.

I won't apologize for myself, not for any part of me, even though there’s a little extra Cinda to see these days. If the Goddess has blessed me with a few more curves, so be it. I’m healthy, and I’m content with who I am.

But my heart aches—it can’t help but ache—at the loss of my lover, especially for a reason such as this. I stare down at my belly, pat the apron over my stomach.

“Cinda? Was that Asla who just left?” I hear Jeene call from the bakery counter. She must have been in the supply room, must not have heard what transpired between Asla and me in the kitchen. I'd forgotten that Jeene had arrived early for the day.

Drat, drat, double drat.

I’m grabbing a towel and scrubbing at my eyes hurriedly, but I’m not fast enough, because Jeene comes skipping down the steps in time to catch me rubbing away my tears.

Jeene and I have been best friends since we were old enough to toddle, and she’s helped me build Nela Bakery, named after my mother, into what it is today: a successful shop packed with mouthwatering cakes and breads and other delicious baked goods. She’s been my right-hand woman ever since my mother died, Goddess bless her, and sometimes? Well, sometimes I think Jeene loves the bakery more than I do. And that, my friends, is quite a lot.

My best friend is a woman you’d remember, even if you'd just glimpsed her once in the city  market. She’s tall, with the build of a softer variety of warrior—and she is a warrior of a sort, with her tempestuous personality, her quick wit, and eyes that could fell a lesser woman. Her face is beautiful: high cheekbones, a sapphire glow beneath her black skin...

But if she ever frowned at you in the way that she’s frowning at me right now, you’d likely aim to remove yourself fairly quickly from her gaze.

Oh, goodness… Here it comes.

“Cinda, why—in the name of all the sugar in the land—are you crying?” Jeene crosses her arms, fiery eyes burning into me, but then, just as quickly, she's racing down the rest of the stairs, her wide-legged blue pants swirling about her ankles as she wraps me in a warm embrace, the silver bangles on her wrists jangling brightly.

I sigh, and though her hug is a bit too tight, I’m glad of it, because it brings me out of myself and back to this world—and to the fact that, if I don’t put the bread in the oven, there’ll be no bread in the shop today. And how can you pay bills without bread?

You can't. That’s the answer to the riddle.

It’s…not a very good riddle.

“Jeene, I’m fine. Something-or-other got in my eye and—” But even as I’m drumming up the halfhearted excuse, Jeene’s clucking her tongue, wagging a gem-bright fingernail just beneath my nose.

“Don’t you lie to me, pet, or I’ll spank that bottom.” It’s a threat she’s been using for a decade or so, only because she knows I like it—and knows that I’d die of embarrassment if my best friend ever did such a thing.

I sober up and sigh again. “Oh, well, there’s not much to tell. Only that…Asla’s left me.” I’m trying to keep my voice light, but dejection thickens my voice: I sound sorry and sad.

For a moment, Jeene gapes at me, and then she snaps her jaw shut and shakes her head with vigor. “I told you! Didn’t I tell you?” she crows. “Oh, Goddess, that was one vain goose, all silly and prim, preening her own tail feathers all around town. It was enough to make one vomit.” Jeene draws in a deep breath, prepared to really lay into Asla, but then she notices that my chin is wibbling and wobbling. Tears begin to leak from the corners of my eyes, and I press my hand to my mouth, holding in a sob.

“Oh, darling girl, my pet—I’m so, so sorry.” Jeene’s tone changes immediately, her voice like a lullaby as she squeezes my shoulders. I weep, then, with a fair amount of gusto, because she’s being entirely too soft with me.

I need my Jeene mad, with fire in her belly, or I'm afraid I might dissolve into a puddle.

“Can’t you be angry?”

She regards me curiously. “Angry?”

“It’d make me feel better, I think.” I sniffle around the words, and Jeene takes a step back, concern giving way in her expression, slowly but surely, to rage. Her eyes flash like twin lightning storms.

“Oh, I’m angry at that tin peacock. Don’t get me wrong. But seeing you cry… Cinda, I can’t remember the last time I saw you cry.” She glances around for a handkerchief, and, finding none, she takes down one of my clean aprons from the peg by the garden door and holds it out to me. “Blow, dear one. It’ll do you good.”

Obediently, I take the apron and blow my nose—hard—making an interesting bugling noise in the process. This inspires Jeene to laugh, and then I chuckle weakly. We lean side by side against the kneading table and stare at one another.

“She was an ass,” Jeene states helpfully, her autumn-colored eyes glittering with a triumphant sharpness. “I knew she was an ass from the first time you introduced me to her. Remember how she asked me what I did for a living, and when I said that I ran the bakery with you, she said—” Jeene puffs out her chest and lowers her voice, in imitation of my ex-lover. “‘But why must two women run a bakery? One would do. After all, you simply make bread! How hard can such a task be?’”

I exhale heavily and frown. “She didn't mean offense. She was merely ignorant—” I begin, but Jeene holds up a finger.

“You made excuses for her, pet. You made far too many excuses for her. Now,” she says, clapping her hands together, “you must curse her up and down and then be done with that pompous bird once and for all.”

“But—”

Jeene’s expression is so stern that my protest dies unspoken on my lips. I lower my gaze and pause for a moment, corralling my thoughts. “This one… This one hurts, Jeene. I cared about her. I thought we might last. I truly thought…” Huffing in frustration, I stare through the grimy window of my basement kitchen.

Right outside the garden door is a set of stone steps leading up to my bit of earth. I use it to grow herbs for seasoning the breads and pies. There's little room for gardens so deep in Arktos City, and the fact that I have one proves this bakery has been a part of my family for a good long time. It has history.

It's my destiny.

Still... Sometimes I wish—

“Dear one, you’ve got that look in your eyes.” Jeene sighs, pushing off of the kneading table to gaze pointedly at me. “You’re daydreaming, aren't you?”

“Well, can I help it? My lover just left me. It’s as good a license as any to daydream, I think.” I glance down at the snot-covered apron in my hands and grimace, rolling the cloth into a tight ball. Then, with a decision made quickly, I cross the kitchen, stand before the hearth fire, and toss the apron into the flames.

Jeene arches a questioning brow.

“It's no loss.” I watch as the fire licks at the cloth. “That apron was an old one, full of holes. I’m tired of mending it.”

Jeene chuckles mirthlessly. “I think, pet, that you’re tired of mending a good many things. And Asla was one of them.” She crosses her arms loosely across her chest. “I'm sorry that you’re feeling low—truly I am. And if you want coddling, I’ll give it to you, and freely. But you must ask yourself whether you should regret this ending.” She scoffs. “More to the point, did that conceited chicken satisfy you in any way at all?”

My eyes are fixed on the coneflowers waving their purple heads beyond the window as I consider Jeene’s question—but I already know the answer. “No,” I murmur then, and I glance at my best friend, my jaw flexed tight. “I don’t think she did. Satisfy me, I mean. Asla was...comfortable for me. Being with her was easy. Easier than the hard thing of breaking up.

“And what she did—leaving me—was probably a blessing, I know, though it’ll sting for a while, as all fresh wounds do.” Abruptly, I wipe my hands on the cleansing towel that the magicmaker of Arktos so kindly spun for me, and then I’m plunging my fingers back into the warm, yeasty goodness of the bowl.

“Now you’re taking this a little too well,” Jeene says skeptically, regarding me with genuine concern. “I didn't mean to minimize your pain. A small part of your heart was broken just now, and that’s bound to leave you aching.”

Up to my elbows in dough, I nod thoughtfully. “You may be right. I…I think you are right,” I amend. “But there's nothing to be done for it. Wounds can’t heal quickly, not if they’re going to mend right. And this one…it’s got to mend right.”

Jeene’s wearing a mischievous expression, an expression I know all too well. So I'm already shaking my head at her before she opens her mouth: “You know what you need?” Her eyes are starting to twinkle.

“For this loaf to be in the hearth?” I ask, raising a brow. “So that we might sell some bread today? And earn enough coin to keep us both fed?”

Jeene waves a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, of course. But beyond that... You, my pet,” she crows, “need a good tumble!”

I start to laugh, a high laugh of surprise that merges with a harsh laugh of disbelief. Jeene looks every bit the warrior queen in this moment—as she always does just before the both of us get into various amounts of trouble.

“No,” I tell her, sobering, and the word has the finality of a millstone. Of course, Jeene has never accepted my no before when it comes to her plans of mischief, and I don't expect her to start now.

“Think of it,” she coos softly, singing the words, and then she’s stepping forward, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as she lifts her other hand to the air, as if she’s painting a picture. “Just think,” she breathes out in delight, “of all the lovely women out there who would leap at the chance to give you a tumble. Perhaps a tumble good enough to make you forget all about Asla.”

“That’s unlikely, Jeene. We were together for a long—”

“Shh, shh. You’re too practical, Cinda. Practicality will be your ruin.”

“Well, it’s certainly kept us in coin, hasn’t it?”

“Now, I’m not saying that I don’t appreciate it,” Jeene purrs, letting me go and leaning against the kneading table again with a broad grin. “It’s just that…I think it’s caused you to suffer too much unhappiness in your life. Moments that you swallow down and accept without a fight. But have you ever stopped to wonder”—and she leans forward now, passion illuminating her face as if a fire dances beneath her skin—“if there’s more to life than baking bread?”

My heart skips, and I glance past Jeene, through the garden window. I watch the coneflowers dance in the breeze and let out a long sigh.

Yes, I've wondered what life might be like beyond the flour-caked walls of this bakery. But there are bills to pay, and a legacy to uphold. My mother loved this shop; it would do her heart good to know how well I’ve tended it. Though she's gone, I work hard, every day, to make her proud.

Yet sometimes...I consider the years passing me by, sifting through my fingers like flour. We're only given so much time on this big, beautiful world. And Jeene is right: I’ve wasted a lot of my time being practical. I haven't passed many hours observing beautiful things.

Or beautiful women.

My relationships have just happened. I’ve never sought out love. I’ve accepted the women who sought after me, haven't ever gone looking for more. And that has been the most unifying problem in my so-called love life.

“Trust me, Cinda, like you didn’t trust me when I told you Asla had a pitchfork stuck up her ass and wasn’t worthy of you.” Jeene straightens, and I notice the flour dusting the front of her cobalt blue coat. She doesn’t brush it off, doesn’t even notice it, because she’s staring into my eyes intently. “The best way to heal your poor broken heart is with a lighthearted tumble that means nothing. You can get a fresh start, win some confidence back. I know you, Cinda. I know what makes you happy. You have been stagnant with Asla for so long that you’re mired deep in the muck, and you need to be dragged out. By a lovely woman.”

I can’t help but return my best friend's grin. “You naughty fox—you found me crying, and now I’m smiling.” Affection fills my heart. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I murmur, one brow raised, “but you may, this one time, be right.”

“I’m always right, pet.” She claps her hands in triumph. “So, tonight it is!”

Before I can say another word, she laughs her way into the garden, aiming to pick some flowers for our cakes—and leaving me alone with my dough and my misgivings.

But without a tear in my eye.

Who knows?

This could be…fun.

Chapter 2

TALIS

“I’m always right,” Rane tells me primly.

I sigh for a good, long moment and stare at her.

She swishes her tail and refuses to look up at me. Smug horse.

“Rane, I love you dearly. There’s no horse on this world who I love more,” I croon, scratching my fingertips on her right shoulder, just beneath the crest of her frothy silver mane. This is every horse’s weak spot, so Rane cranes her beautiful gray head higher into the air and starts to twitch her horsey lips as if she’s about to smooch her stall door.

“I won’t suffer fools, Talis,” the horse says with a little nicker, rolling a wise brown eye back toward me, even as she stamps a back hoof with impatience. “Don’t change the subject and sweet-talk me with a little scratching.” She huffs, disdainful. “I don’t forget about things that easily.”

“Oh, is that so? Hmm. Odd, because it’s certainly worked for as long as I’ve had the pleasure of knowing you.” I grin and incline my head toward her. “That is the right spot, isn’t it? Just...right...there...” I continue my scratching, waggling my brows triumphantly.

Rane shakes herself, her illustrious mane flying in all directions, before stamping a hoof again and moving away from me, her ears slicked back against her head.

She’s mad.

“I will not be patronized!” she yells, but because most people can’t understand horse language, her yell sounds to the majority of ears like an annoyed whinny.

Unfortunately, I can understand horse language, so when she really lays into me, I can’t ignore her.

“Talis, you listen, and you listen well,” she snorts, stamping for emphasis, her tail swishing violently, as if she intends to fell someone with the silken strands. I roll my eyes a bit and pick up the pitchfork, intent on clearing out her stall, which is the chore I should have begun quite a while ago, if it hadn’t been for Her Royal Highness Rane demanding that I talk to her and give her a bucket of fresh water, even though I’ve changed the water three times today.

Rane, a warrior mare, is a very large horse. She’s tall, much taller than me, with the muscle to match (her legs have been compared to trees), enormous hooves as big as dinner plates, a glorious gray coat so shiny that I can practically see my face in it, and a thick belly due the fact that she is nearly twelve moons pregnant.

“I’m about to deliver this kicking brat of a filly, and you’d dare to stress me out with an argument?” Her tone has turned wheedling, as manipulative as a small, sweet dog demanding table scraps. I arch a brow, shaking my head but keeping my mouth shut as I pitch forkful after forkful of straw into the wheelbarrow by the stall door.

And then Rane gets really angry.

“I am in a delicate state,” she hisses, though she does not appear to be in a delicate state as she drives me into the corner by snaking her equine head and baring her teeth. She has been known to nip, and I wager you’ve not felt a hint of fear in your life until a warrior mare with a head as large as a goat (an entire goat) gently takes your hand in her mouth, grinding her teeth ever so lightly down onto your fingers, signaling that she could gnaw off your entire arm if she chose to do so.

The mare’s eyes shine with a glint of imperiousness as they regard me.

“If you don’t ask Magel today, you’re never going to do it,” she tells me, trying—and failing—to sound sensible. Instead, she’s prim. “Talis, you can't keep putting it off. We’ve talked about this.”

I sigh, meeting the mare’s gaze, my arms folded over my chest churlishly.

I’m not fond of being talked down to, and damn it, I have chores to take care of. I try to move past Rane, but she doesn’t budge a finger’s width, setting her hooves firmly in the straw at her feet.

“Listen to me,” she snorts, bobbing her head. “You deserve to be a knight, Talis. You’ve been working so hard, and I’m sure your efforts haven’t gone unnoticed. Magel just needs a little…push. You’ve got to ask—and ask now—or you’re just going to drum up another foolhardy reason to put it off again.”

“Being that you're almost twelve moons pregnant, my friend, I'm afraid your brains are a little addled,” I croon sweetly, then scratch Rane's shoulder again. When I work my fingernails under her glossy gray coat, her head swoops up, she lifts her lips, and her eyes roll back blissfully. “Unfortunately,” I begin, in a tone of mock disappointment, “I can’t ask today, because Magel is busy. And that’s that.”

Rane looks down her long nose and snorts in my face.

My hair—red as a sinner’s blush and stubbornly sticking up in all directions because it’s full of straw—blows straight back from the force of her hot, oaty breath.

“I won't accept that flimsy excuse. I’m not going to let up on this, you know.” Rane skillfully chooses a piece of hay from my head and chews on it as she ruminates.

“Of course not. I wouldn’t expect you to.” With a soft smile, I pat her shoulder, taking up my pitchfork once more.

“Good, because after you ask her, we’re going out,” Rane declares, stalking over to her grain bucket and peering into its depths. “Why is this empty?”

“Because you ate your third morning portion already, and I’ve been told not to give you more until noon.”

She whips her head around to stare at me, her eyes accusing, but I shrug, smile, and keep on pitchforking. “And you can’t go out, Rane. You’re pregnant. Very pregnant.”

“So I’m forced to languish in these torturous confines?” Rane lets out a low moan and then rears up on her back legs. I imagine, in her mind's eye, she looks every inch the warrior steed and battle mare right now. But in actuality, she's an overly pregnant horse raising her front hooves about a foot off of the ground.

“Oh, blast,” mutters Rane, coming back down so quickly that the floor shudders beneath the weight of her landing. “I am,” she tells me, her neck long, her teeth bared, “dreadfully uncomfortable. Do you understand me, Talis?”

“Perfectly. Please don’t bite me.” I scratch behind her ears. “And, hey, it isn't my fault that you’re with child.”

Rane’s mood switches quickly: she forgets about snapping her teeth in anger and sighs so woefully that I raise my brows.

“Oh, I need to go outside. I can’t be walled in here anymore. You don’t understand what it’s like,” Rane says, shaking her body for emphasis. “I’ve been cooped up for so long, treated like I’m a fragile creature made of glass—”

“Um...weren’t you just telling me that you’re in a delicate state—”

“I need fresh air.” Rane stomps her foot hard. “Or,” she continues in a soft, refined tone, “I am going to break down the stable door.”

The threat is legitimate. She could break down the stable walls if she chose to do so.

“No need to go redecorating the place.” I hold my hands out to the moody mare, palms up, in a soothing gesture. “In just a few more days, I’m sure you’ll deliver, and then you can wander wild, for all I care. Though Asla might protest—”

“Asla,” says Rane through gritted teeth, “can kiss my rump.”

I chuckle.

Asla is the Royal Knight partnered with Rane. Normally, a warrior mare is bonded—heart and soul—to a specific knight. The two become inseparable; they love one another like sisters and are loyal to the end. It’s a solemn relationship, one not to be taken lightly.

But Asla? Well, as a stablehand, it’s not my place to comment on a knight, but Rane says it all for me: “Asla is a vain, shallow ass who cares about nothing and no one aside from herself. Did you hear her earlier this morning, crowing to one of the other knights about how she was going to end her relationship with her lover? Because her lover—and I really must quote this—was ‘getting too fat’?” Rane shudders, huffing. “She is callous, cruel, and I cannot endure her presence. The next time she rides me, I will delight in sending her into the air.”

Rane snorts self-righteously, arching her neck.

“My dear Rane, you can’t start bucking your knight; you’ll give the other warrior mares a bad reputation.” I pick up my pitchfork and begin to inch out of the stall.

Now that she’s suitably distracted, maybe she'll forget to nag me about—

I flinch as words float over Rane’s stall door: “Have you asked Magel yet?”

The intruder on our conversation, who is standing a respectable distance away from the wheelbarrow of Rane’s leavings in the corridor, has her hands positioned on her waist, her feet set hip-width apart. She's here for answers.

Lellie.

Lellie is my best human friend (the word “human” is an important distinction, because if Rane knew I’d called Lellie “my best friend” without adding “human” to the phrase, she’d step on my feet a lot more often, the jealous curmudgeon), and—like Rane—she is as stubborn as a box of rocks.

“Lellie, I’m in no mood for arguing. Please,” I beg, going so far as to clasp my hands together around the pitchfork’s handle. “Her Majesty,” I say, with a wink at Rane, “has made me late, and I’ve got so many other stalls to muck out.” I gesture down the length of the stable, but Lellie shakes her head, and as she crosses her arms, the metal bracers on her wrists clink against her chest plate.

Her expression turns stormy.

Lellie is a Royal Knight of Arktos. She’s a match for my height, but her heeled leather boots make her appear to be taller than me. She is known far and wide for having perfected the art of swordfighting in an ankle-length dress, and she’s just as deadly—if not more so—than her fellow knights.

She’s also our Queen Calla’s cousin, so her badassery might, in fact, run in the family.

Lellie has long—so long it falls below her rear—flaming red hair, and her face is as pretty as that of a goddess statue. Everything about her, actually, is pretty, from the metal flowers that twine around her sword’s hilt to the floral embroidery on the dress she wears beneath her armor, to the expertly crafted, vine-like scroll work on her metal chest plate.

She’s one of the highest-ranking knights, is gorgeous beyond words, and is related to the queen…so why she’s friend to a lowly stablehand like me is a mystery. Though, I promise, I’m working hard on bettering myself. I certainly didn’t set out to be a career stablehand, and it’s not been my lifelong dream to clean up after moody horses.

Hence all of today’s arguing.

Lellie tilts her chin stubbornly. “Well? Did you ask her?”

I should state, for the record, that I work here, in the Royal Stables of Arktos Palace, because I want—more than anything in the world—to become a knight. I’ve been training every day with sword and pike and axe, for hours and hours, after my daily stable duties are done. I work my heart out, until my bones are weary, and still…still, I haven’t been chosen to advance from stablehand to squire. That’s the path I must take: stablehand to squire, and squire to knight.

I’ve been stuck in first position for quite a long time. A couple of years now. All of my fellow stablehands have progressed to squires…

While I've stayed in place. Still a stablehand at the ripe old age of twenty-two.

It’s starting to feel a little, well, embarrassing.

Which is why my well-meaning but meddlesome friends are trying to push this baby bird out of her nest. And, believe me, I’ve been ready to fly for a while. But whether Magel, head of the Royal Knights of Arktos, will choose to acknowledge that is yet to be seen.

My best friends—of the horse and human varieties—want me to ask Magel if I can finally move up in the ranks, become a squire. The problem is…Magel is very busy right now with the activities going on in the city—Arktos City, capital of the realm. Magel’s in charge of all of the knight campaigns, and it's up to her to resolve every skirmish in the country.

On top of that, the Hero’s Tournament—an enormous tourney where countries across the world send their champions to compete—is happening here in Arktos City, and Magel must prepare her knights and arrange the tournament while, of course, keeping our citizens and guests safe. She’s been running around at full speed, and though Magel is normally the mistress of calm, she’s been looking a bit frazzled lately. And when I glimpsed her earlier this morning, she was trailed by a dozen knights and other palace staff, all talking to her at once…

She doesn't have time to listen to the concerns of a stablehand right now.

I sigh and shake my head, returning to my pitchforking. “Lellie, I love you, and your heart is in the right place, but I can't—”

“Talis.” Lellie holds up a hand. “You’re about to feed me more excuses.” Her tone is short and sharp, permitting no arguments. “What did we talk about last night?”

I wrinkle my nose and lean on my pitchfork with a rueful grin. “I…can’t remember. I was too drunk.”

Lellie grins wolfishly and then chuckles. “Ah, it was a good night. I’ll never forget your dancing!”

“Wait a minute… You can remember last night?” I ask, incredulous. Lellie and I went to our favorite tavern, the Happy Lioness, and got very inebriated. Well, in our defense, it was the end of a long week, and I had just gotten paid. Lellie bought a few rounds, too, because she was feeling generous; she’s a happy drunk…

And that’s where things start to get fuzzy.

Lellie hoots, throwing her head back to crow. “You danced on a table!”

My cheeks burn. I hold a little tighter to the pitchfork. “I did no such thing.”

“Talis. You know that when you drink a particular amount of ale, you get all...dancey.”

I narrow my brows, whisper, “I do not!”

“A fiddler came in and started playing one of your favorite tunes…”

“Oh, no.” I palm my hand over my face and groan, long and low. “Tell me he didn’t play ‘The Dragon Maid of Brightcoast.’”

“He played ‘The Dragon Maid of Brightcoast,’” she chirps, with the widest grin, “so you climbed up onto the table and yelled, at the tippy-top of your lungs, ‘This is my song!’ And you started to waggle your hips—with gusto.”

Rane is staring at me with a huge, horsey smile. “You danced on a table?” the mare laughs, and then she’s whinnying, tilting her nose up toward the air. She looks a bit like a donkey, braying herself silly, but I’d never dare tell her so. Instead, I sigh, accepting the good-natured ribbing as one who allowed herself to become so drunk that she danced on a table must.

“Anyway, the point of my reminding you about your nocturnal indiscretion is that, after the dancing”—Lellie holds up a finger, smile slipping from her face—“you cried on my shoulder. Cried, in fact, for the remainder of the evening.”

I grimace, bracing myself, as my friend's expression turns thoughtful.

“Now, it was hard to understand what you were saying between the sobs, mind, but you mentioned something about your ‘lifelong dream never being realized.'” She waves a hand in the air. “Something like that. I caught the gist. So…” She draws herself up to her full height—which is quite impressive, and more than a little intimidating. “That’s why I’m here.”

I don't know which is more alarming: the fact that I wept on my best friend’s shoulder (which I have never, to my recollection, done before), or that look Lellie is wearing on her face.

She's the definition of smug.

She clears her throat. “I asked Magel to meet me here. In the stables.” She pauses meaningfully. “Now.”

“Now?” My mouth goes dry. “What?” I stare at her in horror.

“Well...” Lellie begins to speak faster. “We’ve got to ride out to the edge of town, Magel and I, so I figured this would be the perfect time to ask her about your squirehood.” She flashes a bright grin at me, soldiering ahead before I can protest. “No ifs, ands, or buts, Talis. This is the perfect opportunity. You have to take it.”

I blanch. “Lellie, you didn’t.”

A frown crosses her pretty face as she positions her hands on her armor-clad hips. Lellie’s armor was ingeniously crafted by Lellie herself (you can add “magical blacksmithing” to her long, long list of accomplishments). She is wearing a chest plate and back plate, shoulder pieces and bracers, and over her hips, there are leaf-shaped bits of armor that form a short skirt, layering over the longer dress of fabric beneath it. The metal skirt protects her hip area, practically speaking, but the effect of the outfit is striking—and Lellie knows it.

She looks like a warrior goddess.

A very stubborn warrior goddess.

“I did do just what I said, Talis. Magel is coming now. So you have no time to back out.” Lellie’s expression softens to her usual, warmer one, and as she flicks her gaze past me, she smiles brightly.

Because there, aiming straight for Lellie and me…is Magel.

Chapter 3

TALIS

I’ve only spoken with Magel a handful of times in my life. She is, after all, the leader of the Royal Knights of Arktos—those knights who are even more skilled than the regular Knights of Arktos—and, as such, she’s pretty damn important.

The few conversations I've shared with her have left a strong impression on me. Magel is a quiet person, thoughtful and careful with her words, and she’s kind—very kind. Every knight subordinate to her seems to like her; that’s tough, winning over so many different types of people. With her bronze skin, her straight black hair, her intense brown eyes, and her dancer’s grace, Magel has a nobility that inspires you to stand straighter, to pay attention.

I’m...a little in awe of her.

So I gulp now, lifting my chin as I grip the pitchfork so hard that I worry I might snap the wood in two.

Magel strides toward us, not watching us but peering very intently at the open scroll in her hands. When she comes alongside Lellie, she glances up, offering a small smile to her fellow knight before glancing back down at the scroll once more, tracing a line with her finger.

“Are you ready to go?” she asks Lellie, her voice low, quiet, but Lellie reaches out and taps Magel’s shoulder.

Surprised, Magel raises a brow, and only then does she realize that I’m standing before her, still poised in Rane’s stall, gripping that pitchfork.

“Before we head out—do you remember my friend?” Lellie asks, her voice a sultry purr.

Magel nods. “Talis. How are you?”

I open my mouth and shut it.

She remembers my name.

It's impolite not to reply, but I've been rendered speechless.

Rane doesn’t permit me to remain speechless for long, however. She steps behind me and butts me—hard—until I fall against the stall door.

The two knights chuckle, tossing glances at Rane. Magel holds her hand out over the stall door, and Rane nickers at her, placing her nose in Magel’s palm.

“Good beast,” says Magel with a soft smile, nodding toward Rane’s wide girth. “It’ll be any day now for the foal.”

“Yes,” I blurt out, then blush when Magel regards me again, pinning me in place with those deep brown eyes. “Uh—”

“Magel.” Lellie grins. “Talis has something she wants to ask you.”

“Oh?” Magel glances back toward me with a questioning expression, while Lellie makes a face and starts mouthing words that I translate as, “Would you just ask her already?”

I glance, stricken, at Magel.

I’ve rehearsed how I might ask her about squirehood a thousand times.

I finally have my chance. And I know what I want to say.

Right. No more excuses.

I draw in a deep breath—and I force myself to speak.

“Magel.” Already out of air, I take another breath, wincing. “I’ve…I’ve been working very hard. And it’s work I love. I...love what I do. I mean...”

No, this doesn't sound right. This isn’t how I rehearsed it in my head. I pause for a heartbeat, straightening out my tangled thoughts, then clear my throat. “As much as I love my work, I would…”

Lellie urges me on with a nod of her head.

“I would like to become a squire.” There, I've said it. I feel as if a weight has been removed from my chest; I start to breathe easier, eagerness replacing my hesitancy. “What must I do to advance? I will do anything.”

I square my shoulders and hope I look respectable enough to match my request. When I dare to meet Magel's gaze, however, my heart falls into the deepest pit of my stomach.

“Oh, Talis…” Magel's voice is low, regretful. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I’ve seen how hard you work. I know that you take your work very seriously. And it is appreciated, what you do. But—you can’t progress to squire. Not yet.”

I've gone numb.

Behind Magel, Lellie stares at me, her mouth gaping.

“Why?” I murmur.

Magel strokes Rane’s cheek, not looking at me anymore. Her jaw is tight. “If it were up to me, you would have been made a squire long ago. Your past,” she says gently, “does not define you.”

My cheeks are so hot, it’s a wonder my face doesn’t catch on fire.

My past.

Oh.

“There are those among the knights who wish to make certain that you have…reformed. Before you take on the mantle of squire and, eventually, that of a knight.” Magel’s gaze flicks back to mine, and she looks genuinely sorry. “It will happen, Talis. But you must be patient. You must give the knights time to consider, and try your best to show them who you really are.” Her expression is soft, sincere. “Squirehood will be yours.” She lowers her eyes. “Someday.”

Someday.

I don't trust my voice, certain it will shake, so I say nothing, only nod and stare down at my hands, clutching the pitchfork.

“Be well, Talis,” murmurs Magel. Then she begins to move past. “Lellie?”

Lellie lingers, watching me, and—to my surprise—there are tears shining at the corners of her eyes.

“Yes. I’m coming,” she tells Magel, but she darts forward, and, stretching over the stall door, she wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me tightly.

“I’m sorry, Talis,” she whispers, the words heavy with pain.

And then she's gone, following after Magel.

I rest my forehead is against the pitchfork handle and release a sigh.

I’m sorry, too.

Your past does not define you.

But apparently…

It does.

“Talis.” Rane calls for me, but her voice sounds distant, muted.

Blood is rushing in my ears. I take the pitchfork out of the stall, lean it against the wall of the stable, and then I find myself walking, with wooden steps, toward the tack room. I pass fellow stablehands, pass knights and their mounts, but I don’t truly see any of them.

Unshed tears are blinding me. Still, I refuse to cry.

How could I have been so stupid? I should have realized why I hadn’t progressed to squirehood yet. I guess I did know it, deep down in my bones, but I simply chose not to acknowledge it. Chose to hope that, through my actions here, I had proven myself worthy.

This is the truth: the girl I once was has ruined the chances for the woman I am today. And that knowledge hurts more than I could ever express.

I wander into the tack room, and I close the door tightly behind me. It's a fragile privacy: a knight or stablehand will probably come in soon. But at least, for a moment, this single moment, I have space.

I need to breathe.

I need to mend this broken part of me.

A little theatrical, Talis. But I do feel crushed, crumpled, like a useless scroll.

This morning, I held the hope that I would become a knight, perhaps soon.

And now…

True, Magel said that it would happen for me in time, but if the knights feel so uncomfortable with my history, how likely is it that their misgivings will change? I fall back against the door and brush my hand angrily over my eyes, dashing away the tears.

I was a fool. Such a fool.

Why did I even come here? Did I really believe that I could be forgiven?

Did I really believe that I deserved—

A soft knock at the door, and then a quiet voice asks, “Talis?”

Lellie.

I open the door without turning around, and I grasp my elbows, hunching my shoulders forward, hoping that my best friend won't notice the tears streaked over my face.

Lellie comes through the crack in the door and shuts it behind her. Then she stands beside me, shoulder pressing into my shoulder, leaning against me a little.

And she sighs.

“Talis… I’m so sorry.”

Lellie is, of course, sorry, because she knows, knows what becoming a knight meant to me, knows how afraid I have been—in the dark hours of the evening—that my past would return to haunt me. Knows how I hoped that good, hard work might absolve me…

Knows how I strove to become someone different. And better.

“Well,” I begin; my voice shakes.

No.

I’m stronger than this.

I lift my chin.

“Look, Talis, we’ll fix this. We'll figure out a way. If I have to strong-arm every single dissenting knight until she realizes her mistake, that's what I'll—”

“No.” I laugh harshly. “I mean, maybe they’re right. What right do I have…me…to become a knight of Arktos?

Lellie's posture sags, and her face is grim. “Don't let yourself sink to that kind of thinking. You have every right to become a knight. People grow and change, and what you did—it shouldn’t even matter. It doesn't matter.”

I shake my head. “It does.”

“Look…” She exhales. “We’re going to examine this sensibly, all right? Look at it like...a battle, yeah? Every battle has a plan, needs a plan, and we’re going to come up with an amazing plan. I promise you.” Lellie’s face is set in that expression she gets when she’s up to something—and determined to succeed.

Suddenly, my heart fills with gratitude. If nothing else, I'm lucky to have such a loyal friend.

“Thanks.” Ducking my head, I sigh and say, “But you have to leave with Magel now. I’m keeping you from your duty.”

She chuckles. “When Magel asked me if I wanted to ride with her, I agreed only because I wanted her to talk to you. But now I've asked Kell to sub for me. This is too important. And I knew you’d be…” She trails off, turning her hand in the air. “Upset,” she finishes weakly, searching my face. “And I wanted to fix it.”

“That's kind. But you can’t fix everything, Lellie.”

Again, she chuckles. “I’m gonna damn well try.” Her eyes are so sharp that they bore into mine. “So we’re going out for a drink?”

“Lellie, I’m in no mood for—”

“You have to trust me, okay?” She darts forward and clasps my hands, searching my face. “I know you. This hurt you, and it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you to talk to Magel. I caused this. Please let me make it better.”

“Time will make it better. Only time.”

“Only time? Huh. I'm not so sure about that...”

I raise a brow, because Lellie’s smiling—a mischievous smile. “I have an idea,” she murmurs, and the smile grows wider.

Chapter 4

CINDA

“I have an idea!” Jeene declares, bounding down the steps.

“No, not another one.” I pick up a rolling pin to brandish at her.

It's late afternoon, and the shop is in its usual lull, with fewer customers coming through the door. Normally, I use this time to make small hand pies for the supper crowd, but Jeene’s come down into the kitchen, disturbing my routine.

At sight of her, my thoughts return to our plans for the evening. I’ll have to get ready soon. But what does one wear for a casual tumble? After pondering that question over the last few hours, I’ve decided upon something very plunging, indeed.

Well, if I’m strolling out tonight, my décolletage should get some fresh air, too.

“This is a good idea, I promise,” says Jeene, airily waving away my protests—and flicking her fingers against my rolling pin. “I’ve been considering the taverns in the city, and I think I know the perfect one for you to find that tumble of yours.”

I stare at her. “But…I thought we’d just go to the Steel Lily. Like we always do.”

The firmness in my tone is lost on Jeene, who leans forward over the table and flashes me a grin. The kind of grin that tends to lure me into trouble.

“Jeene,” I murmur. I’m weary. I’ve been up since the first bird's serenade, and I’ve lost my lover, and I've made so many breads and pies and cakes that I must have gone through a horse’s weight in flour.

Jeene’s bound and determined about this tavern nonsense, but I’m heavy-hearted and not at my most playful. What I really want to do is to ascend the steps to my apartment over the shop, put my feet up on the threadbare footstool, and lose myself in the pages of my latest book.

And I've told Jeene as much, but she won't stand for it.

“The Steel Lily?” she snorts now. “Oh, my pet, when was the last time you wished to bed a woman at the Steel Lily?”

I scowl and puff out my chest, prepared to be offended on my own behalf—because, truth be told, middle-aged women frequent the Steel Lily, the workhorses and entrepreneurs of the city who take joy in complaining about taxes and the weather. They are, in all honesty, my tribe.

However, Jeene ignores my offense and winks. “No, no, I have something much, much better planned.” She raises her brows. “What say you to taking a jaunt to the Happy Lioness?”

My jaw falls open, and moments pass before I’m capable of shutting my mouth. “You're not serious.”

“And why not?”

“Jeene, the Happy Lioness is a favorite tavern of the Arktos Knights,” I whisper, stating the obvious. As I wet my lips, I feel my heart flutter inside of me. And, if I’m not mistaken, my cheeks are beginning to flame like a newly stoked fire.

“Exactly!” Again, Jeene winks. “And who would you like better for a tumble than a knight?”

“I just had a knight.”

Jeene tsk-tsks. “You must purge Asla from your mind, pet.” She gestures toward me, up and down, grinning saucily, and I can’t help it—I laugh. “I know how attracted you are to our city’s fine protectors.”

My blush deepens.

“And at the Happy Lioness, there will be a knight or two…or ten…ready and willing. At your service. Just bat those pretty eyelashes of yours, and you’ll have your pick!”

My pick of the knights.

I swallow, my knees going weak.

“You’re being silly,” I reprimand her, and I hold onto the edge of the table, because imagining a tavern full of knights has made my blood course a little hotter through my veins.

I may, in fact, be feeling faint.

“Look at you, blushing like a ripe apple! I know what you like, and knights are it. So we must go where the knights are.”

I tilt my head at her, forcing myself to focus on reality—rather than the way that a well-shaped piece of armor clings to a knight's thighs. “That tavern is on the other end of the city. No, no, it would take so long to get there, walking. By the time we—”

“We’re not going to walk.” Jeene’s grin rivals the sun in its brightness.

“Oh, no.” I slam my rolling pin down on the table. “Jeene, no. We are not renting horses—”

“We’re renting horses!” she crows, unfurling her hands with glee.

Arktos City is large, and people who regularly traverse its length own horses. But, of course, there are those of us who simply can’t afford the cost of horses, or their upkeep and stabling. So we rent horses, when we have need for them, from the local liveries.

Since I've never traveled, I grew up without much experience at horseback riding. As a result, I'm...not very good at it.

I might, in fact, hate it.

And, in perfect honesty...I hate horses.

Oh, that’s harsh. I don’t truly hate them. They have as much right to exist as any of us do. But they’re large, bossy, and far too smart. They know, as soon as they see me coming, that here's someone they can kick up into the air and toss off of their smelly backs.

I dislike horses, and horses very much dislike me.

“Jeene, please. This is just too much. I’m tired,” I groan, picking up my dirty pottery bowls from the table and preparing to clean them in the washtub.

“My pet, you’re always tired. If you wait to feel bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, you'll put off your happiness forever.” Jeene's eyes are stern, inspiring me to pause. “Life is short. Enjoy it occasionally, would you?”

I bristle. “Nothing can be enjoyed while on horseback. Nothing,” I repeat, scrubbing at a bowl.

“You think that only because we always get to the stable late, after all of the good horses are already taken out, and you’re left with some sorry nag who has indigestion and a grudge against humankind.” Jeene smiles. “But don’t worry. I've asked them to save you a gentle beast. Now, hurry and wash up—we’ve got a tavern to visit!”

“What, now? We aren't closed for the day yet.”

Jeene gives me one of her damnable shrugs. “I turned the sign to closed before I came down here. And locked the front door.”

“But—”

“No buts. Just get that ass of yours into something suitable, would you? I’ll finish the scrubbing.” She grabs the bowls from me and plunges them into the soapy water.

Granted, not washing up for the evening is one of my favorite things. Jeene and I take turns, and I know her offer of the moment has nothing to do with generosity and everything to do with following through on this daft plan of hers… Still, it gets my hands out of gray water, so that is, at least, something I can be glad of.

I take off my apron and hang it up on the peg by the door, and then I’m grasping my skirts in my hands and ascending the spiral stairs, up and up through the shop, and then up and up again, until I reach my apartment above the bakery.

Perhaps it’s related to my freedom from washing the dishes, but my spirits do feel a little lighter as I open my wardrobe door and take stock of my dresses. Truth be told, I don’t have many. There are the three that I wear throughout the week while I'm baking, and then there's my good dress, one that I put on whenever wealthy clients order cakes for special occasions. That dress is blue, light blue, like the sky, and quite flattering. But since I wear it for bakery engagements, it has a high, modest neckline.

And this is no time to be modest.

So I reach out and pluck at the edge of my red gown.

I stare at it, hanging freely in my wardrobe. I run the the hem of the skirt through my fingers, my good feelings escaping like flour through a sieve.

Asla…

Asla loved this gown.

It has a plunging neckline, with nearly off-the-shoulder sleeves that trail down to loops meant to be worn around the middle fingers. The skirt is voluminous, especially when I layer it over my petticoat. True, the dress is far from new; it has been well-mended over the years. But it looks good on me, and I feel good when I wear it, like it holds a sort of magic charm.

I draw in a deep breath as I pull the gown out of the wardrobe. With the weight of it in my arms, memory assaults me: how Asla loved the soft fabric, warmed by my body, and how she would trail her mouth along my neck, down to—

No.

No.

I ball my fists.

Asla broke off our courtship because I’ve fattened up a bit. Her reasoning is neither right nor noble, damn it, and I won't waste one more tear on that shallow knight.

This is, at least, what I tell myself as a single tear slips over my cheek.

Well, I simply have no time right now to be a silly, soppy mess. I reach up, wipe the tear away, and begin to undress.

By the time Jeene makes her way upstairs, I’m ready for whatever adventure awaits us tonight. My hair has been braided, wrapped around my head like a crown; I’ve put on the necessary undergarments to complement the dress (my drawers are, indeed, red); and I’ve scrubbed my face clean and painted it just a little. My lashes are thick with potted mascara, my lips glossy and red with paint. I even pinched my cheeks to make them warmer (though I doubt I'll have need for false blushes once I'm surrounded by knights), and I applied a sparkly dusting of ground unicorn tail to my very visible décolletage.

I’m trying to curl the errant wisps of hair by my ears when Jeene steps through the door, her grin as wide as the sea.

“Didn’t take you long to get you back in the races!” She nods her approval, clapping me on the back. “You look good enough to eat, my pet.”

“Isn't that the point?”

Jeene laughs, throwing her head back. “Yes, indeed.” Another wink. She really does love a good excuse to go out into the city. “I’m ready to go if you are.”

I grimace. “As ready as a plague.”

“Now, now.” She arches a brow. “You’ve got to be more optimistic than that. You know what they say: Act like a warrior, and the courage will follow.”

I smile weakly. “Yes, but they also say, 'Only a fool goes into battle without a sword.’”

“Then you're well armed.” Jeene blinks innocently. “After all, you have two swords, my pet.” She waves a hand at my breasts. And then, without giving me a chance to retort, or to come up with excuses, or to beg for a comforting evening of pastry-eating and book-reading, Jeene grabs my arm, threads it through hers, and all but drags me down the spiral stairs and into the bakery proper.

“I swear, this will be a night to remember,” says Jeene, grinning widely. “Get it? Because you might just find a knight to remember.”

I groan, though I can’t help but chuckle.

Chapter 5

TALIS

“This is going to be a night to remember!” Lellie coos at me. “And—because I want you to remember it, as well—promise to go easy on the ale?”

With wide eyes, I correct her, “Remembering is not the point of this evening.”

She pauses, brows narrowed. “Oh? And what, pray tell, is the point?”

“To get so drunk that I forget I was ever upset to begin with.”

“Ah.” My friend rolls her eyes, looking weary. “No, no, Talis. I thought you might feel that way, but I'm trying to take your mind off of your troubles, not pickle your brain in alcohol.” Lellie's smile fades when she indicates my outfit. “And is that what you’re wearing to the tavern?”

“What? These are my best clothes.” I glance down at myself with a frown. I’m dressed in a white poet’s blouse and tight-fitting black pants. My feet are shod in fine leather boots, and I have a cobalt blue sash tied at my waist. In truth, the sash is just a bit of fabric that fell off of one of the blankets the warrior mares wear when paraded through the streets of Arktos City. I’ve folded it around my belly so that you can’t see the frayed edges.

“I know. I just thought…” Lellie shrugs. “If you wore dresses, I could lend you any one of mine. But you don’t. And the shirt is lovely; please don’t mistake me,” she says hurriedly. “It's just a bit…well-mended.”

“I’m no good at patching.” I offer her a lopsided grin.

“We all have our strengths and weaknesses,” she teases, and then pats my arm.

The latest patch on the shirt is not, in fact, the same color as the rest of the shirt. I got into a small tavern brawl last moon and received a rather large tear to the sleeve, thanks to a fellow combatant's sharp nails. So I mended the tear with what I had available...

Which was the corner of the blanket I sleep under at night.

Which is a well-washed and faded red.

It doesn’t exactly blend in.

Lellie and I are standing together in my small room above the stables. This is where all of the stablehands sleep, and the squires, too, the rooms packed side by side, each just as large as the stall beneath it. I sleep above Rane so that I can climb down my ladder and into her stall immediately, first thing in the morning, to take care of her and begin my chores.

This also means that Rane uses the opening in the room’s floor, down into her stall, as an excuse to be bossy—and nosy.

Often.

“I’ve had an idea!” Rane calls from below, stomping her hooves to gain my attention, a common habit of late. She stomps when she’s bored, when she’s annoyed, when she’s hungry. I've gotten so used to the noise that I can usually ignore it, but she's currently poking her nose through the hole in my floor, staring up at Lellie and me, and it's difficult to ignore a peeping horse. Believe me—I've tried.

“Are you rearing up again? You know you’re not supposed to be rearing,” I tell her sternly, peering over the edge of the hole and down at Rane. And, yes, the enormous warrior mare has risen up on her back legs, her front hooves planted squarely against the stall wall for balance. She normally maintains perfect balance without need of assistance, but her large belly gets in the way of everything these days.

Rane thumps back down onto four hooves. She glares up at me shrewdly. “I’ve had an idea,” she repeats, eyes narrowed. “You should ride me when you go to the tavern tonight.”

“What?” I chuckle, shaking my head. “Oh, that’s a good one.”

“What’s she saying?” asks Lellie, peering down through the hole, too. “Is the baby coming now? Is she in labor?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” I lift my brows and smile disbelievingly. “Get this: Rane says that I should ride her to the tavern tonight.” I chuckle again, but when I glance sidelong at Lellie, she has a calculating look on her face.

“Lellie, no—” I begin.

“It would certainly save your feet the trouble of walking, and give my mare a rest from carrying double. Honestly—”

“I can’t ride a pregnant mare in the city streets, all the way to the tavern. That wouldn't be good for her, not in her condition,” I protest.

But Rane chooses that moment to stand up on her hind legs once more, poking her nose through the hole in the floor and staring at me balefully.

“If I don’t get out of this stall tonight, I am going to get stablefever, and you do not want to see me with stablefever,” the horse hisses. “You’re tall, but you’re skinny—you hardly weigh a thing. I probably won’t even notice your weight on my back.”

“That's beside the point. Rane, you’re aren't my horse.” I spread my hands, trying to make her understand. “It’s tantamount to horsenapping if I take you out without running it past Asla. And I doubt, highly, that she’d permit her very pregnant mare to gallivant about the city.”

“What Asla doesn’t know can't hurt her,” Rane wheedles, her voice a defiant singsong. “Just put one of those parade blankets on me. It’ll cover my girth. No one will notice that I’m pregnant.” When I continue to stare at her with a stricken face, she shakes out her mane and bares her teeth. “Asla has no use for me. She won’t even realize that I’m gone. She hasn’t come to check on me in weeks.” Her mood swinging on a star, Rane huffs a little, nostrils flaring as she regards me with big, beautiful, hopeful eyes.

I exhale a ragged breath. “Absolutely not. No. No. It’s out of the question!”

Rane thumps back down onto the ground and starts hitting the stall floor with her massive hooves. “I am going crazy in here! I am not to be coddled!” she roars. But, because she’s a horse, her outburst sounds to most ears as if she’s crying out with one of her battle screams.

And it’s hardly a pleasant sound. A bit nightmarish, really.

“What’s got her so angry?” asks Lellie curiously.

“She says she has stablefever and doesn’t want to be in her stall. That's all she ever talks about, really. But she has to stay still and quiet, for the baby.”

“Oh, come on, Talis. A slow walk isn’t going to jostle that babe inside her belly.” Lellie snorts.

“Listen, this just won't work. It'd look more than a little suspicious for a stablehand to ride a battle mare through the city. Don’t you think?”

“Well... it doesn't have to be a stablehand riding her.” Lellie stares at me pointedly.

I don't know what she's getting at until she crosses my modest quarters and picks up the chest piece of Asla’s spare suit of armor.

The whole suit of armor is lying in the corner, stacked neatly, one piece on top of the other, waiting for me to polish it. Asla owns several suits of armor, and this is one of her least ornamented; she only wears it out on campaigns. She hasn’t gone on a campaign in a good, long while, and I’ve been so busy tending to Rane’s needs—a pregnant, pushy warrior mare has a lot of needs—that I haven’t gotten around to shining it up yet. The armor’s been sitting in my room for several weeks.

“Why don’t you wear this?” asks Lellie mildly.

I lick my lips, my throat and mouth suddenly as dry as a bone. I can feel the blood rushing through me; my head is pounding in tandem with my heart: too quickly.

Asla’s armor.

I could wear Asla’s armor.

And then I’d look like a knight. And no one would question the sight of a knight mounted atop a battle mare.

A knight…

For half of a heartbeat, I entertain the idea.

I cross the room and take the chest piece from Lellie’s fingers, and I stare down at my mottled reflection in the curves of the metal. No knight of Arktos would ever traipse around their beloved city in tarnished armor. But I can see enough of my reflection to make out the look on my face.

This...wistful look.

A wish that drifts over my expression, fervent and…

And impossible.

Armor doesn’t make you a knight. Without training, without courage and honor, armor is only a costume.

I place the chest plate back down on the stack of metal, and I turn to Lellie, wrap my fingers around her shoulders, give her a tight squeeze.

“I can’t,” I tell her simply.

But Lellie’s eyes harbor storms, and when she lifts her chin, when she pins me in place with her gaze, I know I’m in trouble.

“You can.”

“Armor doesn’t make you a knight, Lellie, especially when it's stolen armor—” I begin, but I don’t get very far, because Lellie is shrugging out of my grasp impatiently and leaning down to pick up the chest piece again.

“You listen to me, Talis. You listen to me.” Her voice is low and measured. If I stood an arm’s length away, I wouldn’t be able to make out her words.

This is what she tells me.

“You’re right. Armor doesn’t make a knight. It’s just a piece of metal.” And, as if for emphasis, Lellie drops the chest plate to the ground. I wince at the loud, metallic clang and stare at it, offended by the sight of the armor of a knight of Arktos thrown so disrespectfully to the floor. But Lellie’s reaching out now, and her hands are gripping my shoulders. Lellie is strong, and her fingers are digging into my skin; I stand still, and I listen.

“I am a knight. So I will tell you what a knight is.” Her eyes glitter. “A knight is noble and kind. Generous and valiant. Courageous and passionate. A knight is protective and fair. If she sees injustice, she will right it. If she sees pain inflicted, she will stop it. She will champion those who are powerless, and she will defend those who are vulnerable. She is forever dauntless and forever brave. That,” she murmurs, searching my face, “is what a knight is, Talis. You don’t need someone to tell you that you’re a knight. You don't need a ceremony to make it official.” She pauses, her next words clear and certain: “You always were one.”

I flex my jaw, eyes stinging.

“I know you,” she goes on. “I’ve known you for a long while. I’ve seen how you move through the world. I know that what I say is true. I’m angry at my fellow knights for being blind to what is right before their eyes. But no one’s perfect. We’re all always trying to do and be better. Myself included.” She offers me a rueful smile. “So it may, perhaps, be ‘wrong’ of me to suggest that you wear Asla’s armor…but I promise you this. You are just as much of a knight as she is. Because Asla? She falls flat on many of the vows we take as knights. She forgets to champion the vulnerable, to be kind and fair. Of course, it’s not my place to judge. But, then again…no one is perfect.”

Lellie offers gives me a grin, and she picks up the chest plate, holding it out to me in her firm grasp. “Talis, wear it tonight. Just tonight. See how it feels. And know that, someday, you will wear it for always.”

I stare at the chest piece, my heartbeat thrumming under my skin.

“This hurts nothing and no one. And it’ll give you the strength to keep going. To know that this will come to you. Eventually.” Lellie’s voice is quiet in the stillness. I can see Rane’s ears pricking through the hole in the floor, but she’s fallen silent. It seems as if the whole stable has fallen silent. I hear only the roar of my blood as I stare at the metal in Lellie’s hands. Stare at it, and ache for it with all of my heart.

“It’s just a costume, Lellie,” I protest—unconvincingly, voice cracking—and she shakes her head and holds the armor nearer to me. It’s almost pressed against my heart now, though there’s a small space between the armor and me.

A small space—but it’s still enough to say no.

Until Lellie clears her throat. Until Lellie takes a deep breath.

Until Lellie says, “This armor isn’t a costume. If you wear it tonight, Talis, it’s a promise.”

This is the moment, I realize from somewhere far distant. This is the moment, the decision that’s going to change my life forever. Don't be silly, the rational part of my brain protests. I shouldn't put so much weight on an inconsequential evening.

But something is waking up in my bones, a deep-rooted knowing.

If I take this armor, if I choose to wear it tonight…something’s going to happen. I don’t know what. I don't know if it's good or bad. But there’s possibility in the air.

Change is coming.

And because I’m hungry for change, because I’m starved for hope, and I want to believe that I can become this…I reach out with my hands.

I want the promise.

So I take the armor.

Lellie beams and nods, happiness rolling off of her in waves. “I’ll go saddle Rane, yeah? You get dressed; meet me in the stall.”

Lellie, of course, knows how to saddle a battle mare. Stablehands rarely accompany knights on campaigns, and not every knight has a squire, so the knights must know how to saddle a horse as expertly—and quickly—as I can.

I nod my agreement at Lellie. Now that I’ve made the decision, I feel strangely calm.

“Her parade blanket is in the tack room,” I say, as Lellie angles toward the stairs, gathering up her full skirts before she begins to descend.

She salutes and then drops down into the stall below.

With a sigh, I close the trap door, letting it fall with a thunk as I stare at the pile of armor.

And then I start to get dressed.

Stablehands don’t dress the knights, of course; they do that themselves. But I know how everything works. I’ve seen some of the knights put on their armor before, and it’s not so complicated. Besides, I’ve dreamed about it enough times. Does that count?

As I attach each piece of the armor, my hands aren't shaking. In fact, my hands go through the motions effortlessly. It’s almost as if I’m watching myself from outside of my own body, and I'm in awe of how swiftly I place each piece of metal, how naturally I tie the thongs, how easily the metal covers my body, almost as if I’m growing a new skin over the old.

It would be cliché to talk of caterpillars and butterflies, but that’s how I feel as I stand before the polished brass that hangs on my wall in lieu of a silver mirror.

The woman in the reflection—she looks like me. But not like the stablehand version of me. She looks like the me I’ve always wished to become. Seeing her now in the mirror…it’s surreal. A dream come true.

It feels good. Better than I ever imagined...

I touch my cheek with gloved fingers. The plain metal plate on the back of my hand whispers against the leather as I press fingertips to my jaw. I take a deep breath, trace fingers over my neck, to the metal collar at my shoulder blades.

The woman looking back at me in the mirror...

She’s a knight.

She's me.

“Talis?” calls Lellie through the closed trapdoor. “Are you decent? Rane’s all ready to go, and so am I.”

“I need to get out of this stall right this minute, so hurry!” huffs Rane.

I nod. My cheeks are pale, but there’s blood pulsing through my body, and a strange sort of bravery has begun in my bones, sending spirals outward. “Yes—I’m coming,” I call back, and then I cross over to the trap door, fling it open, and descend the stairs at record pace, jumping down the last two rungs.

I land in the hay and stand upright, my hands on my hips, and I lift my chin, grinning at both horse and woman.

Lellie was checking Rane’s girth, and she pauses, one hand on the saddle flap, to glance my way.

Slowly, softly, her mouth opens into a round O of astonishment. She remains that way for an endless moment, her eyes as round as buckets. “Talis…” she whispers, and then she smiles a soft smile, shakes her head. “It’s…you.”

“Of course it’s me.” I scratch at my neck, ducking my head, but I can’t hide my smile.

Lellie steps forward, placing her hands on my shoulders. “It suits you, Talis. This is you. You’re a knight. Just as I told you.”

“I doubt Magel would agree with that.” I raise a brow, but Lellie shrugs, takes a step back, and then grabs Rane’s reins from the pommel, pulling them over the horse’s enormous head and handing them to me.

“Good thing Magel’s not here then, isn't it? Let’s go. We’ve got a date with fun.”

I follow after Lellie, who opens the stall door, and Rane trots behind me, champing at her bit and prancing just a little. “Don’t overdo it, pretty girl,” I croon to her, reaching out and placing my hand on her neck to soothe her.

“I’ve been cooped up for moons, and you’re telling me not to overdo it? I’ve only been allowed to wander one small pasture. I’ve not been able to release my energy. And tonight? Tonight, I’m free again.” Rane sighs contentedly, and the moment we step out of the stable and into the twilight, she lifts her nose to the winds, and her nostrils are flaring; she looks as if she’s about to bugle triumphantly.

Lellie’s horse, Sasha, is waiting at the stable’s main door, tied to the hitching post. Her coat is a lovely palomino, the gold of it glowing in the soft twilit light. She’s about a hand taller than Rane, making her one of the biggest horses in the stable. She casts a sidelong glance at Rane and pricks her ears forward, lifting her nose to nicker softly.

“Long time no see, stranger,” says Sasha to Rane, tilting her head a little to the side. She gives a horsey laugh. “Going my way?”

“I see your jokes haven’t improved since we last chatted,” Rane retorts through bared teeth—because Rane is haughty and a bit of an ass at times. But Sasha, good-natured mare that she is, takes this in stride and simply chuckles.

“I don’t want to know what they’re talking about.” Lellie grins, and then she leads Sasha to the mounting block, hitches up her skirts and hops up onto the block. “Can you tell Sasha that I love her, and that she’s a very good horse?”

“She…can hear you. Horses understand people-speak. They’re the more advanced of the species, obviously.” I chuckle as Lellie grips the pommel of the saddle and then nimbly jumps onto Sasha’s back.

“Can you tell Lellie that I love her, also, and that she’s a very good human?” asks Sasha, craning her face toward me, over her shoulder.

I repeat the message, and Lellie puts her head back, laughing her bright laugh as she pats her enormous horse on the shoulder.

“This mutual admiration is making me feel a bit sick,” says Rane, slicking her ears back. “Mount up, Talis, or we are all going to die of old age.”

“You exaggerate. And, anyway, isn't there joy in the journey? You said you wanted out of the stall—”

“Talis.” At this point, Rane is more than little annoyed. She pounds her front hooves onto the ground and glares daggers down at me. “Get up,” she commands through clenched teeth, “or I’m leaving without you.”

I have no doubts that Rane would trot out of the stable yard and through Arktos City all on her own, and if that happened... Well, I'd have a lot of explaining to do.

At the moment, I’m wearing one of Asla’s cloaks, which conceals the armor in case anyone who knows me glances my way. But few of my fellow stablehands are around; most are in the mess hall, getting their dinner, along with the knights who aren't yet at the tournament. I suspect that the tavern, too, will be more or less devoid of knights, since the majority of them are preparing for the tournament. Those who are there will likely be too drunk to notice an impostor in their midst—I hope.

I bounce up into the air and grasp the pommel lightly, pulling myself into the saddle as smoothly as I can. Rane is very tall, but I’m used to mounting her this way for her exercises in the training ring. Still, I have to move myself as gently as possible onto her broad back, because I don’t want to disturb the babe.

When I'm situated, I glance down at my legs and can’t help but laugh. Rane’s middle, wide on any normal day (she does love her grain and mash) is, well, huge. My legs are spread so wide, I might be doing a split as I try to grip her belly and find my seat. I chuckle, leaning forward and patting her shoulder.

“Go easy with me, old girl. I’ve got nothing to hold onto up here. It’s like sitting astride a boulder.”

Rane snorts and bobs her head, tugging at the reins. “Let’s sally forth, or I’m going to buck you onto a real boulder.”

Lellie and Sasha lead the way toward the Happy Lioness, and I concentrate on keeping my seat. Mostly, I’m sliding around and just trying to stay on the horse. I’m fairly good at maintaining my balance on horseback, but even with my feet in the stirrups, nothing feels stable up here. Lellie couldn’t tighten the girth as much as she normally would; though the girth goes under Rane’s belly closest to her front legs, you don’t want to pinch a pregnant mare, so it is purposefully loose. This means that, with each stride Rane takes, the saddle moves around on her back.

Staying seated takes all of my concentration, which, I suppose, is a blessing in disguise. I have no time to consider how foolish this adventure is, or how much trouble I could get into if we are caught.

The twilight casts a purple glow over the landscape, and Rane arches her neck prettily, prancing, as I—a stablehand—sit on the back of a warrior mare, clad in armor that isn’t mine.

This moment is so fragile...

And far too easily, it could shatter.

Chapter 6

CINDA

“This moment is so fragile, pet.” Jeene’s trying to keep her voice light, but some emotion has sneaked into it. “So stay in it, yeah? Don’t think about anything else. Don't worry about anything else. We’re going to make the most of tonight, aren't we?” Her white teeth flash brightly as she smiles at me from the back of her horse.

I try to smile back.

Her speech was nice, sure, but…

“It’s a little hard to make the most of anything when a donkey is trying to kill you, dear Jeene.” I clutch my donkey’s mane, trying to stay seated, or—at the very least—remain off of the ground.

Riding a donkey wasn’t in my plans for the evening, obviously. But when we reached the livery stable earlier, this was the card that the gods decided to deal me.

My friend knows that I dislike horses, of course. She also knows that every horse I’ve ever ridden has had the same loathing for me as I have for it. I’ve been bucked off, reared off, even bitten. It truly seems as if, whenever a horsey-type creature glances in my direction, a thunderclap sounds: I raise my lip at him, he raises his lip at me, and mutual warfare is thereby declared.

Truth be told, it is probably a good thing that I don’t like horses. Because that reluctance to climb onto the back of one is what has kept me here in Arktos City. How might I go on an adventure without a horse? And that’s what I tell myself whenever my wanderlust acts up. I couldn’t get very far without a horse, now, could I?

Of course, a still, small voice inside of me argues with that sentiment. Argues that, with enough patience and training, I could become better at riding horses, rather than sliding about like a sack of flour in the saddle. Argues that this is simply another excuse I use to stop myself from doing something I want so very, very much…

Well, I try not to listen to that voice, because Goddess knows the bills must be paid, so the bread must be baked. And, after all, that voice is quiet. It’s easy enough to silence it.

As much as it hurts to do so.

I sigh and regard my donkey with hooded eyes.

Jeene swore to me, up and down, that she’d spoken with the woman in charge of the livery, had told her that her friend didn’t much like horses, was, in fact, unskilled at riding them, so could the stable owner please, please, please give us her calmest, most easygoing mount? I don’t truly believe that any horse—anywhere—could be categorized as “easy to ride,” but I went along with the scheme, because Jeene was hellbent on traveling to this distant tavern.

But when we arrived at the stable, the owner was nowhere to be found. There was, instead, only a young stablehand present. And when we glanced along the row of stalls, we realized that we couldn’t see any mounts at all. In retrospect, it makes sense: there are so many people in Arktos right now for the Hero’s Tournament; they had likely rented all of the beasts.

When the stablehand heard our story, she ran about the place, trying to locate suitable mounts—and returned, red-faced and panting, with the news that there were, in fact, two horses left, the only two horses remaining in the stable. She said, with her eyes downcast, that one of them would “probably” be calm enough for me.

Probably.

Hmm.

“Let’s not bother, Jeene,” I’d said then, with a shake of my head. “Let’s just go to the Steel Lily—”

“No. You need a grand night out to forget that miserable excuse of a lover. You need something different.”

So Jeene turned her fierce gaze on the girl—who paled a little, poor creature. “Are you sure,” Jeene asked, narrowing her eyes, “that you have no other beasts? Something more docile for my friend here?”

“Well,” the girl began, her voice uncertain. “We… We do have a donkey. He’s quite short. Perhaps that might suit the mistress?” She flicked her nervous gaze toward me.

“Yes!” Jeene clapped her hands, giving me her most winning smile. “A donkey. Of course! Donkeys are small. You’d be nearer to the ground.”

“Um...”

So it was settled. I’d ride the donkey, and Jeene would ride a horse—a tall bay beast. And Jeene would get a discount on her next rental because of the mix-up.

But when the girl brought the horse and the donkey out to us in the stable yard, I took one look at the creature I was meant to mount and felt my stomach drop.

“I...don’t think I can ride that,” I said quietly.

The donkey was ancient. And rotund. And angry. He kept snapping his teeth at the girl who was leading him, and when she came to a standstill before us, he caught a bit of her shirt in his mouth, tugging it back.

“He has no teeth, so if he nips you, it won’t hurt,” the girl promised. “His name is Cossie.” She dropped the donkey’s reins in my hand and sprinted back toward the livery stable, as if to avoid confronting our dismay.

“Well, shall we?” Jeene mounted her horse without need of the mounting block, an old wooden box that was nailed to the side of the building.

As for me... Every time I placed my foot into the stirrup to try and crawl on top of the donkey, he sidled away in the opposite direction, laying his ears flat back against his head.

“Jeene, can you hold the reins, keep him steady?” I asked, and Jeene obliged, catching the reins when I tossed them up to her.

Then I concentrated on mounting the damn beast, but now that he’d gotten wind of my fear and exasperation, he decided to use that to his advantage. It took me the better part of an hour to get into the saddle, and by the time I finally managed sit on him and wrap my hands around his mane, twilight had come and gone. The sky was now dark. There were magelamps along the street that cast a warm glow down onto us.

I felt more weary than ever.

But, finally, we began to ride, and every stubborn step of the donkey jostled me sick.

This was a very bad idea.

“How are you holding up, Cinda?” Jeene asks now, over her shoulder. She nearly always calls me pet, so her use of my name means that she’s worried.

“Fine,” I call out through gritted teeth. I don’t know much about riding horses—and even less about riding donkeys—but I do know that kicking them in the sides usually makes them go faster. Still, I’ve fallen behind Jeene and her mount, since it has taken all of my concentration to stay on this animal's back. It doesn't help matters that I’m wearing my fullest skirt, and my legs are slipping around the donkey's round belly...

“Good. Urge him to go a little faster, will you? We want to reach the tavern before our hair turns gray.”

I take a deep breath and tighten my grip on the reins. This causes the donkey to stop in the middle of the street, lifting his head and swishing his tail in apparent annoyance.

“Sorry, sorry,” I mutter, and then I drop the reins as I try to give him his head. Honestly, he’s a very old donkey; what could he possibly do? I wrap my hands in his mane (a difficult feat, as his mane is so short). “All right, donkey, sir.” I sit back in the saddle a little, the reins still lying on the pommel. “Giddyup! Or…hyah! Or…um...”

I don't know how to get him going again, because neither of those words worked at all. His hooves are firmly planted on the cobblestones, as if he doesn't intend to move a hair for days.

Jeene halts her horse and turns around in the saddle to glance back at me, one brow raised. “Really, pet, what’s keeping you?”

I shrug. “He stopped, and now he just won’t go again.”

Jeene circles her horse around until she’s standing beside me, peering down on the donkey and me with a bemused expression.

“He ‘just won’t go'?” Her voice is strained with suppressed laughter.

“Look, I’ve done everything I can think of!” I stare up at her, exasperated. “Can’t you just lead him with your horse, tether him behind you?”

“No. He has four perfectly usable legs. Don’t let him win! Just tell him to go.”

“Giddyup,” I say dully, digging my heels into his sides.

But the donkey stands as still as a statue.

“Oh, now, that’s just silly.” And Jeene stands up in her stirrups. “Hyah, small one!” she shouts, and she takes the end of her reins in one hand—and she lets them drop onto my donkey’s backside.

That’s when the evening takes a decided downturn.

Her reins swung down a bit harder than I imagine Jeene expected them to. And when they hit the donkey’s rump…

Well, he explodes.

The donkey, was, of course, standing still, refusing to move a muscle, but now, in this instant, he transforms into a rampaging beast. He bolts straight forward, and he begins to run.

I’ve never been on the back of an animal, horse or donkey, that went faster than a trot. And a trot, mind you, is difficult enough to sit.

This?

This is...brand new, to say the least.

The donkey isn't trotting or cantering; he’s flat out running, as if wolves are on his tail, nipping at his hooves. I almost fell off of his back in that first surge forward, but maybe because I had my fingers wrapped in his mane, or maybe because I’m gripping his barrel with my legs so tightly, I stay upright.

And he just keeps running.

Block after block of the city rushes by, and the donkey doesn't slow. I’m not holding his reins, I remember, astonished. I had assumed he’d ease his pace by himself after some distance. But, instead, he picks up speed as he rounds a corner, his hooves clattering on the cobblestones, his ears slicked flat on his head. He’s braying loudly as he runs—“hee-haw, hee-haw”—and every person on the street is looking and pointing at the spectacle of the runaway donkey, with a woman in a red dress clinging to his back.

Several bystanders are actively laughing at my predicament, the asses.

“Don’t laugh—help me!” I shout, but no one does a thing. Admittedly, years from now, I, too, might chuckle over the ludicrousness of this particular experience.

But in the present moment, I'm far too frightened to find any humor in it.

At all.

I’m near to the ground, true, but the ground is moving past so quickly. And then the donkey somehow, impossibly, begins to run faster.

Cossie the donkey is unmistakably angry as he hurtles through the streets. He doesn’t even seem to be looking where he’s going. He’s just...going. I try to grasp the reins with my hands still deep in his mane, but I can’t seize them, so here we are, one baker and one runaway donkey. My buttocks, I suspect, are about to be thrown end over end…

As if he read my thoughts, the wild little donkey begins to buck when we round the next corner. One moment I’m on his back, being tossed about like a sack of flour, and the next, his back end starts to pump me up into the air.

“Help!” I call out, digging my fingers deeper into his mane, holding tightly to the donkey’s thick neck. There’s terror in my voice as I yell, “Help me! Please! He won’t stop!”

My life flashes before my eyes (this involves, unsurprisingly, quite a lot of bread), and even as I cling tightly to the beast…I have a thought.

A thought that’s sharp and clear, and one that I can’t dismiss.

If this is the way that I’m going to die, bucked into the air and kicked from this life by a feisty donkey, that’s just...tragic. To die before I see any other parts of this world…

Well, that seems, all of the sudden, to be vastly unfair.

No.

I want to see the world.

I want that with my whole heart.

Newly determined, I try my best to maintain my balance, shouting out an occasional help, though nobody seems to have the inclination or the wherewithal to assist me. And every time Cossie and I pass by someone mounted on a horse, the rider is too shocked (or amused) to take any useful action.

I’m saying my final prayers, preparing my speech for the Goddess (“I didn’t want to go to that faraway tavern, but my best friend is stubborn, and I love her, and please don’t laugh, but I got bucked off of the donkey. Please. Stop laughing. Can you please stop laughing?”) when I hear something that draws my attention.

The donkey’s hooves make a tremendous clatter. He’s braying, as well, and if you’ve never heard a donkey’s bray, just imagine the worst person you’ve ever known laughing in glee after winning a hand of cards against you while said person steals the last pastry from your plate. A donkey’s bray is quite similar in tone.

But somehow, over all of that racket, I manage to hear other hooves pounding hard on the cobblestones behind us.

Someone is riding up—and fast.

Oh, Goddess preserve me, I might actually survive this.

And then, alongside Cossie, comes a horse.

This is not just any horse.

She is the tallest horse I’ve ever seen, a gray behemoth who towers over the donkey as if he’s a windup child’s toy. And this horse isn’t merely tall; she has enormous muscles, a long, flowing mane, and nostrils as big as saucers.

And there’s someone riding on her back.

I risk a sidelong glance, because if I’m going to die, I want to have glimpsed this person nice enough to try and rescue me.

And then...

Then...

Everything within me seems to slow down.

Because on the back of that massive mare sits a knight.

A knight of Arktos.

For half of a heartbeat, I look at the woman, and my mind assumes that the knight is—must be—Asla.

She is, of course, not Asla. It's just that the sight of armor causes me to think of Asla. This association will, hopefully, fade with time.

Regardless, the knight riding beside me, sitting expertly in the saddle, leaning forward over the mare’s neck and shoulders, urging her to run faster…is a perfect stranger to me.

There are some moments in life that seem to progress at a slower pace than others. It’s as if everything in the world goes about at its normal speed, but for a moment—a split second, really—you’re placed outside of that hustle and bustle. You’re situated in your own little world, apart from space and time.

That delicious, slowed-down sensation is happening to me right now. I stare up at this knight, taking in the short, shockingly red hair; the mouth drawn in a thin line of determination (or, perhaps, stubbornness); the blue eyes narrowed, unwavering. I notice things one shouldn’t notice—or care about—while clinging to the back of a runaway donkey. Like how the knight’s gaze glitters with intensity. I notice the strength of her jaw, the fluted curve of her nose, and how nimbly she hugs her horse’s sides with her thighs…

This is a perfectly imperfect moment for my heart to choose to skip a beat, but then again, my heart has never been the sort to time things appropriately.

The woman, brow furrowed with concentration, reaches out with a gloved hand, and then she’s seizing my reins and pulling her horse up, along with the donkey. Cossie brays one last time—explosively, as if he can’t hold the sound in—and then he’s sitting back on his hindquarters.

Just like that.

The mishap is over.

Cossie wrangles his head in anger as the knight slides easily off of her horse—her massive horse—her booted feet touching the ground as softly as if she were walking down a flight of stairs.

And then she begins to talk to the donkey.

“Softly, softly, friend,” she murmurs to Cossie, leaning down to press her forehead against his. “There’s no true cause to race through the city streets like that, is there? I think you know that. Yes, you know.”

I’m disheveled, breathing hard, my skirts a tangle around my legs, my hair falling loose from its braids. I ought to tidy myself up, ought to attempt to make myself presentable. But I can't; all I can do is stare, my cheeks flushed, my lips gently parted, because...

Her voice.

If velvet were a sound, it would be her voice.

If the richest cake in the world could make music, that would be her voice.

It’s warm and liquid, as inviting as a freshly baked pie.

I want her to sing to me; I want her to say my name.

I want…

Oh, no.

I…want.

Startled by myself, and more than a little appalled, I avert my gaze. It is, after all, rude to stare.

But just as quickly, that appalled feeling fades to…something else. I ask you: what does it matter that I was nearly tossed from this donkey to my doom? I’m as safe and sound as a babe now, and the reason that Jeene and I came out tonight was, in fact, for me to have a tumble. By that logic, it would be quite silly of me to ignore the feelings that have begun to rise in my womanly parts.

At this very moment, I’m staring at a woman I’d like to tumble with very much, thanks ever so kindly.

The knight pauses, cupping her leather-clad palms on either side of the donkey's fuzzy head. She’s staring down at him, her lips pursed, her head cocked, as if she’s...listening.

And then she nods.

“I understand,” she says, voice low. “But to run away with someone on your back… She didn’t deserve the fright you gave her.” Again, after she speaks, she stills, as if listening once more. I think she must be…talking to the donkey? I stare at her—I can't help but stare—though the woman isn’t looking at me; she’s watching Cossie's face intently.

Until, suddenly, she isn't.

Those blue eyes shift from his flaring nostrils and rise, slowly, to search out my gaze.

Minutes ago, I was breathless from near-death excitement. Now, well, I'm breathless for a different reason.

Those eyes? Yes, they’re blue, but that’s just a color. The sky is blue; that one descriptor doesn’t truly tell you what it looks like. If I said that the sky looked as blue as the first bluebells of spring, you’d have a better image of the sight. If I told you that the sky was as blue as milk in the dark, you’d know the sun had set, that the world below was hushed and quiet.

So I must expound about the blue of her eyes, because it is a blue that I want to remember.

Imagine the ocean. And imagine a storm, lingering along the edges of the sea, lightning dazzling, a constant shock; there's a powerful crackling in the air. And right where the ocean meets the sky, right at the heart of the electric storm…

That's where you'll find the blue of this knight's gaze.

I rest a hand on my heart. Where are these thoughts coming from?

I must be bewitched.

A spell must have been laid upon me...

“Milady…”

My eyelashes flutter in surprise.

“The donkey says you whipped him. Did you?”

I blink.

Oh.

Well...

That was not what I expected from her mouth.

Or, rather, it's not what I wanted from it.

“I...didn’t whip him, no.” I push the hair from my eyes, keenly aware of my untidy state. I push my skirts down, pull the top of the dress up, and shake my head. “I’m sorry, but…are you speaking to that donkey?”

She nods, though it’s a slow, distracted nod. “He says he took off because someone whipped him. He’s a little incoherent at the moment, granted. You should probably get off of him before he tries something silly again.”

I glance at the ground uncertainly.

And then, after a moment, the knight comes around to the donkey’s left side, holding out her arms to me.

“May I?” she asks.

Her short red hair, brilliant beneath the torchlight, was tousled by the run on her steed, and a shock of it falls in front of one of her eyes. She’s tilting her chin up, peering at me with a raised bow…

Oh.

Oh, my.

I swallow a lump in my throat, even as my traitorous heart skips another beat.

She’s young.

I’ve never been attracted to younger women before, never had a lover who was younger than me by more than a year, but if I were to guess, I’d think that this woman is in her early twenties.

That’s…odd for me, to ache for someone younger. But age is only a number, isn’t it? Or so the poets say. Still, I’m nervous as I glance down at her, at her arms outstretched toward me, waiting.

What should I do?

Once I turn on my charms, I know what I’m capable of...

Is this what I want?

Yes.

Oh, yes, most definitely.

This is what I want.

But is it right?

Hmm. What a fine conundrum to have ridden a donkey into…

“Milady?” the knight murmurs, and she cocks her head, her gaze as constant as a star, her smile nearly as bright. “Are you injured? May I…help you to your feet? Cossie told me that you weren’t much for riding.”

“Cossie…told you…” I glance at the donkey’s ears, still pressed flat against his head. “Well, yes. He’s right. I’m not much for riding.” My mouth smiles slowly and of its own accord. “Are you really talking to the donkey?”

“Yes.” A slight smile crosses her lips, too, and when she meets my gaze, there’s a bit of mischief to her expression.

“May I help you down?” she repeats, but the inquiry is softer now. Warmer.

“Yes. Of course. Thank you.”

She puts her hands upon the curves of my waist, and I lean forward, start to fall toward her.

The knight is strong; she catches my weight effortlessly, easing my leg over the back of the donkey and lowering me to the ground with a heartbreaking gentleness.

After the wild ride, I’m out of sorts—in both mind and body, I suspect. I reach up, tucking strands of hair back into the braids wound around my head. “Thank you,” I say, and then I stand a little straighter, gazing up at the knight who is still holding my waist and watching me with an expression that I can’t quite read. I realize, then, that I've pressed my hands against her metal chest plate.

“Thank you,” I repeat, smiling up at her, “for saving me.”

“Oh. Oh, yes. Of course.” She takes a step back, releasing me—and how cold the air feels after the heat of those hands.

I close my eyes and draw a deep breath into my lungs, cherishing this sensation of not moving. It is nice to be on solid, stationary ground. I thought I might never again feel the earth beneath my feet—not to mention this hot warmth curling in my center...

I gaze up at my rescuer.

There's no time like the present, after all.

If this is going to happen, it must begin now.

So, without delay, I offer the knight my coyest smile.

It's the one that involves me glancing up through my lashes—which are fluttering like moth’s wings—while I bite my lower lip just a little, breathing out through my nose. It's sweet...but unmistakably “come hither.”

And the knight before me?

Well, the most adorable thing happens—so adorable, in fact, that my heart skips three full beats in a row.

For the young knight’s face has turned a very unexpected shade of red.

Chapter 7

TALIS

I stare at the woman in the red dress and find myself at a loss for words.

The last several moments were ones I would never have been able to predict.

Lellie and I had nearly reached the Happy Lioness. We were chatting about—oh, I don’t even remember what it was now. Silly, simple things.

Rane had been quite good during the ride. She was, in fact, well behaved (which is something I didn’t think she was capable of on any outing), and our presence hadn't drawn any attention. To the rest of the city, Lellie and I appeared as two knights taking their warrior mares about town, and there was such a lightness in me. A lightness that I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

I had expected that I would feel like a child playing dress-up in the stolen armor. It had been exciting, though, so exciting, to don the metal pieces, to feel the metal warming with my own heat.

But there was more to it than that.

For the first time in my whole life, I felt like a knight. Or, at least, what I think a knight must feel like. I rode on Rane’s back, my chin held high, and a calmness and surety suffused me.

I felt as if...I had a purpose.

In the armor, I felt right.

As Lellie and I trotted through the familiar streets, letting our horses set the pace, we laughed at one another's jokes and relaxed in the saddles. For a moment, just a moment, I allowed myself to forget that Magel had told me, just a few hours before, that I couldn’t become a squire, let alone a knight. Not yet, anyway. I let myself forget that the other knights didn’t want me to be among them. That I must, somehow, prove myself, atone for who I once was…

In Asla's armor, I found that I could forget.

And so forget I did.

By the time we neared the tavern, I was in a good mood. Not the best mood, mind you: I was still wary about riding Rane, a horse who was not mine, and I was anxious about wearing stolen armor, so I was on alert—for knights, for curious passersby, for anything out of the ordinary.

And then, all of the sudden, something quite out of the ordinary occurred.

Lellie had lagged a bit behind, talking with a lost pedestrian. I, on the other hand, was about to make a turn when, on the crossing street, a donkey bearing a woman on its back raced by at the fastest speed its short legs could summon, bucking and braying in obvious distress.

At first, I thought the woman must be late for an important meeting, or, perhaps less likely, in the middle of a race of some sort. But those assumptions were quickly disproved, because the woman on the donkey’s back was yelling something…

And as I pulled up my mare, Rane’s heavy hooves coming to an obedient standstill, I clearly heard the word help.

After that, it took only a heartbeat to figure out that the frightened donkey was running away with the frightened woman, and the ordeal could end very badly for both of them. I didn’t think: my body acted on pure instinct. No sooner had I leaned forward in the saddle than Rane, the battle-hardened (and stir-crazy) warrior mare, was off, her powerful legs surging over the ground, devouring the distance between us and the corner of the street.

We whirled out onto the larger thoroughfare, and I bent fully over Rane’s neck, standing lightly on the balls of my feet in the stirrups, rising in the saddle until I was balanced atop Rane so that she could use her all of her energy to race ahead.

Though Rane is very pregnant, there’s little that can alter the deepest nature of a warrior mare. They have been trained from birth to help those who are in peril, and she was ready for this, her body beneath me vibrating with excitement. If, by some magic, the donkey had flung himself into the sky and sprouted wings, Rane would have figured out a way to pull the beast back down to the ground (likely making use of her wicked teeth).

Rane’s mane whipped me in the face, but I ignored it as I sized up the situation. We had quickly gained ground within only a few of Rane’s powerful strides. The woman on the donkey's back was, obviously, in a panic. From the way that she rolled about in the saddle, it was clear that she did not, in fact, know how to ride. This isn't uncommon in Arktos City. Many people don’t own horses because of how infrequently they have use for them.

My mind was, of course, trying to figure out the safest way to calm the situation.

But here’s something strange I must tell you...

The woman—dressed in a long red dress with a very full skirt—wasn’t sitting the donkey properly, and perhaps, since she wasn’t sitting the donkey properly, her rear was in the air much more than normally happens when one rides an animal…

And though I was racing down the street, working out how to save this woman's life…I have to admit, for a sliver of a second, I admired that woman’s fine rump.

I was mortified by myself. A knight attempting to rescue someone should never focus on anything aside from helping that person. But, in my defense, I didn’t think it so much as, well, feel it. Besides, anyone would agree: the lady was in possession of an absurdly fine rump. It was a very, very pretty ass.

I mean, the rear of the lady, not the donkey, of course. Though he was a fine-looking donkey, as far as donkeys go—no offense intended. I was simply paying much more attention to the lady than to her runaway beast. Though I needed to pay attention to the beast if I was going to save the lady, so I shoved all thoughts of derrieres from my mind and concentrated on my one searing purpose: I had to help her.

Rane pulled alongside the donkey, and I reached down and—shockingly—in a single motion, managed to scoop up the animal's reins. The donkey was reticent to cease his joyride, but after I pulled on the reins, the creature halted so suddenly that he fell back onto his hind legs. Rane, of course, matched his stride without my instruction, because she can be a good beast, when she so chooses.

I slid off of Rane and stood in front of the huffing donkey, leaning down to press my forehead to his in an attempt to instill some calm. His fur was soft, and he smelled of hay and the good, horsey scent of sweat. “Softly, softly, friend,” I whispered to him, and gently rubbed my forefinger against his nose. “There’s no true cause to race through the city streets like that, is there? I think you know that. Yes, you know.”

Rane snorted haughtily. “She speaks to us, Donkey, so don’t try anything stupid.”

The donkey gazed up at me, his damp sides heaving. He didn’t seem surprised by what Rane had just told him. “I don’t care if she speaks to buildings. I was eating my supper, and then this ass”—he rolled his eyes toward the woman still perched on his back—“rented me from the stable, and I didn’t get to finish my supper, I’ll have you know!”

“I understand,” I crooned to him gently. “But to run away with someone on your back… She didn’t deserve the fright you gave her.”

“She whipped me. That horrid thing whipped me, and it would have served her right if she went sailing through the air!” Now he sounded positively smug.

I glanced in surprise at the woman in the red dress. She whipped him? This was the first time I was able to get a good look at her. And, well, she didn’t look like the type who would whip a poor, defenseless donkey.

She didn’t look like that type at all.

In fact…

And here it came again, my body reacting hotly to the sight of her.

In my defense, I wasn’t thinking about the fact that her shining brown hair, thick and beautifully plaited, was wrapped about her head like the light from a goddess. I wasn’t thinking of how beautifully her curves were hugged by that scarlet dress—a dress which allowed much more than a glimpse of her décolletage.

If I were a poet, I might regale you with pretty words about her pretty breasts. But I’m not a poet, so I can only say that everything within me responded—wildly—to her perfect cleavage. I had to look away and swallow, twice, as if to break a charm that had been cast upon me…

To be succinct: she was beautiful in a way that undid me, and made me blossom with lust. Her soft mouth, open halfway in astonishment; her sparkling, quick-witted eyes… There was a sweetness to her, yes, but also a sharpness, and the union was so lovely that I felt my knees weaken.

So I did the only thing that I—in my stolen knight's regalia—could think to do. I took a deep breath and soldiered onward, forcing myself to ignore the feelings raging through my being.

I cleared my throat. “Milady…” I paused, stunned for a moment by her beauty. “The donkey says you whipped him. Did you?

The woman blinked, as if startled, and then shook her head adamantly. “I...didn’t whip him, no.” She stared down in obvious confusion, fumbling with her dress. “I’m sorry, but…are you speaking to that donkey?”

The donkey in question reached out with his gums and chewed on the edge of my glove. “My name is Cossie,” he said, “and tell the ass on my back that if she doesn’t get off of me right now…” His eyes glinted with malice; he didn’t need to finish his thought.

I made some comment to the woman about how she should dismount, but she glanced at the ground as if it were a faraway country she’d heard about but would never get around to visiting.

Oh, no.

I knew exactly what a true knight, if put in my position, would do here. Of course, I had never attended the teachings of knighthood, but I had heard enough banter in the halls and the stables. Now was the time to help the lady down from her mount, assuming she showed signs of requiring help. There was a complicated bit of code about how you must never assume anyone is in need of assistance (agency is a sacred thing to the knights), but there were subtle tells you might look for. And the lady before me was not exhibiting subtle tells so much as obvious signals. A donkey had just run away with her, and yet she had made no motion to remove herself from the animal's back.

She was practically dazed.

I took a deep breath.

This was, after all, a simple thing to do. And the feelings raging just beneath my skin, the instant attraction that rose inside of my rib cage the moment I gazed upon her—they were simple things, too, easy enough to ignore.

I wasn't a knight yet, but I had sworn to hold myself to the knights’ code from the moment I stepped foot in Arktos City. And I would abide by it now.

So I came alongside the woman’s leg, glancing up at her, and I lifted my arms, keeping my back very straight. “May I?” I asked. My voice shook a little, but the words came out so low, so husky, that they surprised me. I sounded as if I were attracted to her, damn it.

I was slipping up.

The woman watched me, and I watched her, and—for a very long moment—it seemed as if time had stopped.

The creature before me was curvy, soft, and sweet-smelling (like cake); I felt bewitched by the smallest details of her: the honey-brown ringlets by her shell-shaped ears; the faint lines at her eyes; the laugh lines by her mouth. Gods, she was beautiful, beautiful in a way that reached deep into the depths of me, like a fine song or a good dance.

Conscious of my duty, I cleared my throat again, cocked my head. “Milady?” I asked, glad to find my voice sure again. My lips curved into a small, curious smile. “Are you injured? May I…help you to your feet? Cossie told me that you weren’t much for riding.”

“Cossie…told you…” She regarded the donkey with obvious distaste. “Well, yes. He’s right. I’m not much for riding.” A coy smile spread over her face. “Are you really talking to the donkey?”

“Yes. May I help you down?” I asked, feeling the blood thrum through me as an expression of genuine wonder came over her face—along with a smile that warmed me from the inside out.

She had the sort of smile the Goddess must have had in mind when she first gave people the ability to smile. It was a smile so genuine, everything light in the universe appeared dim by comparison. She could outshine the sun.

“Yes. Of course. Thank you.” The woman made a nod of agreement, and then I reached up and placed my hands at the curves of her waist. I found myself gulping for air, because her warmth emanated through the fabric of her dress and the leather over my palms—and how soft she was! Gods! My fingers pressed into her, and her body gave gently beneath my hands. I was acutely aware of the breath hitching in my throat, and of how dry my mouth had suddenly become.

I lifted the lady into the air like a trophy, drawing her gently off of the donkey. Her weight in my arms felt right, as good as gold itself.

I lowered her to the ground and realized that I was gazing down at her face now, rather than up. The tip of her nose had a delightful upturn, and her skin was as pale as the moon—with a sprinkling of star-like freckles upon her rosy cheeks. Her eyes were framed by long, fluttering lashes that put me in mind of a butterfly’s wings, as rubbish as that comparison is. They were delicate, lovely, protecting eyes as green as gems.

Gods and goddesses...

I was smitten.

I’m a fast mover, it’s true; I’ve always been that way. When I see a woman I like, I tell her as much, and then we go away for a time to do lovely, lusty things to one another.

I know these feelings, know these aches.

Yes, this woman was beautiful, and I wanted her.

But there were stranger feelings inside of me, ones that I didn’t know, didn't quite understand. My heart felt too tight: there was a rising inside of me, something like...joy?

She began to tend to her hair distractedly, avoiding my gaze, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks. And when she looked up at me once more, I promise you, my heart began to stutter in my chest; I was worried that it might fail.

“Thank you,” she said simply, “for saving me.”

And she gave me a smile, a smile so good and true that I would have set my sails by it—if I were the seafaring sort.

I could feel my body drawing toward her, the way a tide pulls a ship, and so I did the only thing I could think to do: I stepped backward. “Oh. Oh, yes, of course.”

And then the woman gave me a different sort of smile.

A smile that would pull the sun from its orbit, that would coax every star down from the heavens—just for the chance to be closer to something so lovely.

My blush came suddenly, as quick as silver.

Here and now, cheeks burning, I stare at the woman in the red dress, unable to think of a coherent word to say.

She, however, does not share my speechlessness.

“What’s your name, lovely?” asks the woman, her voice amused, as bright as fair folk chimes.

I find myself swallowing, and then smiling; her brilliant presence is irresistibly infectious. “Talis, milady.” There’s a suggestive lilt to my voice, a bit of velvet, and it’s purposeful. I can’t help it, though I will help it, damn it, if this isn’t what she wants…

But I don’t think I need to worry about that.

Because her smile, while bright before, is incandescent now.

“Well, Talis,” the lady begins. She takes a deep breath, and my eyes, as if bidden, drift down to her chest, where the fabric strains tightly. “My name is Cinda. And I would like to repay you for saving my life—if I may.” There’s an unspoken question here, and, considering her grin, an unmistakable suggestion.

I’ll have to give dozens of bouquets to the Goddess in gratitude for the pure good luck of this night.

Earlier, life felt harsh and hard.

But now?

She likes me.

And I like her.

And is there anything so good and right in the world as when two women look at one another and see something beautiful?

And, to be frank, want to share a tumble?

There’s a clatter of hooves behind me; Lellie has finally caught up.

“Ho!” she shouts, as Sasha stomps over the cobblestones restlessly. Lellie glances down at me—and then at Cinda—in surprise. “Talis, what happened? I was stopped by a tourist for directions, and you disappeared—”

“All is well, Lellie.” I hold up a hand, gesturing toward Cossie. “This lady’s donkey took a fright and ran away with her, and I…stepped in to help.”

“You did?” Lellie's brows shoot up. And when she glances from Cinda to me, a knowing look crosses her face, and she smiles down at me like a satisfied feline after it’s eaten a bowl of unexpected, delicious fish.

“Ah. I see. Well...” She grins, and then she salutes me, hopping down from her mare in one easy motion, holding the reins as she peels off a leather glove. Once more, and almost exaggeratedly, Lellie looks from me to Cinda and back to me again. It seems as if she’s making her mind up about something.

Then she steps forward. “And who is this charming lady?” Lellie asks. She takes another step, bowing at the waist with a flourish, holding out her hand.

Cinda gives her hand to Lellie, of course, but it’s not Lellie she’s looking at, not even when the knight lowers her head and brushes her full lips against the back of Cinda’s fingers.

Cinda hardly acknowledges the caress, aside from displaying a soft, distracted smile that may have been directed at Lellie, though Cinda is still gazing fixedly at me. Her lovely red lips are slightly parted…

“Ah.” After Lellie wins no response from the woman, she straightens and chuckles good-naturedly, looping her mare’s reins around her palm. “I see,” she says again, smiling at me. “You must be grateful to my fellow knight here, lady.” Lellie’s voice belies slyness, and I blink once before realizing what she's up to. My eyes shift toward hers in horror. Lellie just called me her fellow knight.

I’m not a knight.

Though Cinda, I’m sure, has already assumed that I am, simply by looking at me…

Well, wasn’t that the point of the evening? To go about as a knight, to live, for just one night, as the thing I’ve always wanted to be?

Still...the lie feels wrong.

I don't want to deceive Cinda.

“Indeed, I am grateful. Most grateful.” Cinda casts me a subtle—though saucy—smile, before turning her gaze toward my friend. “And my name is Cinda, milady.” She drops into a curtsy, which causes Lellie and I, in unison, to raise our brows, because when Cinda dips low, her décolletage… I really must stop talking about it, but it’s rosy, expansive, and as inviting as a pillow. I have, I'm certain, never seen a pillow I wished to rest my cheek against more…

Lellie chuckles beneath her breath, as if she's reading my thoughts. She's familiar with the sort of woman who turns my head, so she must know that Cinda is the epitome of everything I adore.

The knight wraps an arm about my shoulders, lifting her chin. “Cinda,” Lellie says, her voice sweet, “it’s so good to meet you! Talis is my best friend, and she’s very brave, so it’s no wonder that she aided you during your”—Lellie glances at the donkey bemusedly—“adventure. Would you like to get drinks with us, perhaps—to celebrate?” She angles a thumb over her shoulder, and I realize that Cossie the donkey stopped very near the Happy Lioness tavern.

Is that a sign of good things to come? I try not to let my hopes rise too high, but Cinda's presence is helping me forget all about my disappointing conversation with Magel.

“Why, yes, I’d love to,” Cinda gushes, but then she starts and glances back over her shoulder, toward the direction she (and the donkey) came from. “It’s just… I was with a friend. We were heading to this tavern, actually. But I suppose the donkey outran her—little brat.” She frowns at Cossie, and he snorts, laying back his ears.

“The feeling is mutual, you ass,” the donkey drawls. Cinda can't hear him, which is probably just as well.

Cinda looks over her shoulder once more, watching the road—and, suddenly, her face lights up.

I am pinched, then—irrationally—by a jealous little imp. There isn't a jealous bone in my body, I swear, and I refuse to succumb to such a low feeling now... But I can’t help but feel a pang as a beautiful woman trots up to us on the back of a nag (who’s wheezing, as she’s obviously too old to trot down any street). This woman carries herself with an understated, regal bearing, and she seems to glow from within, a blue-gold light shifting beneath her black skin. She wore a worried expression when she first arrived, but this look quickly shifts to one of shrewdness as she glances between Cinda and myself—ignoring Lellie altogether.

“Oh, Jeene! It was terrible. The donkey wouldn't stop! But this knight,” and Cinda puts heavy emphasis upon the word as she gestures in my direction, “saved me! Isn’t that just amazing! We were talking about having drinks together.”

The stunning woman—Jeene, I suppose—grins widely and hops down from her mount. “That would be lovely, pet,” she purrs to Cinda, and the jealous imp stabs me repeatedly in the buttocks with its wicked pitchfork.

Jeene glances at me with both brows raised, and then her gaze sweeps my length, up and down. “My,” she says, drawing out the word as she smiles mischievously, “what an exquisite knight.” And then she looks at Cinda again—meaningfully.

Jeene could, of course, have meant that the night—the evening—was exquisite, but considering the fact that her friend nearly lost her life to a donkey's temper, it seems unlikely. Besides, that’s not really the tone she was using.

Cinda wraps an arm around Jeene’s shoulders—but, thank the gods, my jealousy is short-lived, and the imp dies a quick, necessary death. “This is Jeene,” she says, “my best friend in all the world. And, Jeene, this is Talis and Lellie.”

Lellie, who had been standing beside Sasha, watching the scene unfold, now claps me on the back. “Right. Since we’re all acquainted, let’s hurry up and get inside. I should have started drinking quite a few hours ago!”

We loop our mounts’ reins over the hitching post, and once I make sure that Cossie is fine (still annoyed, naturally, but in no danger of yanking free and gallivanting about town), the four of us enter the Happy Lioness together.

But Lellie pinches my elbow and pulls me back outside.

“You got her,” she whispers with a wide grin. “That is the perfect woman for you! You’ll have her in bed before the hour’s up—mark my words, Talis, my girl!”

“Lellie, she thinks I’m a knight—” I begin uneasily, but my friend’s hands are already at the small of my back, shoving me into the tavern.

“Yes, yes, but there’s no harm done. You’re never going to see her again, after all. Now, shoo!”

I’m never going to see her again.

My heart skips at the thought.

But...why?

That is the way I normally do these things. A one-night tumble, nothing more...

There’s a stage at the back of the Happy Lioness, intended for a troubadour, band, or minstrel. A lady singer fills the space now, accompanied by another woman seated on a wobbly stool, holding a small harp. They’re wearing complementary shades of verdant green, and the vocalist is singing—fittingly—about beautiful women.

The tavern is full tonight; the sounds of laughter and conversation nearly drown out the music. But though my eyes sweep over the room, though my ears are assaulted with all of the tavern's tumults and joys, though my nose takes in the scents of incense and spices, beer and leather, perfume and grease-soaked food...I truly only notice Cinda.

She walks ahead of me with surety, her chin down, and then peers up through her lashes at the barkeep as she leans on the counter, ordering four beers. The barkeep nods, eyes lingering over Cinda’s bosom.

Cinda glances at me over her shoulder, and there’s such a brightness to her manner, such a gaiety; everything else seems drab, nearly lifeless, by comparison.

Lellie drags me toward a table, because I am, admittedly, acting a little dazed. Jeene is already seated, and Lellie pushes me onto a bench, shoving me over with her hip so that she can squeeze in beside me. Jeene sits across from us, leaning back against her chair and steepling her hands over her flat stomach.

“So, Talis,” Jeene growls, her voice pitched low. “You like Cinda. No?”

I blink, startled by her directness, and even more startled by the predatory expression in her eyes.

“Yes?” I hazard, as Jeene leans across the table. She reminds me, in this moment, of a wolf sizing up her prey.

“Just know that, if you hurt her, I will hunt you down and make you wish your mother had never been born.”

Lellie hoots with laughter as Jeene settles smugly back into her chair.

I, on the other hand, am beginning to sweat—profusely—beneath my stolen armor.

When Cinda carries over our beers, placing them on the table with a flourish, I tear my gaze from Jeene to glance up at the beautiful lady in red.

“Here you go, Talis,” she murmurs, pushing a glass toward me.

I reach for it, and our fingers touch. Though my hands are bound in leather gloves, there’s a lightning shock when we make contact.

“A beer isn't much thanks for saving my life.” Cinda pats the top of my hand with lingering fingers. “But you have my...deepest gratitude.”

Jeene coughs, and I avoid glancing at her; she's clearly uncertain as to whether I’m good enough for her best friend. My eyes remain affixed to Cinda—Cinda who smiles at me as though my existence alone is something to be celebrated. Cinda, who’s leaning over the table, undoubtedly aware that her breasts are being presented to me like the goddess’s own fruit.

I pick up my beer and gulp it down, feeling my dratted cheeks betray me.

This blush could probably guide ships home on a stormy evening.

Chapter 8

CINDA

Oh, she’s blushing again! I nearly giggle with delight, but I rein in the impulse. I certainly don’t want Talis to think that I’m laughing at her. Instead, I cast a look at Jeene as I take the seat beside her.

My friend hides a smile behind her hand; she knows who I've set my sights on.

And what a sight she is!

I can’t believe my luck. I’ve been thinking about it, and, honestly, I’m all right with Talis being so young. She has a nobility about her, and this lovely earnestness that makes my heart thrill. There is nothing more attractive than heartfelt sincerity. And, you know...piercing blue eyes. And a gorgeous swagger. And a knightliness that makes my chest heave of its own accord.

And I may, or may not, be trying to use said chest to my advantage.

So this is the knight I’m going to tumble. She likes me, I can tell, and, oh, my goddess, do I like her. It’s as if fate has smiled down upon us.

I’m almost glad that Asla broke up with me this morning.

Actually, no.

I am thoroughly glad.

Because the knight seated before me, as young as she is, has more honor in her pinkie finger than that vain peacock who thought I’d grown too fat to share her bed.

The thought of her makes my blood boil!

But that's all past, and I won’t think of it anymore.

I take a sip of my beer, watching Talis over the rim of my glass. It’s strange, truly, how attracted I am to her.

I know when a woman is beautiful, and I know when a woman is my type.

This goes beyond all of that.

When I look at Talis, I feel...something new.

Which is hogwash, of course. Look at me, mentally expounding about things I don’t really believe in! Love. What a silly notion. Maybe, once, I believed that love was possible. I’ve had many good tumbles with many good women.

But love is too strong a word to apply to any of them.

And that’s not what I’m here for, anyway.

Even if I believed in it.

Which I don’t.

Obviously.

Ahem.

I take another sip of my beer before Jeene elbows me gently in the stomach. Then I blink, sitting up straighter in my chair. I think someone was talking to me... “I’m so sorry—what?” I ask, and Talis blushes more deeply, bless her.

“Do you come here often?” she asks—adorably—after clearing her throat.

The other knight, Lellie, chuckles a little, hiding a smile behind her beer glass as she glances at my breasts, which are being pushed up by the surface of the table.

I grin disarmingly and place my chin on my hands. “Did you really just ask me if I come here often?” I purr, my smile deepening. I feel as if my whole body is smiling. I chuckle a little, and then I let her gently off of the hook. “No, actually. As it happens, Jeene and I wanted to try something different tonight.”

“We had occasion to celebrate.” Her tone coy, Jeene glances sidelong at me.

And when I look at Talis now, I can’t help but chuckle again. Because Talis is staring at Jeene with a decidedly firm set to her jaw. Is she jealous? Jeene certainly thinks she is, because she’s embracing this role, wrapping a languid arm around my shoulders. “Cinda here is on the market, as of today.” She casts a quick look to Talis, who raises her brows.

“Oh, really?” asks Lellie, lounging back.

“Yes. She was dating a knight but ended things with her.”

Shocked, I shake my head at Jeene, trying to tell her that I'm uncomfortable with this lie, but she continues mildly, “It’s a good thing, believe me.”

Lellie leans forward now, the candlelight winking brightly off of her chest plate. “A knight? Oh, that’s delicious. Who were you seeing, if you don’t mind my asking?”

I bite my lip helplessly. “I’d…I’d rather not say,” I begin, at the same moment that Jeene says “Asla,” and then takes another sip of her beer.

The knights across the table from us sit up straighter. Much, much straighter. Talis exchanges a glance with Lellie, looking genuinely shocked—and, in truth, a little worried—but Lellie nods and trails a finger over her glass.

“Ah,” Lellie says simply, all lilts of amusement gone from her voice. Apparently the revelation of Asla's name wasn't as “delicious” as she had hoped. She doesn’t look at Talis, but she tilts her head in the knight’s direction. “Isn’t that interesting, friend?” she asks quietly.

Talis says nothing. She, in fact, is starting to look slightly sick.

“Do you know her?” Jeene’s voice is bright, too bright, as if she hasn't noticed the altered mood of the table.

“All knights know one another. Some better than others.” And Lellie glances to Talis, who’s suddenly very interested in her glass of beer.

For a long, awkward moment, no one speaks.

But then Lellie pulls off her gloves, finger by finger, and places them on her thigh, exhaling softly. “Well, I’m sorry that your relationship ended,” she tells me, smiling in sympathy. “That’s never pleasant.”

“Oh, it was a good thing, like Jeene said. Asla and I weren’t suited to each other,” I hear myself say, almost as if from somewhere far away. I’m too focused on Talis. Her bright red hair has fallen in front of her eyes, and she’s using her thumbnail to trace patterns in the beer glass’s perspiration.

“What about you, Jeene? Seeing anyone?” asks Lellie, chin cradled in her hands as she boldly flutters her lashes.

Jeene laughs warmly at the flirtation; she shakes her head. “Nah. I’m too busy for that right now.” Jeene’s reflexes are cat-quick as she raises her brows and tilts her head to one side. “Say, you’ve finished your beer. What a shame!”

“It is a shame,” agrees Lellie, enunciating every word and glancing at Talis. “I think Jeene and I ought to get the next round.”

“Fine,” says Talis, her voice low, almost a mumble.

And, just like that, thanks to Jeene's blatant ruse, Talis and I are left alone.

I lean forward, trying to catch Talis’s downcast gaze. “Talis…” I trail off as she looks at me. Her blue eyes are now dark and brooding. I don’t understand what caused her spirits to sink. “Did you… Did you know Asla? Were you friends?” I feel my throat tighten as I say the word, but I force it out, anyway: “Lovers?”

“No.” The response is quick, sharp.

Hmm.

Not friends or lovers, then.

So, enemies? Rivals, maybe? I thought there were no enemies among the knights; they’re such a tight-knit group.

There's a history between them, but I can't guess at what it might be. All I know is that I want those gorgeous blue eyes to light up again. So I clear my throat and summon a fetching smile—one of my best, I hope. “Talis,” I purr, and, again, she lifts her gaze to meet mine.

There’s hurt in her eyes. A secret pain. A torment. But as our eyes lock, her expression gradually softens. It’s almost as if she’s purposefully pushing the gray thoughts from her mind. Her smile starts out uncertain but soon grows warm.

“Are you seeing anyone, Talis?”

She shakes her head, pushing her hair out of her eyes and offering me an almost bashful smile. “No.”

I take a sip of beer and glance at the bar—and then, despite myself, I’m chuckling.

“What is it?” asks Talis, before looking toward the bar, too. “Oh, Lellie,” she mutters, throwing her eyes heavenward.

Our friends are nowhere in sight. Jeene and Lellie have disappeared as if in a puff of smoke—or, more likely, they simply left the tavern.

Purposefully leaving the two of us alone.

Talis leans back against the wall, laughing quietly. It’s a warm, throaty laugh, and I love the sound. But what I love even more is how Talis regards me across the table.

There’s desire in her eyes, bright and burning, as she places a hand over the armor on her stomach.

“It seems we’re left with only each other for company.” Her words are coy, but she looks uncertain, as if she’s not used to this sort of thing. Then she leans over the table with purpose, though, and I feel my heart flutter against my ribs.

Because, like a spark touched to a candle’s wick, there’s light in her eyes once more, and she transforms from inexperienced youngster to someone who knows exactly what she wants.

And all she has to do is give me a simple look in order to get it.

“Like I said before, I’m very grateful to you,” I breathe, licking my lips. “For saving my life.” It's the truth, and it's an invitation.

I watch her face carefully, trailing my gaze over her lips and the strong curve of her jaw, marveling at the unerring power in her stormy eyes. “I really can’t tell you how grateful,” I go on, tilting my head to one side.

And here’s my final hand. My goodness, I hope I don’t overplay it.

“But maybe I could show you,” I finish, exhaling softly.

Okay, yes. I definitely overplayed it. But who cares! I don’t, because Talis puts her own head to the side, and the smile that comes across her face is lush with innuendo.

“The Happy Lioness rents out rooms,” the knight says bluntly, her husky voice doing indecent things to certain regions of my body. “I could inquire about that... Since you were so kind to get our drinks.”

Without a pause, I nod eagerly, and Talis slides off of the bench to ask the barkeep about a room. My blood is racing, and I’m only slightly tipsy, but I do want to be at my best when we tumble together, because it’s really happening, the lady of my dreams—who just saved me from the back of a runaway donkey—is about to be my partner in a tumble that—is this a bit premature? Surely not!—will be legendary.

I’m already writing the ballad in my head about the impending, epic tumble when Talis returns, placing her hands against the tabletop and warming me with the sly smile on her face.

“Right this way…milady.”

Talis offers me her hand, and I place my own in her palm.

She’s still wearing gloves, and I must say that the sensation of leather against flushed and naked skin is incredibly sexy. The leather is warm, supple, and suddenly I feel as if I’m rising, ascending to the skies, a goddess with her fair lover beside her... Okay, that's a bit much, but I really am ascending, because we’re climbing the staircase that leads to the rooms for rent.

Talis places her other hand at the small of my back, arguably to guide me along the steps, but when her fingers close around my curves, I find myself giggling like a schoolgirl.

And then Talis’s hand drifts along the side of my dress and cups a buttock.

“You cheeky girl,” I laugh.

I glance at her over my shoulder, and my breath hitches in my throat; it’s a wonder that I’m not kissing her here and now, in view of everyone below.

Well...to hell with it.

Life is short.

I turn to face her, cradling her cheeks, and with Talis’s hand still clutching my ass, I dart close and kiss her.

She’s surprised, but not for long. Her body melts against mine, like chocolate warmed in a pan. Then Talis laughs, a low, throaty chuckle that reaches to the depths of me, bringing fire to my body.

“Let us to bed,” Talis murmurs at my ear, and I feel my heart surging beneath my breast. Goodness, I hope that organ is in tiptop working order, because I'm going to need it for the night to come...

To say that we enter the room Talis rented for us isn’t quite accurate—because she nearly breaks down the door as she pushes me against it, kissing me hard. The wood gives behind my back, and then I’m falling, falling into the room...

“Are you all right?” Talis asks, breathless, catching me around the waist.

“Oh, right as rain. Now—where we were?”

And then I’m slamming the door shut after Talis comes in, and I’m pushing her against the door, standing on my tiptoes, working my fingers at her armor. There is a frustratingly large number of bits and bobs and leather straps...

“I need you,” I pant to her, wrapping my arms about her neck and pressing my front against hers. “But…I can’t get in.”

She laughs again, and then she peels off her leather gloves, cupping my cheeks with her soft, hot palms. And when she leans down, brushing her mouth against mine, every feeling place in my body thrills—and demands quite a bit more.

“Yes, yes, hurry,” I groan, as Talis’s fingers work under the leather straps by her shoulders, connecting her metal chest piece to her shoulder pieces. But she stops short, her fingers closing over the small buckle.

“But I want you first.” She searches my face, her fingers falling away from the strap and encircling my waist. “Please.”

The please is less than a whisper: it’s a breath, as if it came from some place buried so deep inside of her that it’s never been touched before. I look up at her, surprised. The moment is fleeting, but I saw something in her, something genuine, true. How earnest and hopeful she is...

I tilt my head to one side, offering her my neck. “Be my guest.”

And Talis’s eyes are consumed with fire. She places her mouth to my throat, filling her hands with my breasts, as she pushes me back toward the bed. I fall onto it with a laugh. Wrapping my arms about her broad shoulders, I draw the knight down on top of me.

Talis trails kisses along the swell of my breasts, her fingers blazing trails upon my legs, drawing up my skirts...

I close my eyes in bliss and gratitude.

Thank the Goddess and any other gods listening…

But, unfortunately, they are not listening.

Because, at that very moment, there is a knock at the door.

Chapter 9

TALIS

I'm ready for this. For her.

I'm ravenous for her.

What I am not prepared for, however, is an interruption.

It comes in the form of a loud, sharp rapping at the door, and in the midst of a moment that was all softness and heat, the knock is a cold, harsh dragging back to reality.

I grit my teeth before glancing over my shoulder. We failed to bolt the door behind us, damn it.

“Not now!” I shout. “Please allow us some privacy!”

My words are, perhaps, a little louder than necessary, but I really wished to get my point across.

And now I turn back to the business at hand.

Cinda.

Oh, how beautiful she is, with her head lying back and her green eyes hooded, watching me; the hair in her braids has fallen into lovely disarray. Her mouth is open, panting, and her perfect body lies beneath my hands—

The knock comes again, more insistent.

I growl and close my eyes, breathing out steadily through my nose. “We’re in the middle of something very important—” I begin, but then a small, embarrassed cough sounds from behind the door.

“Milady knight? I’m sorry to disturb you, but—I need a moment of your time. Please?”

And then, after a beat: “Right now? Please?”

I groan, and make a decision quickly. The sooner I attend to the door, the sooner I can return to Cinda.

“This won’t take but a moment, lovely,” I tell Cinda, and I brush my mouth against her neck before pushing off from the bed, rising, and adjusting my chest plate so that it lies against my front snugly.

I cross the room and crack open the door.

“Yes?” I ask, and whatever I was about to say—probably something about poor manners—dies upon my lips. My irritation fades, replaced by simple confusion.

The woman standing in the hallway is hardly a woman, is really just a girl. She doesn’t even look old enough to be in the tavern, and her youth is made more obvious by the fact that her face is blanched, as white as a sheet. She keeps rubbing her hands together as if she’s cold.

“Milady knight, something’s happened. And you’re a knight. And we—we need your help. Down below. In the tavern.” She takes a deep breath, tries to calm herself. “Someone’s robbing the tavern. Please help us? You’re the only knight here. This is my family's tavern. Please, please help us.”

Her eyes are as wide as the moon, and, pinned to the spot beneath their anxious gaze, I feel myself starved for air—and trying hard not to show my own distress.

This girl doesn't know that I'm not a knight. I look the part, after all, so naturally people would look to me to perform the tasks reserved for the knights—such as protecting the people of Arktos.

“What do you mean, someone's robbing the tavern?” I ask stupidly, desperate for time, and to get as many details as possible before forging ahead into something I'm unprepared to face.

“Well, come, see for yourself.” She gestures a bit impatiently toward the staircase, then picks at the hem of her sleeve with nervous fingers, her eyes wide. “You must come quickly, milady knight. She’s going to take everything we have, and we don’t have much. We'll be ruined! We need your help. Please, hurry!”

I blink, and then I nod.

I reach over my shoulder and grasp at empty air.

There is, of course, no sword in the scabbard buckled onto my back.

Because I do not have a sword.

Each knight’s sword is bound—by magic—to that knight and that knight alone. Another person could attempt to use a knight’s sword, but the weapon will work against any stranger wielding it. The knights care for their swords with pride and even love, because the weapon is an extension of themselves, connected to their hearts by a spell woven on the day that they swore the vows of knighthood.

So I have no sword, and I never have.

Because I’m not a knight.

I stand up straighter, feeling the blood drain from my face. I have nothing with which to defend this tavern. And I don’t know what to expect down below, but if it’s a highwaywoman bold enough to come into Arktos, she is likely more skilled at fighting than me—a stablehand who spends the majority of her time mucking stalls and chatting with ornery horses.

Oh, what a mess this is. At the end of it all is my undoing. I'll be found out. The knights will say that I stole both mare and armor, and impersonating a knight must be a crime. I don't believe anyone else has ever dared to do it, because there are some things that are simply not done.

Lellie’s gone. She’s left the tavern.

Goddess, what have I gotten myself into?

All of these thoughts, worries, and regrets rush through my head in an instant, along with the futile wish that I hadn’t allowed a horse to talk me into a night on the town.

But I come to my senses almost as quickly.

Because this isn't about me.

At all.

There are people down below who may be in danger, and I have to help them—as much as I am able.

I glance back into the room wistfully. Cinda’s sitting on the bed, repositioning her skirts and the neckline of her dress. Her face looks as worried as I feel.

“Talis, what’s going on?”

I gaze at the beautiful lady I was about to bed, at her loosened hair falling in soft curls upon her shoulders. Everything about this woman is lovely, and I wanted… Oh, I wanted her so much. I wanted a tumble. I wanted a few hours' escape from my cares. But, in truth, I got more than that. Cinda made me feel something. Not lust, though I certainly felt lust. This emotion was something novel, something deeper...

And now our time has run out.

And I feel swindled.

“I’m sorry, Cinda,” I murmur, glancing about the room for something, anything, that I might use as a weapon. The furniture here is sparse: a bed, a trunk, a washstand. The bed is made out of thick unfinished logs, and I wonder what’s supporting the mattress... I cross the room, offering my hand to Cinda, which she takes with troubled eyes as I draw her to her feet.

“There’s been a disturbance down in the tavern,” I explain, and kneel down on the floor. “I’m needed.”

“Oh,” says Cinda, understanding and disappointment evident on her face.

Heartsick, I tear my eyes from her and concentrate on the task at hand. It’s the work of a few moments to shove away the thin mattress and discover, as I thought, that there are slats resting against the logs on either side of the bed. I pick up one of the rough wooden slats and break it over my knee, creating a pointy dagger.

Good. Now I have a sharp stick. That’s helpful.

I draw in a deep breath and stand, feeling a little woozy as I try to remind myself that a pointy stick is better than nothing, just like I’m better than nothing—even though I’m no knight.

…right?

Cinda rests a hand on my arm. “Don’t...um, forget your gloves.” She looked as if she had been about to say something else but changed her mind midsentence. She gives me my gloves before taking up the other half of the broken slat.

“I’m good with a rolling pin,” she says, winking.

And there’s that winsome smile again. It almost distracts me to enough to ignore the fact that she intends to follow me downstairs.

She wants to help.

She's going to place herself in danger.

“Oh, lady, I can’t ask you to—”

“You didn’t ask me, did you, silly knight? Now, we need to take care of whatever's going on down in the tavern so that we can get back to what we were doing—as swiftly as possible.”

And just like that, my whole body flushes.

Well, I have to admit, she’s making me feel a bit surer of myself. The truth is, I'm no stranger to combat. I train every day, and don’t I spar with Lellie often enough?

I glance at the broken bed slat in my hands and take one last deep, determined breath.

All right.

Let’s do this.

I nod to her, and then I toe the door fully open. The girl on the other side takes a step back and gapes at me, forehead creased. “Milady knight, where is your sword?” Her dinner-plate eyes latch onto the piece of wood in my hand.

Time to lie.

“I left it at the barracks. I didn't expect to need it this night,” I tell her flatly, and I can’t help but wince. Everyone knows that a knight never leaves her sword behind, no matter where she goes…

I am not a good liar.

The girl seems dissatisfied by my explanation, but with a shrug, she turns and leads the way—on quiet cat feet—down the hall.

Following her, I grip the slat so hard that small splinters dig into my sweaty palm. I’ve never done anything like this before. People's lives may be at stake. What if—

And that’s when we reach the top of the stairs.

Down below, the tavern patrons have fallen as silent as the grave. The hush and stillness is eerie, wrong, in this place of frolic and merriment. But as we watch, the silence breaks: my attention snaps to a woman who yells at the top of her lungs—“Empty every purse and pocket!”—and leaps onto a table.

I can't breathe.

I can't breathe.

I try to gulp down air, but my throat is too constricted, and there are spots floating in front of my eyes...

It’s not possible.

No, no, no.

I stare—I can't look away—as the woman whirls with a flourish; her chestnut cape flares dramatically behind her. She tips her head to one side, eyes flashing with a brilliant blue fire.

As theatrical as always.

I suppose some things never change, I reflect dolefully.

This highwaywoman standing on the table—brandishing a sword as she sweeps and spins and shouts, threatening the crowd—is my sister, Tahlia.

With a shrewd glance, she notices the three of us on the staircase, and her eyes, as if by force, lock with mine. The look we share speaks volumes, encompassing two lifetimes of love and loss.

I haven't seen my twin sister Tahlia in three years. I was nineteen when I left home, and I’ve changed fundamentally in the time we've been apart.

Tahlia has probably altered in some ways, too.

But the essential parts of us can never die. And, for Tahlia, that essential part is her, well, Tahlia-ness.

Because her mouth widens into an impish grin, and she drops into a low, sarcastic bow, encouraging her cape to soar out around her as she turns her hand in the air.

“Why, hello, knight.” Her eyes twinkle with wickedness. “Have you, by any chance, come to vanquish me and save these poor, innocent folk from my dastardly deeds?” She snorts, amused by her own histrionics.

I breathe out a shallow sigh and grimace at my sister, the thief.

We’re twins, though we look—and act and think—nothing alike. For nine moons, we quarreled in our mother’s womb, tumbling about, tussling, hating every moment of our confinement together.

And, after we were born, things only got worse.

Even as infants, Tahlia and I were competitive. We fought over every plaything, and we nursed with a stoic stubbornness, glaring into one another's eyes hatefully as our mother laughed and laughed.

Our sameness ends with our matched height and our deep blue eyes. Whereas I have untameable red hair, Tahlia's mane is a rich mahogany so fine and shining that she could use it for currency. Her body bears curves that mine never grew; I’m fairly straight up and down in proportion. To be truthful, I think Tahlia's very soul is made up of curves. She’s charismatic to a fault, and can typically convince anyone to do anything for her.

She also has a flair for the dramatic—as indicated by her current ensemble: black breeches beneath black boots that rise up to her thighs; a black corset over a poufy-sleeved white blouse; and, of course, that shiny cape. Her hair tumbles in gleaming waves down her back, and her rouged mouth is twisted into a wry—but somehow pleased—grin.

Tahlia and I say nothing for a long moment, as we're each daring the other to break the silence.

I move down the staircase carefully, one step at a time, keeping Tahlia within my sights. I’m still holding the slat, but it strikes me as even sillier now than when I wrested it from the bed frame. Tahlia’s sword could make quick work of this wooden stick.

When I reach the floor, my heart is pounding harder and faster than that of a spooked horse.

“Lady knight!” the barkeep calls out, looking flabbergasted. “Where is your sword? You must have a sword! This is the Fox Queen!”

I glare at my sister, holding tighter to the slat as she lifts her chin, defiant, then chuckles a little beneath her breath. She pounces with catlike grace to the floorboards, and she places the blade over her shoulder, cocking her head as she takes me in, one hand on her hip.

“I need no introduction, my good woman,” Tahlia advises the barkeep, though her eyes are trained on me. “Especially to this knight.”

I glance past Tahlia to determine whether any of the robbers have accompanied her, and of course they have; Tahlia would go nowhere without them.

Yeri guards the front door, her thick legs spread as wide as her hips, the tip of her massive broadsword, which is gripped by its pommel in her large hands, pointed toward the floor. Her muscled shoulders curve forward, imposing. I notice that her salt-and-pepper hair is shorter, and spiked, and she has a few more scars marking her bare bronze arms and face. She’s surprised to see me: her one good eye is wide.

Yeri taught me combat when I was a young pup; she was my confidant and friend. She was also my mother’s lover. My mother cherished her. Seeing Yeri now, I’m struck with a pang of homesickness stronger than any I’ve felt for years. But I shake it off, must shake it off. There's no returning to that life for me.

I soon locate the other usual suspect: Bay, Tahlia’s right-hand woman, and her best friend since all of us were children. Bay and I have never seen eye to eye; she always sided with Tahlia in every argument. When I was younger, I actually found her stubbornness to be a bit attractive, and I tried, in vain, to impress her. Gods, Bay is gorgeous, and she seems to grow prettier with each passing moon.

Her blonde ringlets are swept up into a long ponytail, her eyes are as blue as the morning sea, and her lovelier-than-can-be-expressed curves are filling the hell out of a forest green dress. She’s poised behind the bar with her hands in the tavern’s moneybox, and when our eyes meet, she gives me a brash grin.

Great.

The gang’s all here.

Of all the taverns in all the world...

As if she's reading my thoughts, Tahlia drawls, “Fancy meeting you in a place like this.”

I grip the end of the slat and raise it toward her, my mouth set in a thin, hard line. “Why are you in Arktos City? You know how dangerous it is, robbing a tavern within the city walls. This is a fool's heist.”

Tahlia shrugs languorously, and, in so doing, she allows the sword’s edge to slide off of her shoulder, bringing it down to level the point of the blade in the general direction of my heart. The gesture is threatening but lazy; she actually yawns, placing the back of her leather glove against her red mouth. “Oh, sorry. Were you saying something? I'm afraid I was too bored to listen.” A wicked smile slides over her lips. “Do you really think you're going to stop me? You, Talis? Truly?”

I don’t speak, don't move.

The truth is, I have no desire to fight my sister, especially not here, in front of so many people. But I can't let her hurt anyone.

Granted, it was never her style to physically harm the victims of her robberies, and I can only assume that's still the case.

Mother taught her well.

Oh, gods, did I really just think that?

I suppose, when you’re the daughter of the greatest Fox Queen of them all, you tend to make allowances other people might not.

So there it is: my secret. This is why the knights don't want to let me join their ranks—because of who I am, what I once was, and the family I was born into.

For I am the daughter of Thea, Fox Queen, the empress of all thieves. I was born and raised in Fox Palace, at the hidden heart of Fury Wood, and I was groomed from the day of my birth to take possession of the “throne” of thieves. My mother, Thea, wasn’t a queen in the true sense of the word, but she did reign over the other robbers.

There is a long and illustrious legacy of Fox Queens, a title transferred from mother to daughter throughout the centuries. The Fox Queens have enjoyed a reputation across Arktos for being wild, stealthy, and unbeatable. By the time my mother inherited the name, however, her manner had gentled, and her plots were quieter, more strategic—but more ambitious.

And, as a result, her heists became legendary.

After she gave birth to Tahlia and me, Mother instilled in us the desire to work for the common good of the rest of the robbers, women who we had picked up along the way, women who were good at stealing or conniving or who simply needed someplace to call home. Mother had a big heart, and Fox Palace was big, too, and hidden well. So, in effect, she gifted Tahlia and me with a patchwork family: a group of women who would, quite literally, die to protect us, because they loved our mother and vowed to be loyal to her until their very last breaths.

I was taught how to steal, how to pick locks. I learned the tricks of highwaywomen and of the greatest thieves. My talent was in stealth, so I rarely carried a weapon, not even a knife. I was naturally good at my job, and since Tahlia and I competed for Mother’s praise, I pushed myself to become even better. Neither of us knew how Mother intended to divide her kingdom, or who would inherit the title of Fox Queen, so we were constantly trying to one-up one another.

Until that terrible night when I was eighteen.

The night that changed everything.

I pale at the memory and squeeze my jagged slat tightly. I don’t want to think about that night. And I won't. I push it from my mind, force myself to act the part of a knight, despite the fact that I'm only masquerading as one.

“Tahlia, you won't rob this tavern,” I say simply. “Not on my watch.”

My twin stares at me, and she almost looks surprised by my unyielding tone. But the surprise quickly gives way to another wide, wolfish grin.

“My dear, I don’t care whether it’s your watch or the watch of a skinny old tomcat. I came here for some fun, and that’s what I’m going to get.” She glances over her shoulder at Bay, who’s tying a bag of coins to her belt. The two women exchange meaningful nods.

They’re going to take all of the coin from this tavern and then disappear without a trace, because that’s what Fox Queens do best.

“No.” I place my broken slat along the flat of her blade in clear challenge. Her metal, my wood, connecting us for only an instant—and then Tahlia lets out a snort and steps close to me, her smile sour.

She pitches her voice low. “Listen to me, Talis. This isn't a game. You need to—”

And that's when Cinda comes rushing forward. She’s gone from so-quiet-I-forgot-she-was-here to yelling something unintelligible but unnerving at the top of her lungs. She’s brandishing her half of the bed slat in her hands, and as she advances on Tahlia, I am shocked to see my sister, who has never quailed before anything, take a step backward, her mouth forming a round O of astonishment.

The element of surprise.

Cinda lifts the bed slat over her head, exactly like a sword (or a rolling pin, her apparent weapon of choice), and she brings it down—hard—toward Tahlia.

Tahlia moves on instinct, blocking the strike with her sword.

And when Tahlia’s sword comes up once more, the bed slat is slashed in two. It splinters apart in Cinda’s hands, and before Cinda can react, Tahlia strides toward her with a dancer’s (or a thief's) grace. She wraps an arm around Cinda’s shoulders and spins her around, so that Cinda’s back is held tightly against her front…

And Tahlia’s blade is poised at Cinda’s throat.

I gape at my sister, who holds the woman I was kissing only minutes ago in a near-deadly embrace, the sword pressing delicately against Cinda’s milk-white neck.

This is a nightmare.

Everything is happening far too fast.

I’m caught up in something I could have never predicted… But that’s been the whole bloody day, hasn't it? For better and for worse.

Tahlia raises a brow with calculated elegance, her grin deepening as her blue eyes bore into mine. She’s considering something, I can tell, as she watches me and then glances down at Cinda.

Her smile becomes shrewd.

“You've lost, knight,” she says, loud enough for all of her hostages to hear. They’re staring at me, I realize, waiting for me to act, as any true knight of Arktos would. I don’t think my sister will kill or even wound an innocent...but I can't be certain about much when it comes to Tahlia. It's been years since our last interaction. Maybe she's changed, grown coarse, cruel...

“I think,” Tahlia announces thoughtfully, theatrically, “that I'm going to take this lady with me. For...ransom.”

“Ransom?” I hiss, then shake my head, dropping the slat at her feet. “No. Let her go. She’s done you no harm.”

My sister’s grin deepens.

And, with a sinking feeling in my gut, I begin to understand.

Tahlia was always able to read me better than I could read her.

“Well, you know, if you're truly worried about this lady’s fate, dear knight,” Tahlia purrs, smiling at me knowingly, “you are free to accompany her—to make certain that she is treated fairly.”

I wince.

When we were kids, Tahlia and Bay and I used to race one another through the forest surrounding Fox Palace. We each took a different path to reach the designated ending point. In my desperation to win, to beat Tahlia, I would often loose my footing, trip on a tree root or stumble over a rock, and fall flat to the ground, effectively knocking all of the air out of my body.

Then, of course, Tahlia would win the race.

And that's how I feel now: as if I have no breath in my lungs, and no chance of besting my sister.

My face hardens.

Three years ago, I left the family, forfeited the Fox legacy, and my sister, for whatever reason, was displeased with my decision. Now she's using Cinda to blackmail me into going back with her. Back to Fox Palace.

Back to the life I gave up.

I stare at Tahlia, and she stares at me, waiting for my response to her “offer.”

But then I look to Cinda, pinned in place, a blade gleaming at her throat.

Her eyes are gem-bright with fury.

“Talis,” she forces out through gritted teeth. She takes a deep breath, and this draws the sword’s blade tighter against her throat, but she doesn’t even flinch.

“Don’t you dare go along with this highwaywoman—do you understand me?” Cinda huffs. “I’ll figure something out. I always do.” She lifts her chin resolutely. “I can get out of this.”

Tahlia barks out a laugh. “Oh, milady,” she whispers into Cinda’s ear, glancing at me darkly, “you’re not going anywhere.”

“Stop.” My hands are balled into fists at my sides. “Just…don’t harm her. I’ll come with you.”

A hushed wave of exclamations surge through the crowd.

“But, lady knight, this isn’t, uh...” the barkeep begins to protest, looking at Bay as she rounds the counter, hips swaying, the coins clinking loudly in the bag that hangs from her belt. “You’re going to stop them. Aren't you?”

My gaze flits around the tavern, taking in all of the people watching me, expecting me to right these wrongs and restore the peace. “I’m sorry.” My heart pangs. “I can’t allow these bandits to take a captive. I have to go with them—”

“But what about my money?” the barkeep moans.

“I’m sorry—”

“Let's go.” Tahlia jerks her head toward the door, and Yeri and Bay move swiftly toward it. It’s like watching a dance in reverse, the way the two of them dissolve through the now-open doorway. Cinda takes small steps backward as Tahlia drags her along, the sword still pressed to her throat.

“We’ll meet you at the Nymph Tree, knight,” my sister announces triumphantly, and then disappears from view. By the time I’ve run to the threshold, the thieves and Cinda are, of course, nowhere in sight. A Fox Queen is never seen if she doesn't choose to be.

I groan in frustration and race over to Rane and Cossie, both still tied to the hitching post.

“What was all that about?” Rane’s voice is curious but not especially concerned as I leap onto her back, pulling Cossie along by his reins.

“This is a disaster,” I mutter to myself, and urge Rane forward. She takes off at a brisk trot, but she angles her head, flicking her ears front and back, waiting for me to finish my thought. “We have to get out of the city, Rane. Fast. She took Cinda.”

“Who took Cinda?”

“My sister,” I tell the horse through gritted teeth.

Chapter 10

CINDA

To say that I’m annoyed might be an understatement.

In fact, I’m not annoyed.

I'm pissed.

“Unhand me right this minute!” I command the robber. I try to wiggle out of her grasp, but she's too strong; she grips my upper arm with immovable fingers. Before I can make a further attempt at escape, I realize that we're already out of view of the tavern—how did that happen so quickly?—and are getting farther and farther away from the magelights of the streets.

And farther and farther away from Talis.

“Come along, dear lady,” the woman clutching me purrs. She doesn’t so much speak as purr, I've noticed, like an overlarge cat in a perpetually good mood.

If I weren't in my current predicament, I might actually find this quality attractive. But I'm being kidnapped, so all of the woman's attractive traits are neutralized by the ass-like ones.

“Don’t worry—we won’t harm ye, lass,” comes a baritone voice beside me. I shift my gaze to take in the woman who had been guarding the door. She looks like what might happen if a hundred-year-old tree decided to become a person made of pure muscle.

Shrugging, she glances at me with her one good eye. “Go along ye must, but if ye go quietly, no harm will come to ye.”

“Let’s not make promises we can’t keep, Yeri. She’s already getting on my nerves, and we’ve only just become acquainted.”

I laugh humorlessly. “Sorry if my manners are a bit lacking, but I'm not fond of being kidnapped, you see.” I try to stomp on the thief's toes, but I’m wearing delicate slippers and, well, she’s wearing battle-ready boots.

She ignores my feeble attempts. “That knight you were with…” My captor's voice is careful, thoughtful as she shoves me into an alley. “Is she your lover?”

“What?” The question is so strange that I stumble over my own feet. “Why would you—” But then a hand comes over my mouth, muffling my words.

“Hush, now. We’re close to the wall.” As the robber breathes into my ear, I’m struck by the sensuous warmth of her breath; it smells like a spice I’ve never scented before… And, I assure you, I’ve scented most every spice in the land.

The scent is strong, hot, good, and there’s something about it that reminds me of the knight I just held between my thighs…

In vain, I try to struggle out of her grasp, because I’m not enjoying the fact that my body is responding to the devil-may-care attitude of this kidnapper. I am in no mood to be trifled with, regardless of how turned on I was before the robber interrupted my tumble.

Yes. That’s it.

I was turned on and wasn’t sated, and now I’m being whisked off into the night by an incredibly attractive highwaywoman who purrs into my ear like a cat in heat.

That would confuse anyone, surely.

“We’re close, Queenie,” the tree-like one, Yeri, murmurs. “What's your plan?”

“Oh, you know me,” the highwaywoman purrs in response, her voice a wicked smile. “I like to make things up as I go along.”

Yeri snorts. “You’re your mother’s daughter, rest her soul.”

“Rest her soul.”

Within a few more paces, the four of us reach the wall surrounding Arktos City; I had no idea how close the tavern was to the wall—a solid, imposing mass of stone that rises to meet the stars above it. I swallow, glancing backward now at the woman gripping my arm.

Her hold on me has lessened somewhat. This close to her, I’m able to make out details that were impossible to see in the dimly lit tavern.

Proximity is kind to her, and shows me a gorgeous woman.

She's...ferociously gorgeous. I would never have thought to use that description for any other lady, but it suits her, for ferocious, she is.

She has long chestnut hair falling in waves over her shoulders, a sumptuous mouth that smiles wryly and often, a body with curves that must tempt any eye, and a sharp blue gaze sparking with cleverness.

Her hands are long-fingered and firm, and, my goodness… There is something about her that reminds me of Talis, though I can’t quite place my finger on what that thing is. Maybe it has to do with her bearing, or the line of her jaw...

She’s terribly attractive, to be blunt, and I hate that I’m so keenly aware of that fact.

“Please let me go.” I lick my lips, realizing suddenly that my mouth is as dry as dust. “I’m no good to you; you have to understand that. You can’t ransom me. There is no one to ransom me to.”

“She’s not ransoming ye, lass,” sighs Yeri quickly, her words soft and easy, but the woman gripping me glares daggers at her, and Yeri falls silent.

“We have no time for this. Yeri—the ladder.”

Yeri shrugs uncomfortably, but she waves her hand over a patch of the wall before us and—as if magicked out of thin air—a rope ladder appears, dangling limply against the stone.

Oh. I suppose it was magicked out of thin air. There’s a scent of fire in my nose, or—no, it's more like that little bit of smoke a spark makes when it touches the hem of your dress. Sharp and acrid, the scent of magic…

“Hurry,” the robber tells the third woman, the shorter one with the blonde hair, who ties her skirts to her belt and ascends the ladder at a dizzyingly fast pace.

“After you,” my captor purrs to me now, shoving me at the tangle of rope.

I stare up and up, hesitant.

“I… I’ve never been out of the city.” I wince, abashed by how meek I sound. Not that I should care what this devastatingly gorgeous highwaywoman thinks of me, granted. But, if the truth must be known, I’m not fond of heights. At all.

To my surprise, the robber's sharp gaze softens a bit as she peers at my face.

“Queenie.” Yeri leans close to her, her face deeply etched with worry. “You know we needn’t take her. Talis will come out to meet us all the same, and then ye can talk to her as ye wish. This lady needn’t be involved.”

For a long moment, the robber says nothing, staring up to see that the blonde woman has vanished from sight. “I’m afraid that I have no choice, Yeri. We don’t know for certain if Talis will come. And she must.”

I blink, confused. Why does she want Talis to meet with her? I could only catch snippets of their conversation in the tavern; my heart was beating so loudly in my ears, and, at times, the women's voices were pitched too low to hear. It did seem as if they were acquainted with one another... But I assume that knights and vagabonds cross paths rather frequently.

The highwaywoman turns to me, shaking her head briskly. “I’m sorry, but you have to climb. And now, before we’re spotted. We have lingered too long already.” Again, she pushes me toward the ladder—though, this time, she does so gently.

I stare at the rope rungs before me, hands fisted at my sides.

Resolve firms up inside of my chest.

It’s not just that I'm afraid of heights, you see.

This really wasn't the way I wished to leave my city for the first time. I've imagined it often—my grand adventure to experience the outside world—and in my imaginings, I was always seated in a tufted carriage, not accompanied by a band of thieves. As a kidnapping victim.

My frantic mind races. The woman released me so that I could climb: I'm no longer being held, no longer restrained...

So just like that, before I can second-guess myself, I turn, and I sprint down the other side of the alley, away from the ladder and the robbers.

Away, into the dark.

I don’t think either of the women was expecting me to run, so surprise might give me a slight edge. I'm not the fastest horse in the race, it's true, but don’t we always put our money on the one who has the hardest odds against her?

I run faster than I’ve ever run before…which is fairly fast, since I can’t remember the last time I moved at more than an anticipatory trot toward an oven full of cakes that needed pulling out.

However, within a few heartbeats, the robber woman looms in front of me, her cape flaring dramatically at her back as she regards me with a smirk.

I run smack-dab into her arms.

There is force on my side, and my running into her—however prepared she might have been for the impact—causes her to crash to the ground, with me pressed on top of her.

She’s a lovely thing to fall onto, if I do say so myself, and she breaks my fall nobly, though I can tell that I’ve knocked the breath from her. She looks at me, wincing, even as she wraps her arms about me, as tightly as any lover. My hair trails over her face.

“The last time a woman tumbled with me this hard, I was awarded a compliment,” she says dryly.

I can’t help it—my sense of humor is unbridled, and even though the moment isn’t appropriate for mirth…

I laugh.

The robber lifts her brows.

And then she’s chuckling, too.

I roll off of her, and she sits up on her heels, brushing at her backside. Her cape was muddied, as we fell into a puddle, and it's now far too weighted down for theatrics, but it tries its best as the woman smoothly rises to her feet and offers me a hand.

“There now, let’s not be hasty, dear lady. The women I’ve kidnapped before quite enjoyed their stays at my palace. I promise you—you’re not headed to any dungeon.” Her voice is a soft, low tenor, and her head, with its shining mahogany mane, is cocked invitingly in my direction.

“But…you’re taking me against my will.” I’m still crouching on the ground at her feet, my red skirt flared about me, and I’m trying to weigh my options. If I ran again, how far might I get?

Far enough to call for help?

I clear my throat, state the obvious: “Like most folks, I'm averse to kidnapping.”

The woman's eyes darken with exasperation, and she’s about to say something in response, but then there’s a sound from somewhere distant, perhaps a few streets away.

The robber lifts her chin; her eyes narrow shrewdly.

I’m certain that we’re both thinking the same thing right now. If I screamed at the top of my lungs, whoever-it-is would hear me. Soon enough, knights would come riding in, and I’d be saved within a matter of hoof beats.

Why, then, don’t I scream?

Is it, perhaps, because something this exciting has never happened to me in all of my days?

Is it, perhaps, because I feel that there’s nothing to fear from this woman? That I could get out of this situation if I truly wanted to escape?

I...don’t want to escape.

I want adventure.

I want something more than my mediocre, painfully practical life.

Even if it promises danger, adventure is staring down at me—with piercing blue eyes that are...oddly familiar.

I find myself unable to look away.

Yes, I could use my goddess-given set of pipes and shout until I go hoarse.

But I’m willing to give this highwaywoman—with that glint of kindness in her gaze—the benefit of the doubt.

Besides, the deepest truth of all is this: I trust Talis to find me.

Yes, I’ve only known Talis for a short time. We weren't even able to get acquainted in that most lovely of ways... But there was something so earnest about her. Unlike Asla, she seemed to be the very definition of a knight: honorable, gracious, loyal to a fault.

I trust her, down to my marrow.

She is going to come for me.

And that is going to be so exciting.

I wouldn't miss it for the world.

So, shocked by myself, I put my hand in that of the robber, and we stare at one another for a long moment. Slowly, by degrees, her lips turn up at the corners, as if she knows that I’ve come to accept my role in her scheme. She draws me to my feet and gives me an approving nod.

“We mustn't use that ugly word again: kidnapping,” she purrs. “Think of me as your humble escort, dear lady.” She wraps an arm around my waist, and I feel the muscles of her arm flex against me. My heart flutters...but then I remember another woman who made my heart flutter tonight: Talis, with her knee-weakening smiles, her searing blue eyes, her hot, hungry mouth...

Sighing deeply, I raise a brow and place my hands against the woman's chest in a very clear demonstration of no.

“I trust that Talis will come to my aid,” I say shortly, lifting my nose to the air.

“Ah. Talis. Your shining knight.” And she actually rolls her eyes. Then she removes her arm from my waist and stands apart from me, unsmiling. “Let’s move on, shall we? We haven't the time to chat.”

“But what am I to call you? Who are you?” I follow after her, staring with trepidation at that confounded ladder.

“Didn’t you hear the tavern ladies whispering my name?”

“No.” In truth, I may have heard something, but I was so tense and agitated, I forgot just as quickly.

“I'm afraid I'm not used to introducing myself.” She gives me a good-natured smile, though there’s a hint of wickedness to it. Still grinning, she bends forward at the waist and snatches up my hand, dusting a kiss over the knuckles. “Fair lady,” she drawls, her voice low, her breath hot against the back of my hand, “you are in the presence of the Fox Queen, Tahlia.”

“Fox…Queen…” I squint, considering the words.

Yes, I know of her. In passing. Her likeness and name have appeared on “Wanted!” signs tacked to the walls of the Steel Lily. Apparently, she is wanted for crimes against queen and country, though I must say, that drawing of her looks nothing like her at all... I have noticed that, often, there are pen-and-ink scrawls made by tavern patrons on the signs, most of them lewd in nature—accompanied by the addresses of the graffiti artists (with rather explicit invitations for the Fox Queen to come and steal anything she might want from them).

Ahem.

Right. So, the Fox Queen has the reputation of being a heartbreaker and is called, by some, the sexiest woman in Arktos—though this would, of course, be hotly debated amongst the Arktos Knights’ many, many admirers.

Besides, reputations aren’t necessarily true.

And as I peer down at the woman bending prettily at the waist, I find the sight of her to be as lovely as a painting: a painting that I can admire, appreciate—but feel nothing for.

Talis, on the other hand...

When I met her, the world itself seemed to shift beneath my feet.

Where is she now? Is she following us? Is she near?

“Queenie, we must go.” Yeri’s voice is tight with desperation, and the Fox Queen, Tahlia, stands straight and sighs.

“Yes, yes. Let’s climb, shall we?”

I stare up at the wall, swallowing.

I have a feeling that this night is about to become even stranger.

Chapter 11

TALIS

I tug Cossie along as Rane and I ride through the streets. I hesitated to bring the donkey, knowing he would slow us down, but once I find Tahlia and free Cinda from her, Cinda will need a mount. The Nymph Tree is too far from Arktos City to traverse on foot—unless you have a lot of time at your disposal.

Oh, gods and goddesses, how long it’s been since I was last at the Nymph Tree. I shrug off a surge of emotion, urging Rane to go faster, faster, and begging the complaining Cossie to try his best to keep up.

My head is lost in thoughts of the past, of Tahlia, and of Cinda—that is, until I reach the last block before the city gates and realize that I must pass by the guards in order to exit the city.

I must pass by the guards who are knights, and who know every other knight. They will recognize me—and they will know, instantly, that this armor is not and could not be mine.

I pull Rane up hard, and she swears at me under her breath, champing at the bit and nearly sitting back on her heels as she skids to a halt.

“Must I remind you that I'm pregnant?” she snarls, flicking her tail in annoyance. “This is a bit more than I signed up for, you know.”

“Sorry.” I exhale, massaging my temple. “But, Rane, you did beg to be freed from your stall. You said you were tired of being cooped up—”

“I know what I said,” the horse snorts, flicking her tail harder this time and slicking her ears back. “But we’re in a right mess. Your sister kidnapping that poor woman... This could get very hairy very quickly.”

“Yes, I know.” My voice is quiet and strained, my heart racing as I tug at the edge of the chest piece; it suddenly feels too tight against my throat. “Look, first things first, okay? I have to figure out how to get past the guards. They'll know I’m not a knight.”

And to that Rane has nothing to say.

Because we both understand that the next few moments could change my life forever.

There is no chance of my not going after Tahlia and Cinda. Of course I must try my best to find them. It’s because of me that Tahlia kidnapped Cinda. It’s because of me that that fine lady is in potential danger. I am responsible, and, as such, I must set things to rights. So I have to figure out how to get past the guards and get out of the city.

My palms are sweaty inside of my leather gloves as I run through scenarios in my head. If only...

And then, in answer to my prayers to the Goddess, there she is: Lellie.

She trots up on her mare as if out of thin air, which I know is not the case. I sit up in the saddle and stare at my best friend with an open mouth.

“What—” we both begin at the same moment, and—despite everything that’s going on—I can’t help but chuckle as we proceed to talk over one another.

“Lellie, please listen,” I finally say, and I motion for her to come closer.

She does, sidestepping her mare to move alongside Rane; our calves are nearly touching. I reach out and snake my arm around my friend’s shoulders, and then I murmur into her ear, so that no one else might overhear: “My sister held up the tavern. And she kidnapped Cinda, the lady I was about to…well, you know.” I pause, shaking my head. “Tahlia took her out of the city, because she… She's using her to make certain that I follow. She wants to meet with me at the Nymph Tree.”

When I draw back, Lellie’s face is pinched, as if with confusion. “Why does she want to meet with you?”

I shake my head again. “I don't know.”

“It just seems that—if I recall correctly...” She bites her lower lip, her expression pained as she watches me. “Well, from what you've told me, the two of you parted on…bad terms?”

My blood races hotter in my veins. “It wasn’t my fault—”

“I never said it was. Talis.” She touches my shoulder gently. “I know it was a hard time for you.” I can feel the gentleness of her hand, even through the armor plates. “But if she wants to talk to you now, perhaps she intends to mend old wounds.”

I wince and clear my throat. “I don’t have time to consider that—to consider...any of that.” My voice is thick with emotion. “I need to save Cinda from the situation I’ve put her in. She’s been kidnapped by the Fox Queen, and I can’t imagine that is sitting well with her.”

Lellie laughs a little, arching a brow. “I’m fairly certain half of Arktos City would be quite glad to be kidnapped by the Fox Queen. I doubt Cinda’s suffering much...” Her words trail off as she realizes what she just suggested. “I’m sorry, Talis. I just meant—”

“That my sister is going to get Cinda into bed before I arrive.” The words are dry, but there’s hurt in them, too. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that my sister beat me to tumbling a woman I had feelings for…

Lellie reaches into the saddlebags on Rane’s backside, rummaging around in them, dropping her own reins altogether. “I have an idea about how to get you past the guards. I’ll go with you. I didn’t have anything in particular planned for tonight, anyway. It’ll be fun!”

“Are you sure? Because after you slipped out with Cinda’s friend, I thought—”

“No,” she chuckles, and she draws something out of the saddlebags, a bundle of cloth, and hands it to me. “Oh, I tried, but Jeene shot me down faster than a bird out of the sky. We just wanted to leave you two alone, give you some space, let feelings blossom.” The way she emphasizes the word makes me chuckle again.

I sag with relief. Lellie's coming with me. I might actually get past the guards. I might be able to rescue Cinda and return Rane to her stall before anyone notices she's been gone.

Things are starting to look up.

I glance down at my hands to see what Lellie has placed in them. “A cloak?”

“What were you expecting? A cake? It’s laughably simply—and it worked when we left the stable, didn't it? Granted, the stakes were lower then...”

“But, Lellie, they'll recognize Rane—”

“Just put on the cloak and talk like Asla, and the guards will think you are Asla, taking Rane out for a late-night stroll.”

Talk like Asla?

My throat is so tight that I can hardly breathe. “No, it won't work. These are knights we’re talking about. And I'm no actor. I can't just pretend to be Asla—”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“No, but—”

“Look, it’s a simple plan, and that’s why they won’t get suspicious. Put the cloak on, draw the hood over your face, and don’t say much. I'll do most of the talking. We'll be out of the city before you know it.”

“Lellie—”

“Talis,” she drawls, pronouncing the syllables with exaggerated indulgence. “Do you trust me?”

I look at my best friend, and I nod instantaneously.

Of course I trust her.

“Then prove it, and trust me on this.” She gestures to the cloak. “Put it on. Time’s wasting. We have to get Cinda back tonight before anyone notices that Rane’s missing.”

“I know.” Then I’m undoing the metal clasp at the throat of the cloak and swinging the heavy fabric around my shoulders. I redo the clasp at the junctures of the armored chest plate and pull the heavy hood over my head. This cloak is usually used for campaigning; it's magicked to keep out bad weather and the cold, so it’s a bit thick and stifling. “How do I look?”

Lellie peers at me in the glow of the magelight. “I can’t even see your face. This might actually work!” she chirps, and then she sits up straighter in her saddle, assuming a serious face. “All right—follow my lead. Let’s do this.”

If I had enough time, I would come up with a detailed plan comprised of steps and sub-steps, including a chart of Things I Should Say to knights who might question me—but Lellie’s right: we have to get out of the city as quickly as possible.

So I nod, and Lellie urges her mare, Sasha, forward with a squeeze of her legs.

We're taking a terrible risk; we could be caught in a crime that might result in our imprisonment.

And there is, deep inside of me, an even sharper fear.

Still…I urge Rane forward, and we approach the gates.

The gates stand open tonight because of the festivities related to the Hero’s Tournament. Many folk have traveled to the city from far and wide, and there aren't enough inns to accommodate all of them, so camps have been set up outside of the city. Of course, the people staying at the camps want to be able to come in for a bite to eat or a visit with friends and family, so the gates will remain unlocked all night.

But there are more guards on duty than usual—two clusters of knights on either side of the gate—watching people come and go, asking travelers at random to explain their business in the city.

We drift toward the group of knights on the right. I’m following Lellie’s lead, as instructed, taking care to keep my head down.

Eyes lowered, I hear a familiar voice.

“Lellie, my girl, what are you up to tonight?” drawls the smiling voice of a knight I like very much: Kell. She’s one of the wilder knights and often works directly with Queen Calla. She isn't usually tasked with guarding the gates, but I guess the tournament has required the knights to rearrange their responsibilities.

Kell is very kind, though cheeky. She’s never treated me as less than her equal. I can't risk glancing up now, but I imagine she’s wearing her usual armor—her waist bared, with only a chest piece and armored strips covering her hips.

“Kell!” Lellie practically sings, and leans down in her saddle so that the two of them can clasp arms in greeting. “I’m headed out of the city with Asla. Queen Calla wants us to patrol the edge of Fury Wood.”

“Eh, really?” asks Kell, surprise evident in her voice. “You poor devils. What’s the queen so worried about that she’d send you out there tonight?”

Lellie’s shoulders lift and fall in an exaggerated shrug. “Bandits. She has heard that the Fox Queen might strike tonight because there are so many newcomers in the city.”

Kell snorts. “From what I hear,” she says, chuckling, “there are more than a few ladies in our fine city who wouldn’t mind being robbed by her. But don’t let me keep you.”

And she’s about to wave us through when she pauses, clears her throat. “Just…one last thing.”

I stiffen beneath the cloak, and my blood runs as cold as ice.

Kell knows. She knows that I’m not Asla...

“Asla?” begins Kell, her voice good-natured and soft. “Your attendant, Talis. I heard she was given some bad news today.”

Word travels fast in the knights’ barracks.

I nod stiffly, my heart thrumming in my chest.

Why is she speaking of this?

“The thing is… Well, you can be a little hard on her.” Kell's voice is purposefully light. “But I think you should take her on as your squire. Now, I know there’s been talk. But many of us don’t believe lineage matters, not when a woman has proven herself like Talis has. After all, none of us can control the circumstances of our birth.”

She waits a moment, as if she's expecting me to reply. When I don't, she sighs and goes on: “Consider it, all right? I’ve never seen a woman work harder in my life than poor Talis, and she deserves a shot at knighthood, just like we had.”

Again, I nod but hold my tongue. Even if I weren't in the middle of this ridiculous, cloak-wearing subterfuge, I don't think I would be able to reply. My throat is too thick with emotion, and my heart aches inside of me.

The knights are always kind to me, and save for a few of them (Asla, in particular), they treat me with respect. They joke with me, laugh with me, even though I’m far beneath them in the hierarchy of Arktos City.

Still, even with all of that, I never figured that they thought about me or my predicament deeply. I never thought that they knew how badly I wished to become a knight.

Thanks to Magel, I now know that some of them do not want me to become a knight at all.

But some of them do.

Like Kell.

“Anyway—have fun, kids!” Kell raises her arm, waving us past.

Lellie urges Sasha into a slow trot as we move through the city gates. We trot together down the stone road for a good, long while without conversation. Eventually, we turn off the road, onto the path that leads to Fury Wood. We’ve lost the magelights that illuminate the cobblestone road leading away from Arktos City. Lellie takes a torch out of her satchel and lights it with a simple magic word. It flares to life, and then—and only then—do I throw back the hood and slow Rane to a halt, Cossie crossly tugging for more lead rope so that he can crop the grass by the path.

Lellie stares at me, holding the torch aloft, a soft smile on her face.

“You have more friends than you think, Talis,” she tells me gently, not in an “I told you so” sort of tone, but a caring one.

I nod my head, ducking it a little. I have to focus, focus on finding my sister, on finding Cinda.

Still, Lellie's reassurance feels good.

You have more friends than you think.

We head further into the forest, aiming for Fury Wood.

Chapter 12

CINDA

“I really hate horses,” I say to no one in particular.

“They don’t seem to care for you much either.” Tahlia’s voice is mild, but there’s bemusement to it as she glances over her shoulder at me.

I’m currently riding along behind Tahlia on the back of her gigantic, much-taller-than-necessary mare. Her mount is, of course, one that would befit a Fox Queen, and is all big, black, resplendent, etcetera, etcetera…the mare is, in short, impressive and gorgeous (for a horse), jet black with a flowing mane and tail and big brown eyes. I’ve also found that said mare is testy and a bit of an ass. Her name is apparently Mika (I picked this up from Tahlia trying to soothe her when she spooked at her own shadow and danced sideways, elaborately trying to unseat me), and Mika, apparently, does not take pleasure in the fact that she has to carry around two ladies for the evening.

For the mare has tried to buck the offending second lady (me) off multiple times since I was pulled up to ride behind Tahlia.

This has not been an enjoyable trip. Which is frustrating.

Because it should be.

I am, after all, out on my very first adventure, and that should be met with excitement! Swashbuckling moments! I don’t know, fun, at the very least. I’ve heard that riding along behind a very attractive woman, gripping her middle and pressing your décolletage against her back is supposed to be a sensual pleasurefair of grand sensations and loveliness. But that is, in fact, not accurate. Because if you are behind the woman on a horse and the horse is going any bit faster than a very, very subdued walk, it is incredibly uncomfortable. I’ve never felt more like a sack of potatoes in my life, and—to be fair—I’ve felt like a sack of potatoes every single time I’ve ever had to ride a wretched equine.

So, in short, it’s an uncomfortable nightmare.

That is, until we stop.

“Oh, thank Goddess,” I manage when Tahlia pulls the mare up to a halt. I feel so jostled that my teeth are still clacking together, and I hardly notice when Tahlia taps my hands with gloved fingers. She has to do it three times.

“Cinda,” she murmurs, glancing back over her shoulder again. “I need to dismount—would you mind?”

“Mind? No. Why would I mind?” I mutter, and then try to drag my clasping hands apart from their spot very firmly clenched over her navel. Unfortunately, my hands appear to be clenched just a bit too tightly together, and it takes a few heartbeats to relax my muscles enough to wrench them apart. Again, Tahlia looks back over her shoulder at me in bemusement before throwing her right leg over her horse’s neck and sliding off the big beast’s back without a thought.

It’s a long, long way down from the back of this mare, something I didn’t even have time to think about until this moment as I stare in abject horror at the very long dismount.

Tahlia stretches for a moment overhead, her gloved hands at the small of her back, and when she turns, she glances up at me, her head to the side.

“Here—it looks like you need help.” Her mouth is set in a twitching smile, though she’s trying to quell it as she reaches her arms up to me in my precarious perch on the horse’s rump.

“Get me off of this thing,” I mutter, and then I’m sliding down into her grasp. Her hands at my waist are firm and skilled as she lifts me down gently, and my feet finally, blessedly, connect with the ground once more.

I push my hair out of my eyes—it really has worked its way out of its braids at this point—and I glance up at Tahlia. Fox Queen, Tahlia. The gorgeous, dashing highwaywoman that quite a few ladies in Arktos City would give their treasures for. But when I gaze up at her now, I’m resolved again.

It’s strange, but when I look up at Tahlia, all I’m reminded of is Talis.

The Fox Queen really does look like the knight. It’s odd, really, how many similarities they have in their faces.

“Anyway,” I manage, clearing my throat, glancing around. “Where…are we?”

It’s an important question, because we don’t appear to be anywhere at all.

That’s not exactly true. We’re standing in the woods. There are several large, towering trees all around us, and I appear to have my feet currently planted on some very verdant, very springy moss. I glance down at the moss at my feet, and then up again. Yeri and Bay, the other smaller woman, I’ve learned, are holding aloft magelamps in their fists, so they cast a little bit of light around the surrounding woods. There’s a moon out tonight, but it’s only a waxing quarter, and even that is caught behind a handful of clouds.

There’s only darkness above, but here in the woods, the magelamps cast enough light around to show…

That we’re standing in a rather alarming-looking forest.

Well. “Creepy” might be a better word.

I blink and glance sidelong at the nearest tree. I used to be told stories of something quite like this tree when I was little, when my mother despaired and tried to use spooky stories to try and get me to be behave (they did not, in fact, work. I was a headstrong child). The tree appears to have branches that curl into frighteningly claw-like “hands,” and if I wasn’t so sure…well. I’m not so sure. I’ll be frank:

With the holes in its trunk, the tree appears to have a grotesque and frightening face.

Complete with bark “teeth.”

I clearly must be imagining things, but I step a little closer to Tahlia, just in case. With the addition of the mist and fog swirling about us, there’s really no better way to describe my current situation than “creepy.”

But then it, unfortunately, gets a little creepier.

“We’re in Fury Wood,” says Tahlia, in answer to my question. She glances around, and then she lifts her chin up a little higher, adjusting the clasp of her cloak so that it sweeps closed tightly over her breast. “Stay close, milady. There are all manner of beasts in these woods, and most are not so friendly as me.”

“I’d hardly call you friendly.” I glance up at her, but it appears that she is, in fact, not joking. I gulp down air a bit, and then take another step closer to her. Her mouth tries to twitch upward at the corners, but she does her best to clear her throat and keep her lips contorted into a stern grimace.

“Don’t tease her, Tahlia,” chides Yeri, holding her magelight aloft. “Milady Cinda, you’re safe with us. Just don’t stray out of the light, and you’ll be fine.”

I glance down at the ground, and at the very, very small amount of ground that the light, in fact, covers.

This doesn’t make me feel better.

“What’s out there?” I manage, waving my hand to indicate the forest. Bay swings down from her mount and adjusts her own cloak a bit closer over her shoulders.

“All manner of beasties and briars.” She gives me a wide smile. “And you’re a delicious morsel that they’d just love to eat up.”

“I’m not afraid.” I say it instantly, and though my knees are knocking, I’m proud to note that my skirts are too thick for that knocking to be noticed. I stand straight and tall, and I lift my own chin as I glance around this forest.

It’s creepy, yes.

But—and this is the absolute truth here: I’m not afraid.

Excited, yes. Nervous, sure. But afraid isn’t in my bones or blood as I cast a glance around this strange forest I’ve never seen.

Because I’ve never seen it.

My whole life has been spent within the walls of Arktos City, and tonight, I chose to leave.

There’s nothing to fear in this forest.

There’s only…possibility.

At least, I think these noble thoughts until there’s the crunching sound in the woods. And then those noble thoughts fly out of my mind as quickly as startled pigeons, and I say “eep!” (yes, I actually say “eep!), and I practically jump onto Tahlia’s back I’m so startled.

It appears that nothing startles Tahlia, however, not even a woman almost leaping on her, for she turns and catches me smartly in her arms, gripping me tightly, even as she chuckles, completely unable to hide her smile this time. Yeri and Bay both laugh on my account, too, but I don’t have much time to be put out at them, because I’m peering over Yeri’s shoulder at the shadowed ring of trees around us…

And what exactly is striding out from between those trees.

Or who.

“Thank Goddess,” I whisper, trying to climb down from Tahlia’s arms with as much dignity as I can muster, tugging at the front of my dress and patting my hair again as if these small actions will make me even a little more presentable.

I feel my heart rise inside of me as I watch the figures stride out of the thick, gloomy fog, because who’s walking toward us now is none other than the knight, Talis.

She pauses when she sees me, and it appears that she sees nothing else for half a heartbeat but me. There’s relief that moves across her gorgeous face, followed by contentment, at least for a small amount of time. The mare she’s leading (with the donkey, Cossie’s, reins attached to the mare’s saddle) is having a hard time catching her breath, her wide sides heaving, her neck—what little of her neck you can see from the massive amounts of thick mane covering it—is flecked with sweat.

Talis must have raced here, following us.

For me.

I can’t help it, I can feel the blush rising in my cheeks, and as I glance at Talis, I’m remembering that we were interrupted in the middle of something quite lovely. This bit of adventure wasn’t exactly predictable in the evening, but even though we were interrupted, even though the night has gone in a direction I couldn’t have imagined…I’m so glad she’s here now. I’m so glad Talis came for me.

She’s here to rescue me, and that just does something to one’s heart. And other regions, if one must be truthful.

I could have gotten away from Tahlia, but if Talis wants to rescue me, well.

I can’t think of a better way to spend an evening than celebrating said rescuing…

I think all of this in a flash before I’m surprised (and a bit startled again) by something following after Talis into the pool of light given off by the magelights the bandits hold aloft. Because Talis is followed by her mare and her donkey…

And by someone else.

Another massive warrior mare moves through the fog to stand sentinel beside Talis’s horse, snorting and champing at her bit and tearing up the forest floor with her sharp hooves as if she really could think of better places to be this evening.

And on her back…I blink, remembering. Ah, this was Talis’s friend from the tavern. Lellie, another knight. She’s gripping tightly to her mare’s reins and sits on the back of her horse like a noblewoman, her eyes narrowed as she stares down at Tahlia gripping me, her mouth drawn into a thin, hard line.

There are two knights now, in this small clearing, with the three bandits and yours truly. Surely now this adventure will be at an end, and Talis will tell Tahlia to unhand me and take me back to Arktos City.

And it’s terrible, I know, but to be perfectly truthful?

I’m a little bit sad about it. I didn’t think the adventure would be over so quickly, I didn’t think I’d be whisked back to Arktos City in such a short amount of time, and I’m so grateful for Talis coming to find me, and there’s much in my heart when I look at that gorgeous knight.

But did the adventure have to end so quickly?

I stare up at the knight, and as we lock eyes, I grin at her, giving her a little wink.

No, I don’t want the adventure to end, it’s true.

But I have no idea what I’m in for yet this night…

Talis grips her mare’s reins with a clenched hand as she lifts her chin, her eyes flashing in the dark. “Tahlia. Give the lady back. I came as you wanted. I’m here. Let’s end this now, before—”

“Oh, no,” says Tahlia, raising her own hand, a finger pointed to the skies as she shakes her head sharply. “You’re in no position to demand anything, Talis. You forget, you’re here because of her.” And then Tahlia reaches out and curls her fingers about my waist, drawing me backward to rest against her front again. At least this time she doesn’t shove a blade at my throat.

I need to be grateful for the little things.

“You and I both know you’re not going to hurt her.” Talis’s voice is weary as she watches Tahlia with hooded eyes. She raises her hands to the bandit, palms open. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want,” Tahlia whispers.

And they stay perfectly silent for a long moment, the two women, eyeing themselves across the space between them and not moving a muscle, either one of them. A cold, gentle wind moves unhurriedly across the clearing, rustling last year’s dead leaves that are starting to rot into the forest floor. No one moves, not even the horses, but there’s tension in the air. Everything is steeped in that tension, every one of us, and it rises to a dramatic crescendo until…

“Look, are you ladies going to come inside or continue to stare sternly at one other with your gorgeous jaws clenched? I do enjoy a woman in armor looking all stern, and I could probably look all night…but I’m assuming you all have places to be that aren’t in the middle of my wood.”

The voice is dry and barely holding back a chuckle, as if she’s laughing at her own joke. For it’s a woman’s voice, and it sounded like it was coming from surprisingly…high up. As in, off the ground.

As in…in the trees.

“My apologies, mistress Rowan. We didn’t mean to cause a scene.” Tahlia lets me go and straightens up with a grin, her face tilted upward. Talis and the rest of the women, too, turn and look up into the treetops.

What in the world? What can they see that I can’t? I stand up on my tiptoes, craning my neck, trying to catch a glimpse…

And that’s when I see her.

A green woman.

A woman who is literally green.

And rather devoid of clothing as well.

“Mistress Rowan.” Talis gathers her mare’s reins in one hand, and then does a sweeping bow, her armor creaking as she stands straight again, glancing up at the nude woman with a fond smile. “How have you been?”

“My goodness, Talis…it certainly has been a long time, now hasn’t it? It’s good to see you again, my dear.”

All I can tell about this woman is that she’s missing clothing and she’s as green as a head of lettuce—she’s a bit too far away to make out more. But as she begins to descend the tree, she comes into better view, and I can see more of her. Like the fact that her hair, long and flowing down to knee-length and covered in flowers and blossoms, appears to be made of…bark? It’s hard to see in the semi-light that the magelamps cast, but it also appears that the tree she was standing on is forming steps for her as she descends to the forest floor.

I stare at this green woman, my mouth open, and then I realize exactly how rude I’m being. I am, after all, from Arktos City, and I’ve seen a thing or two in my day. Just because I haven’t traveled out of the city itself doesn’t mean I’m a rube.

“You remember Bay and Yeri, I’m sure,” says Tahlia, indicating her two fellow bandits. “And this, here, is Cinda. Cinda this is mistress Rowan, owner of the Nymph Tree.”

“Charmed,” I mumble, then dip a curtsy because Talis bowed low. This causes the green woman to widen her eyes, and then she chuckles at me—but it’s not a mean sort of chuckle. Her voice is warm, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think there’s a soothing quality to it. Almost like the sound of wind in the trees, soft as a lullaby…

“Cinda. Nice to meet you,” says Rowan, waving her hand. “Now, are you ladies going to come inside? I’ll get you rounds on the house, since it’s been so long. And, Talis, if you’re not in too much of a hurry, I’d love to hear how life is treating you. I’ve missed you, my girl.” The woman steps forward and snakes an arm around the knight’s shoulders. I didn’t realize until this moment exactly how short the green woman is. Her head only comes up to mid-chest on the knight.

Talis gazes down at her with obvious affection. “I would, Rowan, but the night is not young…and I have to get Cinda back to Arktos City.”

“Pity.” And the woman lets go of Talis, her eyes sad. “But come back and see me sometime, all right? Don’t be such a stranger. You look so much like your ma…”

At that, Talis’s jaw tightens, and Rowan falls silent, almost as if she’s realized she’s said the wrong thing. The green woman puts the back of her hand to her mouth and clears her throat, and then she’s waving us all forward, shaking her head. “The mounts will be fine out here. I’ll see they’re taken care of. I’ll see you inside, ladies.”

“Inside? Inside where?” I mutter, but Tahlia has her arm at the curve of my waist, and she’s practically pushing me along.

“Have you ever been to the Nymph Tree?” she asks mildly, and when I shake my head, she chuckles, her grin deepening to one that’s a little wicked. “Well, then, you’re in for a treat.”

“Just be prepared, Cinda,” says Talis, her voice warning.

Prepared? Prepared for what?

Tahlia pushes me forward, and I look up, my eyes growing wide.

For Tahlia is about to push me head-first into a tree.

I try to dig into my heels, but it’s too late. I squish up my face, hold my breath for the impact…

But there isn’t one.

Because at the last possible heartbeat, the tree…

Well.

It sort of…moves.

The bark that was in front of me seemingly melts away. As I descend a wooden staircase, I realize that the bark that was on the tree formed itself into a doorway, just like it formed into steps for the green woman to climb down from its branches…and it is the same tree that the woman descended from, I realize.

We descend now, down, down the tight, spiral staircase deeper into the depths of the ground. The wall beside us remain wood, and with no lines indicating planks…I think the walls are solid wood.

They’re the inside of the tree.

There are occasional niches carved out into these wooden walls, and each of these niches is filled with a different-colored, flickering magelight that gives just enough of a glow to the staircase so that we don’t stumble on the steps. These aren’t the magelights like the ones that Bay and Yeri are holding aloft, spheres of glowing energy that the women created out of easy magic. No. These spheres are made of older stuff, and the colors flickering behind antique stained glass remind me of the few gems I’ve seen in my lifetime.

They glow.

We descend, and at about the time my calves are declaring that they don’t intend to work for much longer, we reach what we were aiming for.

I had no idea, of course, what we were aiming for, and every time I thought it might be a good idea to bring it up or ask a question, I’d look from Tahlia’s face to Talis’s, and I’d purse my own lips tightly and not speak a word. The tension remains, real and constant, thick and doughy enough to make a delicious bread.

So when we reach ground floor of the tree (which just sounds silly even saying it…), I’m about ready for relief from the dramatic cloud I’ve seemed to find myself in.

I shouldn’t be surprised, of course, that, at the very bottom of a spiral staircase within a magical tree is an equally magical tavern.

Of course there is.

I should have just assumed.

But I didn’t, and when we reach the foot of the stairs, I’m looking about me with my jaw hanging open like any country bumpkin (and again, for the increasing record, I am not a country bumpkin).

Huh. This…is unexpected.

I’ve lived in Arktos City all my life, and I’ll have you know that it’s the capital of Arktos, and Arktos is, in and of itself, quite a prosperous and important nation, so there’s all manner of important things that happen within the city walls, with many, many different types of people who come to visit. I’ve seen all manner of beast and person and everything else one could imagine (and some, of course, that one could not).

But it seems that my life in Arktos City, thus far, couldn’t have prepared me for what I see now.

It’s hard to take in all at once. For one, the light is very dim, and though there are the colorful magelamps behind the stained glass lanterns still ringing the space, they don’t give off that much of a glow. The low light, combined with the soft, wispy strains of someone singing, and what sounds like water washing against a shore…well, it’s almost unnerving. That is, until my eyes adjust.

And then it’s very unnerving.

Because, next to the doorway we’ve just entered through, there’s a pool of water that seems to be embedded deeply into the wood. And in that pool of water lounge what…appear to be…I mean, I think they are…

“Merladies,” says Talis, touching her two fingers to her forehead in a minor salute to them as she moves around the pool with a smile. “How are you this fine evening?”

“Talis? Oh, it’s Talis!” gushes the nearest one. She’s…well pretty would be an understatement, and so would so gorgeous my eyes can’t even believe themselves. She’s curvy, with long, wavy blonde hair that tumbles over her shoulders in soft folds and layers over her large, lovely breasts in such a way that her hair appears to be framing her nipples. Almost by design. Her eyelids are as shimmering and iridescent as her tail flukes, and the scales that cover her lower, fishy half glint almost rainbow in the low light as the mermaid rises out of the pool and wraps a hand around Talis’s thigh.

“You’ve been gone so long. Did you miss me?” the mermaid murmurs breathlessly, her chest heaving as she gazes up at the knight with big, beautiful blue eyes that glow with adoration.

The knight glances down at the mermaid, and it’s with fondness that she brushes the back of her hand across the mermaid’s cheek, and she nods, but she takes a step backward, disentangling her leg from the mermaid’s grasp.

“Of course I did. I missed all of you lovely ladies. We’ll catch up later, all right?”

“You must promise me that you will not leave without saying goodbye. Now I need it. Your promise.” The mermaid pouts winsomely, and Talis gives her an indulgent—albeit distracted—smile.

“I promise.”

The rest of the merladies nod and smile, but fairly soon, they’re all congregating at the edge of their pool, whispering together. Their whispers sound like water rushing over something, a sound that—with all of its sibilance—makes the hair on the back of my neck stand to attention. I give the pool a wide berth and follow Talis deeper into the tavern.

Tahlia, I note, does not get the same warm reaction that Talis got from the mermaids. In fact, when Tahlia passes them, as one, the ladies turn and hiss at her, their bright pink and red lips up and over their teeth.

And when they hiss at Tahlia, their teeth appear to be sharp. Even though, a moment ago, their faces appeared so pretty and human, when they look at Tahlia, they seem to…change.

And they change into something that’s not so much pretty as terrifying. I’ve never seen a fish with teeth, but I’m assuming such a sight would remind me of the mermaids in their pool, hissing and growling in turn at Tahlia—who gives them a grin, but, wisely, makes a wide berth of the pool, too.

Now that my eyes are beginning to adjust to the multi-colored low light of the place, I can see that the mermaids aren’t the only different people here.

Actually…it appears that we may be the only humans in the place.

The bartender behind the bar has wings that she’s very neatly draped over her back, big wings with soft, black feathers. When Talis approaches the bar, the bartender places her hands on the wood surface, spreading her fingers, and giving Talis a wide smile.

“What’ll it be, Tallie?”

“The usual, if you remember it, Lyric,” says Talis with another broad, genuine smile, and the bartender nods, turning to the various barrels and pretty glass bottles, winking in the light of the magelamps.

I sidle up to the bar and glance around, trying to rein in my curiosity so that I don’t stare. Unfortunately, no such luck. There’s the pool of merladies by the front door, and then there are various booths and tables around the place, just like any regular, run-of-the-mill tavern. But there’s nothing run-of-the-mill about the clientele.

There’s the bartender, with wings, for one. I’ve never seen the Virtues in person, but of course I’ve heard stories. My mother used to tell me a tale about a Virtue that rescued a little girl from drowning. Virtues work for the gods, or so the stories go. There are a few Virtues who live in Arktos, who come to some of the meetings at the palace, but I never caught a glimpse. I can hardly believe one of them is standing right in front of me now, as flesh and blood as I am myself.

There appear to be a few of the fair folk here, too, though it’s hard to actually see them, for no matter how I try to look at the one booth in the farthest back corner, it seems that my eyes slide to the booth next to it. The booth of the fair folk has a sort of iridescence about it. A fairy glamour, of course. The fair folk aren’t in a habit of being seen, even when they go out for a drink it seems.

There’s a giantess sitting on one of the tables, drinking her ale out of an actual barrel. There’s hardly enough room for her in the place, and the back of her head keeps scraping the ceiling, but she appears to be fairly inebriated and isn’t noticing. When she hits her head again, she laughs, a great roar of a laugh, and squints up at the offending ceiling. She’s sitting on the table, but the woman she’s with doesn’t appear to mind that the table is taken up with the giantess’s bulk. I stare at this woman, not to be rude, but because I think her hair is moving.

Oh. Wait. Her hair is moving. The woman appears to feel my eyes boring into her, because she glances back at me over the back of the booth’s seat, and she lifts one thin brow before grinning at me.

Her teeth, like the mermaid’s, are pointy. But they’re very pointy. The kind of pointy that a—well—snake might sport.

Her hair?

It’s snakes.

Her hair is made of snakes.

The snaked-haired woman eases out of her booth and strides over to the bar to stand next to me, leaning her elbows on the counter. She glances sidelong at me again, and I stare at her because there’s no way in the world I could stop staring at this point. I’m utterly fascinated (and a little bit nervous, truth be told). Her hair, held back from her face in a thick, brass clasp at the nape of her neck, is literally, entirely, snakes. Thin snakes and thick snakes, and they’re all writhing on her head like they’re pretty happy and couldn’t think of a better place to be. The closest snake to me sticks out her tiny tongue and appears to have decided I’m interesting, too, because she leans out as far as she can go and flicks his tongue at me again.

“Sorry,” the woman tells me with a wide grin, shooing that snake back into the rest of them. She’s wearing breeches and a poet’s shirt that’s open at the neck, and her collarbones are so pretty when combined with the strong slope of her shoulders, and the bit of creamy décolletage I can see peeking out of her top…

The woman lifts a finger to the bartender and takes another glass of beer before she shoots me another smile, a deeper one this time, and heads back to her seat.

“Miss? This is for you,” says the bartender, then, putting a glass of ale down in front of me.

“Oh, thank goodness,” I manage, picking it up and downing the contents rather quickly. I grimace, slamming the ale glass back down on the bar before tapping my chest and wincing. “Ah…thanks for the drink, Talis.”

“She didn’t pay for it—she did,” says the bartender, giving me a wink and pointing behind me at the woman with snakes for hair sitting back in her booth languidly, a leg up on the seat beside her.

That’s…surprisingly attractive.

“Never seen an Ophidian before?” asks Tahlia, leaning back on her elbows on the bar before lifting a brow to me and chuckling a little when I shake my head. “They’re…something. They have pheromones, or so I’ve been told, that make them practically irresistible.”

“Like you seem to be in Arktos City at the moment.” Talis’s voice is mild as she takes a sip of her ale before leaning on her own elbows on the counter. “What did you wish to speak to me about, Tahlia?”

“Ah. Straight to the point. I always admired that about you,” says Tahlia, and a cloud seems to pass over her playful face. Bay and Yeri have melted into the crowd, but Lellie is standing by Talis’s elbow, her arms folded over her chest piece, and a frown turning her pretty mouth down at the corners. Her eyes are flashing with anger, too, and she’s pinning that look to Tahlia.

Tahlia won’t look in her direction, for she’s probably erring on the side of caution, playing it safe.

Lellie seemed so nice at the previous tavern of the evening, but then, of course, she’s a knight. I wouldn’t doubt that if Lellie’s eyes could kill, they would have already dismembered Tahlia. Dismembered, and—perhaps—set her on fire.

But I’m only guessing.

“What do you want, Tahlia?” asks Talis, then, and it’s almost tired, her words. I glance at the knight in surprise, and I can see pain on her lovely face, pain that runs so deep that it seems that her heart is aching. I can’t help it—I reach out across the little space between us, and I take the knight’s hand into my own. She’s still wearing her leather gloves, but the heat from her palms radiates out through the leather, and she glances at me in surprise. It’s only for a heartbeat before she glances back to Tahlia again, but there was a softening, a warming to her countenance.

Butterflies proceed to knock at my ribs, wondering if anyone’s home. I try to calm them, taking a deep breath.

Tahlia, I realize, has not answered the question.

The bandit is gripping her own glass of ale as she leans on the counter, and she takes a deep, low breath. “I wish we didn’t have to do this in front of other people,” she says then, lifting her chin. “But I suppose that what I have to say to you can be said anywhere, anytime.”

Talis’s jaw tightens as she gazes at the woman, and my stomach turns. Wait a moment…were they lovers once, Tahlia and Talis? Oh, it’d be just my luck to find someone like Talis, to want to have relations with such a lovely knight but to realize that something between us could actually work…and then her past lover shows up. I realize that I’m holding my breath as I gaze at Tahlia, and perhaps I should say something, tell Talis how I feel but this is really not the time or place to tell someone that I quite like them.

I wince, waiting for Tahlia to tell the knight that she loves her, that she can’t live without her, that she misses her, has missed her every waking moment. But that is not, in fact, what happens.

Tahlia straightens, gripping the edge of the bar, and she takes a deep breath, lifting her chin.

“I’ve missed you, sister. You know why you’re here.”

And I stare, and this time, my mouth stays open for a moment too long, and when I shut it closed with a snap, my tongue is a wee bit dry.

Sisters.

They’re…sisters?

I look from the Fox Queen, the rogue of all bandits, to the knight in shining armor (literally, her armor is glinting in the light of the magelamps), the knight of Arktos City, the woman who is meant to uphold the law.

They’re sisters.

Well.

I look from one woman to the other and see all of the similarities I noticed before, the ones that made me wonder…and, to put it plainly, I feel a bit of a dunce that I didn’t put two and two together before now.

The evening just keeps taking turns I couldn’t have expected…

And it continues apace.

“When Ma died, she told us what we should do. What we should steal, what was so important to her, the thing she lost. She wanted us to get it back, and we never did it, Talis. She wanted her daughters to come together…” Tahlia’s hands bunch into fists, and her voice shakes just a little. “And I don’t think her spirit rests because the quest remains undone. So…you know why I’ve brought you here tonight. You know what I want to ask of you. For Ma.”

I stare at Tahlia, and then glance back to the knight, to the knight who clearly appears to be uncomfortable, who’s red in the face, who’s holding back tears as she hunches over, putting all of her weight onto her shoulders on the counter.

“I know, Tahlia,” she murmurs, and her voice is heavy. “You want me to do what Ma asked.” Talis lifts her chin then and blinks back the unshed tears. “You want us to steal back the ring.”

Chapter 13

TALIS

I stare at my sister as she nods, face set in resolve, her jaw firm. There’s a strength about her, a sort of quiet dignity that I’ve never really associated with Tahlia before.

My sister standing in front of me like this, for the first time in years…maybe it’s the time that’s come and gone, time that’s changed us both, but…

Tahlia reminds me of our mother.

Our mother Thea, the Fox Queen, the empress of all thieves found an undying sort of love in her second in command, Yeri. We knew Yeri as very young children, and we were able to watch our mother fall in love, but I don’t remember any of it. I remember growing up, the four of us, as a happy family, but before Yeri, long before Yeri, when my mother was younger and more foolhardy…she loved another.

This was a love that, from its very outset, was cursed, but my mother—as headstrong and clever and stubborn as both my sister and I—believed that she could overcome the difficulties that came between them, my mother and her lover.

And there were difficulties, vast, almost insurmountable difficulties. For my mother, long ago, had fallen in love with Uru of Bright Coast.

The people of Bright Coast are not ordinary. They are shapeshifters known as the Draco. They possess human forms that give way to…well. Dragons. They can shapeshift into dragons, and—as a people—they are fearsome and powerful.

So, Uru was no ordinary woman. But she was also no ordinary Draco. For my mother had, somehow, gotten herself mixed up with the leaders of Bright Coast. And Uru was the head general of the dragon queen’s army. Uru was influential, commanding and—if you’d hear my mother tell it, hotter than the sun—and my mother thought their love was a match made in the stars.

But it was not to be. They were too tempestuous, the both of them, and love soon turned to hate. And the head general of the dragon queen’s army…well. She said goodbye to my mother with a level of fierceness and fire that left an impression on Ma.

And Uru stole something from the Fox Queen herself.

Their relationship, obviously, did not end well, and Uru thought she’d keep some small part of my mother. Perhaps as a vendetta, for when love turns to hate, it is all the more potent. Perhaps Uru wanted revenge. Perhaps she simply wanted something of my mother’s because, under all that hate, a small spark of love remained. I don’t know. But Uru took the one thing of my mother’s that was the most precious.

The last night they saw one another, Uru and my mother fought viciously, with words alone until my mother raised her hand against Uru. Against the dragon general herself, my mother fought, for she was a spitfire, truth be told, and she feared nothing. Uru caught her hand in midair, and plucked from her finger the fox ring.

And Uru kept it.

The fox ring has been passed down in my family from mother to daughter, from mother to daughter, since the beginning of Fox Queens. A little band with a small fox’s head protruding, rudely smelted in metal, is the only thing that gives the ring its interest. It’s made of a base metal, spelled with a small bit of magic so that it never tarnishes or corrodes. It is, in fact, patently worthless, but our family has stories about the ring, and even if all the tall tales aren’t even a little bit true, our family has always worn the ring. The ring means you’re a Fox Queen. It is, in and of itself, as powerful a talisman as wings.

But it was taken from my mother. And my mother, until her dying day, craved to go back to Bright Coast. Craved to go back to the capital city, Mount Verlit, and steal the ring back, right out from under the general’s nose. Draco people horde, just like the dragons they shapeshift into, and every Draco has their own personal horde in a room in their home. My mother’s ring is in Uru’s horde, still, we all knew it. And my mother swore, up and down, that she would go, one day, and she would get it back.

But my mother never went back to Bright Coast. She never got her ring back. But I know that, even after death, she had hope for it, still. Because she wanted us to do it. I know she wanted my sister and I to make good on the family name, to get back our heirloom.

To do it for Ma, in honor of her.

I stare at my sister across the space between us. All of the pain of my mother’s passing is still such a fresh wound, even after all this time.

I left home, because I could not bear the pain. I wanted to give up my birthright, my heritage, because it all hurt so much. And the gods know I was never cut out to be a thief. I had a knack for it, but my sister, Tahlia, shone as a highwaywoman and a bandit, a robber and the Fox Queen. I wanted her to have it, the queenhood. It wasn’t meant for me.

But did I leave too soon? I never said goodbye, I just left in the middle of the night, melting into the darkness like a true thief would.

So I stare at Tahlia, and I consider what she asks of me.

And, for Ma, I know I must do it.

I swallow a little, and then I order another ale, and I drink it down, because I can’t be sure that my voice won’t shake for a heartbeat, and I have to steady myself for what I’m about to say.

Cinda, in all of this, waits patiently. I get down the last of my ale, and before I speak a single word, before I can say anything at all, really, I look at this woman, this woman who, an hour or so ago, I was about to taste. This woman who was dragged out into the middle of nowhere because of me. This woman who stands now, in this tavern populated with people she’s never seen before, and she’s holding her own surprisingly well. I’ve been coming to the Nymph Tree since I was very young—oh, it doesn’t just serve ale, it serves real food, too, and my mother would drag the both of us here for family time, away from the rest of the Fox Palace.

But although this is a strange place, and although my sister kidnapped her—quite literally—Cinda seems to be taking all of this in stride. She’s gazing around the room with a bemused expression on her face, fascination apparent. She’s mesmerized by all the different stories she sees, all of the different people and creatures, living their lives and gathering together…at least, that’s what I assume she’s thinking. But I don’t know.

I clear my throat, lean close to her.

“Milady…”

She turns toward me, and Cinda’s smile is radiant, as dazzling as any treasure as she looks deeply into my eyes.

“Are you going to do it?” she asks me breathlessly. “Are you going to steal this ring she’s talking about?”

I look at the woman in surprise, then brush my fingers against the back of my neck. I can feel a blush rising over my skin, and I clear my throat again, coughing into my hand.

It’s the way she looks at me. I promise you, I’m no stranger to women. I know how to move among them with the very best, and I know how to bring a blush to a lady’s cheek. But now Cinda is doing this very thing to me. Maybe it’s the look of excitement, the flush in her own cheeks that make mine turn into mirrors. She looks excited, hopeful, joyful…but I’m not sure yet why.

“I’m…not a thief anymore,” I say hastily, holding up my hands now, not only to Cinda, but to my sister, too. “I put all of that behind me when I left—”

“Ma wouldn’t have wanted you to leave. At least…not like that. We always knew you were different, Talis. I know you didn’t want to become…this.” Tahlia waves her hand up and down the front of her body, as if by pointing to her corset, her leather boots, her cape, she means our birthright.

Becoming the empress of thieves.

“You know that she wanted both of us to take over the Fox Queenhood. Together,” Tahlia murmurs, and she reaches up, her fingers curling over the plate of armor on my shoulder as she turns her steadfast gaze to my eyes and pins me in place with a look. “She said we were meant to do it from the womb, you and I.”

I shrug out of her friendly grasp, my jaw clenched. “I know, Tahlia. I know.”

“But you left—” My sister’s gaze now has metal in it.

“You said yourself that you knew I didn’t want it—”

Tahlia throws her hands up into the air in exasperation. There’s terseness to our words now, and we’re losing patience with each other, and quickly. It was always the way of us, and we’re falling back into our old patterns so easily. “But you betrayed our birthright by wanting to be something you’re not.” The words come out quickly, and for a heartbeat, there’s pain in her face, as if she spat it all out too fast without thinking, but then there’s a glint in her eyes. She doesn’t regret saying it.

“I betrayed nothing and no one. And if you’re going to—” I’m angry at how the pain is so obvious in my words, but my sister’s resolve falters a little when she hears that pain, and she reaches out, touches my shoulder again, this time with gentle fingers.

“Tal, I’m sorry. Gods…” She runs her other hand over her face, and then sighs, long and low. “I thought about what I’d say to you, the next time I saw you. I thought about it so often. But it’s all coming out wrong now.” And then her face softens. “Just…tell me. Was it worth it, Talis? Leaving?” She searches my face. “Do you at least enjoy being a knight?”

My throat tightens as I stare at my sister. Whenever we fought as children, we faced one another head on, locked in a fisticuffs, because we were both so evenly matched. We are always evenly matched, she and I, but—for this heartbeat—she has the upper hand. I know it. Her eyes widen as she glimpses in my face a flicker of something that betrays me, something that, at the very least, indicates that I’m not as happy as I should be.

Because of course I’m not as happy as I should be, because I’ve fought, in the years that I left, to be taken seriously as someone who should be a knight. I fought and was ignored, fought and was looked over.

I’m still not a knight.

I’m just wearing the stolen armor of one.

I’m a fraud.

All of this flashes in my heart in an instant, but Tahlia senses that something’s not right. Rather than gloat—which the Tahlia of old might have, perhaps, done—she glances at me in concern, acknowledging my pain but not using it to trump me.

It’s…surprising.

She keeps surprising.

“Talis…” she murmurs, her brow furrowed, “is there something the matter? Is…is being a knight not everything you hoped it would be?”

There’s genuine warmth in her voice, and I glance at my sister, surprised.

It’s been three years. I guess people can change in that time. No, I know people can change in that time, because I, myself, have certainly changed.

So why does it surprise me that my sister carries empathy in her features now, a nobility to her countenance that our years as teenaged ruffians never led me to believe she could possess?

I stand a little straighter, and I can hear the armor clink softly as I straighten my spine. My stolen armor.

“It’s…it’s different from how I expected being a knight would…uh…be.” I clear my throat, and then I glance at Lellie, Lellie who’s been mostly quiet during this conversation.

All she does is raise her brows to the heavens and down another glass of ale.

Which is very mild for Lellie. So I’ll take it.

“You didn’t answer, Tal. Are you going to come with me? Are we going to do this?” asks Tahlia, and her smile is so bright, so mischievous…so Tahlia. It was the smile that always got us into such deep trouble.

“Steal back the ring?” I take a deep breath, rocking back on my heels. “So…we’d need to sneak into the city undetected. Have you ever been to Bright Coast? Mount Verlit City?”

“No, and no, and neither have you. Unless things have changed since I last saw you?” She cocks her head, her eyes flashing as wickedly as her grin, for she knows I haven’t. I sigh for a long moment.

“It’s the capital city of the Draco. The Draco, Tahlia,” I tell her, shaking my head. “They are the fiercest, most powerful—”

“Isn’t that what they say about the knights of Arktos City? And I’m the Fox Queen. We’re not intimidated so easily as all that.” Tahlia’s grin deepens.

“That’s, I’m sure, what our mother said, before she fell in love with a Draco,” I groan, running the palm of my hand over my face again, and then shoving my fingers back through my shock of hair.

“Let’s do it, Talis. Oh, let’s go. Let’s do it.” And then my sister stands straight, defiance in every line and curve of her. “Let’s do it tonight!”

I stare at her, my mouth open.

“Come, come…think of it. It makes the most sense, don’t you see? We’re already together, we—”

“Tahlia.” My heart races as I try to let her down as gently as possible. “Tahlia…I mean, I know our mother wanted us to do this,” I tell her quietly, and then glance deliberately back over my shoulder at Cinda. “I know. It’s just…right now is very much not a good time.”

Tahlia glances at Cinda, too, and then her grin deepens—something I didn’t think possible. “Ah, but you see—the lady wanted an adventure tonight, Talis. And this very much qualifies as an adventure.”

I blink. Cinda’s smile is cheeky and bright, and when she glances at my sister, she actually nods.

“It’s true. Tahlia’s right. I…I’ve never been outside of Arktos.” Cinda says all of this in a rush, as if she’s trying to get everything out at once. “And since this is my first time out of the city…I want an adventure. And Bright Coast? It sounds amazing. I’d love to visit!”

“Cinda, it’s not a visit,” I tell her hastily, softly, searching her face. “We’d be going in as thieves, we’d be robbing the lead general of the Draco. We could get killed.”

Cinda takes a deep breath, pursing her lips. “Well. I mean we must be departing this life at some point or other. True?” There’s light in her eyes. “I don’t want to go to my final sleep covered in flour and nothing else. I want the dust of the road to be on my shoes. I want…” She takes a deep breath. “This is the best night of my life, so far. I want to keep it going.”

“This is a little more than keeping it going—” I murmur quickly, but my sister is overjoyed at this development, and now that she has Cinda on her side, she knows she’s very, very close to convincing me.

And I know it, too.

“Tonight is the best possible night to do this,” says Tahlia, pressing a fingertip to the table’s surface. “It’s Wild Night in Bright Coast. It’s their yearly festival of masks and mayhem, full of dances and parties…” Her voice drops to a breathless whisper. “Sister, if we go to Mount Verlit City tonight, we’ll be able to sneak through the city undetected. The entire city is one big party. We’ll never be noticed!”

I shake my head. “It’s not exactly the city I’m worried about. What about the general?”

My sister gives me a huge smile before downing another tankard of ale. She was always able to hold her drink well, and now—when she speaks her next words—there’s not a hint of stupor or drunkenness to her. She’s as bright as a newly-made sword.

“Ah, but that’s the best part,” whispers my sister, raising her brows. “For the queen of Bright Coast, and most of her best champions, are in Arktos City right now.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder, the general direction of the city. “For the Hero’s Tournament. The general is there. Uro is in Arktos, everyone who’s anyone is in Arktos for the tournament, so Mount Verlit itself, the whole damn city, is practically unprotected! They’ll never notice thieves.”

I sigh. “But they’re Draco. ‘Unprotected’ for them means that there are only several thousand of their best women within the city, ready to defend it at a moment’s notice…” I turn my hand slowly in the air, “and snap up any wrongdoers and devour them.”

Cinda’s smile—which, up until this moment hadn’t faltered a bit—twitches a little. “Uh…wait. When…um. When you say devour them—”

I raise a brow. “I mean devour them. As in eat them.”

Cinda sighs. “That’s what I was afraid you meant. Carry on.”

“No, no, there won’t be any devouring. You worry too much!” My sister pushes off from the bar and slings an arm easily around my shoulders, as if no time has passed at all. As if it was only a day ago that we were up to mischief together, plotting and planning like we are right now. “Don’t you worry, Tal. The thing is, I have a secret weapon!”

I glance sidelong at my sister, and I’m caught off guard at how happy she looks. I catch a smile from her—her grins are infectious, after all—and I allow her to pull me across the tavern.

“A secret weapon? I’m almost afraid to ask,” I mutter, “but what does that mean?”

“Ah, well. It’s more like a ‘who’ than a ‘what.’ But before I go revealing all my secrets…” She pauses in the very center of the tavern, her arm still around my shoulder as she gives me a side eye, her mouth curling upwards at the corners. “You still haven’t answered me. Are we going to do this?”

Lellie, my poor, amazing friend Lellie, has said and done nothing during this entire exchange, but her brows are up now, and her arms are crossed, and she’s looking at me with a very easy-to-read expression: what are you going to do? Your move. My sister is also looking at me quite expectantly, and my head is reeling as I turn from both of them and look to Cinda.

Cinda’s not looking at me. Instead, she’s glancing around the room again with a soft, faraway expression on her face. Her head is to the side, and there’s such a dreamy softness to her in this moment. It’s hard to explain—I haven’t known her that long, it’s true, but there’s been a surety to her, up until now. As if she always gets what she needs to get done. I liked that, back at the original tavern (what seems a lifetime ago now, but it’s only an hour or two, or is it more?), but I like this, too.

She looks hopeful. Excited. Open to whatever may arise.

My sister kidnapping her…that was rotten. Obviously.

But here and now, Cinda looks happy.

And when she realizes I’m looking at her, she shakes herself from her reverie, and she glances my way.

And her smile. Oh, that smile. I want to bask in its bright, golden rays for quite a long time.

I take a deep breath.

“What do you think?” I ask Cinda, spreading my hands. “Do you want to go to Bright Coast?”

“With you?” she asks, and she’s keeping her features carefully neutral, but I can tell the smile that’s hidden beneath. Her mouth is trying to curl up at the corners, and she finally lets it when I nod.

“Yes. With me. And her. And her,” I say, raising a brow and nodding to my sister and Lellie, both.

“Yes,” says Cinda, all at once, pure joy radiating from her features. “Yes!” And then she wraps her arms around me and pulls me into a tight, excited embrace.

I can’t help but smile as I embrace her back.

“I do suppose I’ll have to go with you. To make sure you stay out of trouble,” Lellie sighs, casting her eyes skyward.

“You know that if this goes…south…” I murmur, “you’ll be implicated, too.”

Lellie sighs for a long moment. “Obviously. But I can’t let you go by yourself, can I? Not with this one,” she glances daggers at Tahlia, “and you’ve just started things with your lady friend, so that’s no good. She needs to be shown a good time, right?”

“I don’t know if this is going to be a good time. This might be a dead time,” I mumble.

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty head! We’re not going to die. Because of my secret weapon!” My sister chirps this joyfully, stepping forward and when Cinda lets me go, Tahlia wraps her arms around my neck before squeezing the breath from me. “Thanks, Tal. This is going to be great. Don’t worry about a thing—we’ll get in, get out…it’ll be just like old times.” There’s a lot packed into the words she whispers into my ears before she pushes away, giving me a sidelong grin and ruffling my hair, just like she always used to do. Once, she did it because she knew it annoyed me. My hair has always been short, always misbehaving and fluttering about and spiky and ridiculous, but sometimes I’d get it just the way I liked, before she ruffled it into terribleness again. But, over time, her ruffling my hair became a sign of affection I begrudgingly accepted.

It’s surprising from her now. We’re falling back into the old patterns, she and I. It’s…nice. I missed her, missed her fiercely—perhaps more than I might care to admit to anyone.

“So, that secret weapon of yours?” I ask, running my fingers back through my hair in a vain attempt to set it all aright. I’m sure it fails.

Tahlia steps back and nods her head toward a far back booth in the tavern. “This way. Let me introduce you…”

I follow after her, mystified, and Cinda and Lellie both take their drinks from the bar and come after the two of us.

I follow Tahlia through the darkly lit tavern until we reach the back.

And there, in the final booth, is the woman she wants to introduce me to. Her “secret weapon.”

“Hullo,” says said secret weapon, hefting her pint aloft and toasting us with a wide, toothy smile.

This woman…she’s a Draco.

Draco aren’t always easily identifiable. A lot of them have learned how to use glamors, like the fair folk, to keep themselves from being noticed, and a lot of Draco don’t really travel out of Bright Coast, so it’s rare to see them. Maybe someone looking at a Draco might not even recognize the signs. But I do. I’ve met Draco before, Draco who have come to the Arktos City palace, Draco who needed their horses looked after in the stables. I know them on sight.

And this Draco? She’s not doing a thing to hide what makes her…her. She wears the signs proudly.

There’s an internal heat that radiates from a Draco. They can breathe fire, even in their human forms (they’re…uh, more than a little intimidating because of this), and the heat is stored in their bellies, and it simply permeates a room. That’s the first thing I notice when we step closer to her booth—it’s as if someone opened up an oven, the wave of heat that rolls off of her.

And, when she looks our way, I see them.

Eyes with a slit down the middle of the pupil. Dragon eyes, in a human face.

She smiles again, her canines longer than a human’s might be. She nods her head in our direction, and again she raises her glass to us before downing all of the contents.

She has shoulder-length brown hair that seems to shift color in the low light of the Nymph Tree. Draco hair is iridescent, almost seems lit from within, and it’s obvious that this woman’s hair seems to have a latent fire all its own. She’s wearing a loose black blouse, loose-fitting dancer’s pants, and leather shoes. Simple, elegant. Her fingernails, like her hair, are iridescent and shifting color in the soft light. Her face is square and angular, with a certain nobility to it. If I found her type attractive, she would be magnetic, but even without my heart or other parts of me noticing her, she gives off an air of magnetism that’s hard to ignore.

“Fane, this is my sister, Talis. And this is Cinda and Lellie,” says Tahlia, ever smooth as she indicates the ladies in turn. “Ladies, this is Fane of the Draco. She’s going to get us into Mount Verlit City.”

“Charmed,” murmurs Fane, suggestion to her tone as she sets her empty glass down next to a fresh, full one. There are actually about ten full glasses of ale sitting on the tabletop, and about as many empty ones.

“Where did you find her?” I ask my sister, gripping her arm and whispering softly into her ear. “Can we trust her? Is she of any relation to Uru? What—”

“Relax, relax,” my sister croons to me, giving me a wide smile that tells me she probably wouldn’t be able to answer any of my following questions. My sister was always like this—find someone in a tavern, charm them, get them involved in some scheme or other. My mother operated like this, too—a good thief gets close to someone, and then uses them for their gain. But it’s not a particularly nice trait.

“Look, Tahlia,” I murmur to her, but Fane clears her throat, sitting back in her seat in the booth and placing her elbows along the seatback, one brow raised as she cocks her head at me.

“Worried I’ll give you away?” she asks, and then she grins wider. “Your sister told me the whole story. The ring is yours. You should have it back. I’m on your side!”

“That’s…very kind of you,” I manage, brows furrowed, “but what are you getting out of this? Why are you helping us?”

Fane downs another glass, pushing the empty thing to the right of the table as she picks up another full tankard. “Your sister and I have an…understanding,” she says, lifting the glass to her lips as she winks. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

I raise a brow, and Tahlia’s grin deepens.

An understanding.

Ah.

Tahlia slept with Fane.

Well, that’s not a very good understanding. That is, in fact, historically a very bad understanding, considering that my mother’s relationship with a Draco is what got us into this mess in the first place.

“Just trust her. I do,” says Tahlia, drawing herself up to her full height, which is just as tall as I am, but she seems to think she’s taller. And maybe she is a little in those blasted boots of hers. I sigh.

“I don’t trust her, and I certainly don’t trust you.” I eye my sister, and she gives me another of her cheeky grins.

“If you’re coming along with me, you’ve got to trust me at least a little,” says Tahlia with a shrug. “Hey, I’ll take what I can get. Fane, are you almost done? The night’s not getting any younger,” says Tahlia, glancing down at the unfinished ales in front of the Draco.

“Hold your horses, madam. I’m getting there. Just give me a minute.” Fane winks as she picks up another glass and systemically drains that one, too. I bite at my lip, a thousand worries swirling through me.

“Uh…Tahlia. How are we getting to Bright Coast? I’m assuming you have that part figured out. It’s several days’ journey by horse—” I begin, but Tahlia reaches up and presses her pointer finger to my mouth before I can continue.

“You worry too much. Obviously, I have this covered. Fane’s going to take us!”

“…Fane?” I step away from her shushing and glance down at the woman who’s downing yet another glass. “How, exactly?”

“You’ll see!” And when Fane winks at me this time, there’s a fair amount of suggestion in it. She grins widely as she stands up, having just finished the last in what appears to be twenty tankards of ale. And yet, when she stands, there’s not a bit of her that wavers in her balance. She looks as if she’s been drinking water all this time. She rolls her shoulders back, rolls her neck back along her shoulders and then shakes her arms a little, as if she’s warming up for something. She fixes us to the spot with that wide grin. “And I’m ready if you are!”

“This is all happening so fast!” breathes Cinda, and she reaches out across the space between us and plucks at my arm. I glance over my shoulder at her and can’t help but return the smile that blossoms on that lovely face. Cinda takes my arm, and she holds tightly onto it, squeezing it to her chest like she’s embracing someone with gusto. Her breasts squish with tightness against my arm, and I can’t help but deepen my grin. Fane, also, appears to be watching this, and when I glance her way again, her brows are raised, and her smile is as toothy as can be.

“You’re ready, I take it?” asks Fane blandly, and when we nod, she salutes us, a fingertip to her forehead before her arms fall against her sides again. “Just let me use the watercloset, and we’ll get this show on the road!”

“Perhaps that’s something we should all do?” asks Lellie, who has apparently turned into the mother of the group as she places a hand at the small of my back.

“Sure, sure,” I reply distractedly, glancing down at Cinda again, who’s looking up at me with a blush rushing over her cheeks. It seems that adventure very much agrees with the lovely lady.

I know my way around the place, and, apparently, so does Fane. We all make our way toward the back of the Nymph Tree. I’m lost in thought as I try to figure out what, exactly, is going to happen to us, if I should be worried about Cinda coming along on this trip (I’m not that worried about Lellie, because she fairly knows what she’s signing up for. I’ve told her stories. But Cinda’s an innocent—she has no idea what my sister and I are capable of, as daughters of the Fox Queen, and…oh…this trail of thought is just making me more worried).

“It’ll take an hour to get there, by dragon flight,” says Tahlia, sneaking up beside me and murmuring into my ear. “We have an hour to figure out our attack plan.”

“Oh, there’s going to be no attacking, mark my words. I’ve been too long out of this game, and we have civilians with us,” I tell her firmly, my voice soft, too, pitched so that only my sister can hear it. “I have my reservations about taking along Lellie—this could implicate her, she could lose her knighthood if this got out, and she’s my friend and I don’t want to worry about her so much. And Cinda…” I sigh. “She’s never done anything like this. I don’t want her to get hurt, Tahlia.”

“Obviously, I’ll look out for her, too,” Tahlia snorts, as if I’ve underestimated her. “But what about you? Aren’t you worried about losing your knighthood, too?”

I blink, and then take a deep, ragged breath. “Well. It’s a little more complicated than all that. This is clearly not the time and place to get into it, but…” I reach out, wrap an arm around my sister and squeeze her shoulders tightly. “But…I have a story to tell you. I hope we have enough time that I can tell it.”

A shadow passes over her face, and she nods. “Me, too. We have a lot of catching up to do. I’ve missed you.” There’s a wistful look on her face, now, and I return her smile.

“Yes. I missed you, too.”

We’ve reached the back corridor by now, and there’s a long line for the watercloset that’s positioned in the back of the tavern. The line wraps along the back of the trunk of the tree (inside, of course, and far beneath the ground, there’s magic used to make the tree look much larger than it actually is, magic used for all sorts of things within this place).

“We need to get moving right away, we have much to finish before dawn comes,” my sister tells me, pursing her mouth into a thin line, “so we won’t be able to stop and talk to Rowan.”

I think of the nymph, and I sigh. “She’ll be sad we’ve left without saying goodbye.”

“We’ll come back. Won’t we?” asks my sister, and her words are plaintive. I nod, working my jaw.

“I see no reason not to. Tahlia, I’m…I’m sorry.” My jaw clenches. “It’s just…when Ma died—”

“I know,” Tahlia says quickly, and there’s a stiffness to her, and she won’t look at me as we take our place at the tail of the line. “I…know. It pained me, too, and we all grieve in our own ways. It just hurt, and deeply, when it seemed that you wanted to put everything behind you. That you wanted to put me behind you.”

I glance at her in surprise. “That’s not…that’s not what I ever intended on doing.”

Tahlia holds my gaze, and though her face is so strong—there’s always been so much strength to it—there’s a bit of pain that passes, just beneath her features. “It seemed like it.”

The line moves forward, and I take a step backward, not wanting to look away from Tahlia. “Tahlia, I’m so sorry—that’s not what I—” but before I can get the rest out, I run into someone.

I was taking a step backward to keep up with the line—I was hardly moving quickly, and there was no force behind the step. But when my body hits the softness of another, there’s a growl of anger that emanates from the other person.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur absent-mindedly, and I turn back to Tahlia. “I want you to know that—” I begin, but I don’t get much further. For there’s a strong hand that grips my elbow, where there is no armor—only leather. A strong enough hand that turns me around quickly. Or it would, at least, but I’m standing firmly. So it only results in pulling me a little off balance. I take a step backward, catching myself, turning to look at the woman in question.

The woman I ran into.

I was paying attention to my sister, and though I apologized to this lady for stepping into her, I didn’t really think about it. But now that she’s caught my attention—and my arm—I blink.

The woman I ran into is one of the fair folk.

The fair folk are…well, it’s unfair to call them all intimidating, powerful and deadly, but most of them have earned that reputation. They are the most magical of all peoples here on Agrotera. Some have migrated to other worlds, and there, they’re known as fairies. But people have ideas about fairies. They think they’re sweet and small, granters of wishes and full of pixie dust.

But that’s…not true.

Fair folk are deadly. They’re magical, yes, but they often use a deep, primeval magic that is so old and ancient that it moves beyond ideas of good and evil. The fair folk move through the world as beautiful as a dream, but they are selfish and cruel, and take great delight in harming other creatures. The knights of Arktos avoid them at all cost. They’re rare—you don’t often see one of the fair folk these days in Arktos at all, actually—but that does not make the few here any less deadly.

I appear to have angered this fair folk, here and now, for though she’s shorter than me, the top of her pretty, silver-haired head only reaching the top of my shoulder, and much lither, and wispy-seeming, almost, she’s glancing up at me now with dark eyes that reflect the sharpness of a dagger.

“You bumped into me,” she whispers, and her voice is so soft and pretty. It reminds me of chimes or bells, tolling brightly in the distance, but there’s an undercurrent of rage beneath it.

This fair folk appears to be fairly inebriated. Whereas Draco can apparently hold their drink quite well, fair folk cannot. I’ve only ever seen one other fair folk drunk, and that was many years ago, and also here, at the Nymph Tree.

She caused a pretty terrible fight, if I remember correctly.

“I’m sorry. Truly. May I buy you a drink?” I ask her, deepening a smile. My words come out smoothly, but though I keep my gaze on her, my entire body is on high alert, tense and at the ready.

“I don’t want you to buy me a drink. I’m here with her,” says the fair folk, jerking over her shoulder with her thumb at…really, any number of women. I’m not exactly certain who she’s pointing to.

“I’m so sorry I bumped into you—my apologies,” I croon to her, but there’s a blush rising into her face as she stares past me, her eyes narrowing into hard, dark points.

“Is that a Draco?” she asks, and she lets go of my elbow, shoving past me. She’s surprisingly strong for someone so small. I say “surprisingly strong,” because it wasn’t just a simple shove.

The shove she gave me was strong enough to push me back onto a table.

I was standing firmly, and I have more than a bit of strength to me, but she has superhuman strength, it appears, for one moment, I’m standing, and the next I’m flying through the air. My shoulders and hips take most of the hit, as I land on the table, and I groan as I roll over into someone’s soup, my shoulder armor upending the bowl of green stuff onto the woman’s lap.

“Sorry,” I murmur, and I’m pushing off the table, standing, just in time to see the diminutive fair folk punch Fane.

That superhuman strength of hers is apparently quite potent.

For Fane flies backwards into the wall of the Nymph Tree.

“Let’s just stop this before it starts,” I’m saying, my voice loud, pitched to carry through a room that’s going quite silent, but there’s no time for my words to register, because Fane is getting up to her feet, dusting off her arms.

“I’m sorry, mates,” says Fane, standing up a little straighter, her grin wicked, “but I’m not a fan of fairies.”

“What did you just call me?” roars the fair folk lady at the same time that Tahlia runs a hand over her face and murmurs: “well, shit.”

“You heard me, fairy!” Fane growls.

It’s actually so quiet in the Nymph Tree right now that you could hear the tolling of a death bell on a distant mountaintop, if one happened to start ringing.

Because that’s about the mood of the Nymph Tree at the moment.

“Fane, we don’t have any time for this,” I murmur, stepping forward between the fair folk and the Draco, but I’m just not fast enough. Either that, or the other two women are much, much faster than I am, for they rush across the space between them and smack into one another, and then there’s the shing of swords and daggers and other weapons being drawn, and then…

Well.

That’s when the fight breaks out.

The fight in the Nymph Tree does not, of course, involve every patron. A lot of the women around, human or no, keep on with their conversations, their laughter and their drinks, occasionally lifting a pint of ale to keep it from being knocked off their table. But many of the people start fighting all at once. Like magic, I suppose, if magic was made of women, alcohol, expletives and flying fists.

In the maelstrom of mayhem that follows, I do my best to avoid the women slugging at one another and try to find Cinda in all of this. I don’t want her to get hurt, and I certainly don’t want her involved in a fight—this is all my fault that she’s here, after all, and it’s my duty to keep her safe.

But I shouldn’t have worried.

Cinda’s standing on a table in a matter of heartbeats, and she’s got a chair in her hands. If anyone comes near her, she wallops them with the chair with a beaming smile on her face.

Well, Cinda’s all right then. Let me see, where’s my sister...

Ah. She is also standing on a table, but she’s added a bit of pizzazz to the entire affair, because she’s got her hook and rope around a wooden chandelier hanging from the ceiling, full of cool-to-the-touch magelamps, and when she goes for the fair folk that’s still accosting Fane, she flies through the air, gripping the rope, with her boots aimed for the fair folk’s head.

I don’t see if she makes impact, though, because the last person I need to make certain is all right is Lellie. But I needn’t have worried. She, also, seems to be in her element, and she’s not even drawn her sword yet. Lellie’s only a little ways from me, and every time a woman comes toward her, running or rambling or even flying through the air, Lellie steps smartly sideways and avoids being touched. She picks up a flagon of ale from a server’s tray who walks past (this server, also, appears oblivious to the fight, which she’d probably have to be, working at the Nymph Tree and all), and she toasts me with the flagon before starting to drink (and, also, neatly sidestepping another woman who happened to be thrown through the air in her general direction).

I make my way through the fray toward Cinda, and when I reach her table, I leap up to join her.

“You seem to be doing just fine!” I yell toward her as I pick up a chair leg from the top of the table—a chair leg that Cinda appears to have broken off her chair as she whaled it against someone.

“I work in a bakery!” Cinda shouts back as she lets the chair fly again against the giantess, who seems to have woken from her slumber and is blithely trying to flatten every tavern-goer with her bare hands. Cinda downs her with that single hit from the chair, and I can’t help but be vastly impressed.

“Are bakeries really that dangerous?” I ask her, clocking a warrior woman upside the head as she tries to reach for Cinda’s leg to yank her down from the table.

“You’d be surprised!” is Cinda’s reply as she steps neatly away from the warrior woman’s grasp, and also clocks her on the side of her head with the chair. She’s tempered her hit to be much, much gentler than she used on the giantess, and this means that the warrior woman is still coming for her. “Oh, really,” sighs Cinda, and then she tries again, this time swinging the chair with a bit more gusto.

The chair’s seat breaks as it connects with the warrior woman, but the hit also knocks the woman unconscious, thank the stars.

“All right—we should probably start plotting our exit,” I tell Cinda, and hop off the table. I offer my arm up to her, and I can’t help but smile as I look up at this woman in her pretty dress, the broken chair in her hands, and a beaming smile making her face light up like the sun. “If you would, milady?”

She drops the broken chair, and she takes my hand. When she touches me, the warmth and softness of her skin, even the little bit of sweat along her palm from fighting valiantly—it ignites a fire inside of me. I help her as she leaps nimbly down to the floor, and then I’m wrapping an arm around her, drawing her close to me as the tavern brawl continues and starts to crescendo around us.

But that’s not all that’s igniting at the moment…

My feelings for Cinda involve a lot of heat, but I blink as I feel too-much-warmth start to rise around us, and I’m suddenly starting to feel much too hot in this armor. And I realize that the low light of the tavern isn’t exactly that low anymore. And then I breathe out, my mouth falling open.

There’s a reason there are magelamps everywhere for light in the Nymph Tree. Magelamps are cool to the touch, and they’re lit with magic, and could never, ever set anything aflame.

They need to use magelamps to light to the Nymph Tree because it is, of course, a tree.

Fire makes trees burn. So fire is, therefore, not allowed anywhere near the Nymph Tree.

But the fire in front of my eyes right now appears not to have received that message.

“Fire,” I whisper, and then I wet my lips, shouting again. “Fire!”

But no one brawling in the tree currently appears to heed me. And then there’s a whooshing sound, and a ray of fire emanates from something, adding more flame to the blaze that’s currently eating a table, some chairs and part of the wall…

I stare in shock at Fane, who’s still brawling with the fair folk lady. Fane is tilting her head back, her chest inflating, and then…

Oh, no.

Oh, no.

Fane breathes fire into the room.

I’ve mentioned before that Draco are capable of breathing fire in their dragon forms, but also in their human forms, a fact that often makes them a little bit more intimidating than being able to transform into dragons (it’s difficult to be more intimidating than that, truly, and yet somehow they manage).  And that’s exactly what she’s doing now. I’m not certain what she’s thinking—she knows that the Nymph Tree is entirely made of wood, it being a tree, but she’s chin-deep in the thick of the fight, and I don’t think she’s remembering where she is…

“Oh, shit,” mutters Tahlia, coming up beside me and staring, her mouth open, at the chaos erupting in front of us. “I…we need to stop this.”

I glare witheringly at my sister, and then I sigh. “I’ll go for the fair folk, if you take the Draco.”

“How come you get the easy one?” my sister kids, and then she winks, laughing before we both skirt the edge of the perimeter of fighting women…women who have seemingly not noticed that there’s fire in their midst…

As we approach the tussling Draco and fair folk, I edge around them uncertainly. I need to find an opening in their fight where I can grab the fair folk and tear her away from the Draco, but that opening is seemingly impossible to find. For one, these two move very quickly, for another, the flames around both of them are very high at this point.

“What in the world is going on?” comes a voice that’s very familiar and very high pitched with anger, emanating from the entrance to the room.

And there’s Rowan, her hands on her hips, staring with her mouth open at the chaos spread before her.

And the flames.

Lots and lots of flames at this point.

“We’re working on fixing it, Rowan,” yells Tahlia with a frown, and then she dives into the middle of the fighting women and makes a bee-line toward Fane. She manages to wrap an arm around the Draco’s broad shoulders and pulls her back, out of the fray, just as Fane inhales deeply, ready to breathe fire again.

“Not right now, my friend,” says Tahlia, and she claps a hand over Fane’s mouth, but then Tahlia pulls her away from my view, and I’m left to contend with the fair folk.

“She…I have to avenge…my honor,” the fair folk is saying, but she has a bloody nose (fairies bleed blue blood, so it looks a little strange in the shifting light from the fire), and she also looks a little drunk, now that I’m looking at her.

“You’re all right,” I tell her, patting her shoulder and helping her stand. She immediately leans to the left, and then sits in an upright chair (its table has been flattened, as well as the other chairs that were pulled up to it, from someone using them to break their fall), and the fair folk looks down at her hands and sighs before falling backward onto the chair, unconscious.

I breathe out in relief, and then I glance around me. Most of the fighting seems to have lessened, and now…

Well, now there’s just the fire in the dry-as-a-bone tree to contend with.

“Ladies,” I say, racing up to the pool of mermaids. “Is there any way—”

They all snort.

“Talis, dear, we’re already on it—you’d better help get the last of the people out, though, so we can do our thing.” I get a few winks, and then I nod, winking back, too, glad of them.

I move back over to the fair folk and hoist her up to drape over my shoulder. Almost everyone has cleared out of the tavern now, except for Rowan, who’s staring at the flames with her arms crossed in front of her in annoyance, a brow raised to the skies.

“There’s going to be a reckoning, my dear—did you or your sister have anything to do with this?” she asks me, pinning me to the spot with a lightning-sharp gaze.

“Don’t we usually?” I groan.

Outside, people are patting smoke from their outfits, laughing together in relief…some of them are kissing quite passionately. And there, in the very center of the meadow, are Lellie, Fane and Tahlia with horse and donkey.

But Cinda is not to be seen.

I set the fair folk down on the ground next to the still-unconscious giantess. I cross the space between us, and I look from one lady to the other, brows up, blood beginning to pump through me a little quicker.

“Where’s Cinda?” I ask them.

Tahlia glances back at me, and she raises her brows, too, a look of worry passing quickly over her features. “We…thought she was with you?”

“Oh, for the love of all that’s decent…you’re supposed to be watching her.”

“Me?” my sister sounds outraged as she snorts.

“May I remind you that you kidnapped her?” I growl.

She shrugs a little uncomfortably. “Ah…point taken. But isn’t that your lovely lady right over there? Safe? Unharmed? Saving…someone else, apparently?”

I turn around, and…right as rain…there she is. Cinda. And she is, indeed, in the middle of saving someone else. Cinda is dragging out a woman who apparently got knocked unconscious in the fight, her head lolling against her shoulders as Cinda pulls her up the remaining steps and out of the tree.

Cinda continues to drag the woman a good ways from the tree where she sets her down gently against the grass. She straightens up, her hands at the small of her back, and then she stretches overhead—until she spots me.

Cinda turns, and her face is radiant…dazzling, really. She moves over to me, and then she’s wrapping her arms around me, and it’s Cinda who sweeps me off my feet, Cinda who kisses me passionately, her mouth curved up in a smile, and so sweet and kissable.

I’m laughing against her as she lets me go, patting smoke out of the front of her dress, and then her hair as she chuckles at me, too.

“It…seems that you had things under control,” I tell her quietly, eyeing the woman she rescued. Cinda’s smile is so bright that it would eclipse the sun if it could.

“I found her on the way out—the mermaids have things under control, really, but I thought I should help. So I did.” When she looks up at me, her eyes are twinkling. And then she wraps her arms around my neck again, and she stands on her tiptoes. “Oh, Talis—this night has been so fun so far.”

“Even the kidnapping?” I ask her, brows raised, and she wrinkles her nose.

“Well, I might have done without that. But…I mean you. Adventuring with you. It’s been wonderful.” She looks up at me, and something indescribable passes over her face.

But, whatever it is…it’s beautiful.

“Ah…well. I was going to ask you about that.” My throat tightens as I look down at her, as I gaze down into that beautiful face, and my worry from a few moments ago—wondering if she was still in the burning tree—comes back, bright and fierce. Anything could happen, where we’re going. She’s not going to be safe. I lick my lips. “Are you sure…I mean, do you really want to come with us? To Bright Coast?”

“And why not?” she asks, straightening up. She doesn’t let go of me, but her arms around my neck have gotten a lot stiffer as she gazes up at me mystified. “I’m welcome to come with you, aren’t I?”

“Oh…you’re always welcome. So welcome,” I murmur, and it’s almost as if—of their own accord—my hands are wrapping gently around her waist. I want to tell her so much, in this moment, how watching her drag that woman from the burning tree was amazing. How she is amazing. But I try to quell all of my feelings, rising inside of me. I try to stick to the facts. “It’s just…it’s going to be dangerous.” I search her face. “So dangerous. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

A sly smile comes across Cinda’s face at that, and she shakes her head. “Believe it or not, my dear knight, this is the most exciting night of my life. I’m…really enjoying this. And I don’t want it to end. Not yet. I want to go with you. If you’ll have me.”

Oh, how I want to have her. But I nod, my throat tight, and I wrap my hands even tighter at her waist, her arms at my neck, and linked tightly as we are, I kiss her.

And the kiss blazes through both of us, hotter than the fire.

Chapter 14

CINDA

“I’m not an exceptionally big fan of heights.”

Fane looks at me stolidly before giving me a big, toothy grin. “Well, then. Just don’t look down!”

“That’s…unhelpful.”

“I do my best.”

“Unhelpful, Fane. Unhelpful.”

“Ah, well…I said I do my best. I don’t get it right all the time. I’m only perfect in bed.”

Her words are so surprising that every single one of us present laughs, and Fane is laughing, too, tilting her head back, her black hair sweeping over her bare shoulders. She’s taken off her shirt at this point, and has folded it neatly, with quite crisp lines, and handed it to Tahlia. Fane’s only wearing her dark black pants, her leather shoes and a slim breastband now, and she turns, her chin up, and strides into the forest, expecting the rest of us to follow her.

And we do, leaving the smoking Nymph Tree and the rest of the women behind us. I saw Tahlia speaking to her seconds, Yeri and Bay, and they disappeared into the dark.

So it’s just us.

Talis is gripping the reins of both Rane and the donkey, Cossie, and I assume she’s going to tie them to one of the hitching posts out front of the Nymph Tree until we get back, or…really. I’m not quite sure what I assumed.

But I know one thing, surely: we’re not taking the two animals with us.

Until…we are.

“Wait, wait…they’re coming with us? How in the world is this going to work?” I ask Talis as we set out through the woods, following Fane, Lellie, Tahlia, Talis and me…and the two mounts.

Talis glances back at me with raised brows, as if she’s not sure what I’m asking, so I spell it out plainly, gesturing to the donkey and mare. “We’re…we’re taking the mounts with us?”

“Oh, of course. We can’t leave them behind. This is a knight’s warrior mare…and this is Cossie.” She affectionately pats the donkey’s very furry neck, and he glances at me smugly. “Fury Wood isn’t especially safe at night, even for someone hardened by battle. And it’s certainly not safe for a donkey. Someone could eat him.”

I glance at Cossie who’s still looking smug, and I wonder if that might not be the worst thing in the world, since I’m fairly certain the beast tried to kill me…but I decide that this is an uncharitable thought, and—feeling a little bad about it—I reach out and try to pet the donkey.

But he bites me first, chomping down quite hard on my fingers. I wrangle my hand out of his mouth and glare daggers at the beast, but he simply trots a little faster to stride alongside Talis. I sigh.

“And your mare?” I ask Lellie. Lellie smiles and shakes her head at me.

“She’s gone home by now for her mash, I’m sure. She didn’t get supper, and is a bit headstrong about it.”

I blink, but accept this. “But…how is Fane going to carry all of us, and the beasts besides?”

Fane circles back, practically bounding over to us with a wide grin. “Did I hear my name being mentioned? Are you talking about how ruggedly beautiful I am and how you very much wish that—”

“No, Fane,” both Talis and I groan at the same time, and then we glance at one another, and we’re laughing.

“Because most women in my presence—”

“Roll their eyes at your boasts,” says Lellie, raising a brow. She doesn’t look at Fane at all when the Draco glances her way, and then Fane’s grin deepens even further—which I didn’t think possible.

“I like her,” purrs Fane, and then she says it again, a little louder and with a touch more enthusiasm, throwing her arms wide. “I like her.”

I don’t think Lellie can help it—she’s returning the grin, though it’s a bit more rueful as she shakes her head, drawing her cloak closer about her to keep out the night chill. “Fane, to be fair, Cinda has a point—have you ever carried this many people plus two mounts before? It’s a lot of weight to take such a distance.”

Fane shrugs, rolling her shoulders. The muscles that stand out very clearly beneath her skin practically ripple. “You’re all going to be in the carrier, so I don’t think it’ll matter. It’s built for big loads, I’ll be fine.”

“A carrier?” I ask, but Fane nods, gesturing ahead.

“It’s just up here. Come see for yourself.”

We move through a large gap between two trees, and then the magelamp that Tahlia carries illuminates a sprawling clearing. There’s meadowland, spreading out before us, with several flowers on tall stalks, their petals closed up tightly for the evening, waving in the soft breeze from the woods.

And at the top of the slight hill, in the very center of a clearing…

Well, to be frank, it looks like an enormous egg-gathering basket.

For very, very enormous chickens.

I stare at the basket, and then I glance sidelong at Talis, who’s gripping the mounts’ reins a bit tighter now, her jaw clenched, and I look to Tahlia, too, who has her brows raised, her mouth open.

“Fane, when you told me you had a carrier, I just assumed that, well…it was a bit.” Tahlia purses her lips. “Sturdier?” She gestures to the basket. It looks to be made of thin saplings that have been soaked in water and bent around slightly thicker saplings—but, thicker saplings or no, the whole thing looks like it was made to carry flowers.

Not people.

And certainly not people up into the air. Very high up into the air, I should add.

“It’s as sturdy as my mother,” scoffs Fane, shaking her head, but when she glances over her shoulder at the rest of us, she pulls herself up short, perplexed. “Wait…don’t tell me you’re backing out! I’m serious, Tahlia, this thing, it’s perfectly safe! Why, you can’t put a dent in it!” And Fane walks up to the basket’s side—it comes up to about waist-height on her—and she reaches out, grasps the edge of the basket, and shakes it.

A handful of twigs break off in her hands, and the top layer of twigs around the edge of the basket unravels, just a little.

We all stare, our mouths open.

“Huh,” says Fane, squatting down beside the thing and peering at the brim of it in the low light of the magelamp. “Well, that’s never happened before.”

“Reassuring.” Lellie crosses her arms in front of her. “This is such a fool idea…Tahlia, if you really want Talis to bond with you again in sisterhood, or whatever you assume will come of this—”

Tahlia turns and glares daggers at the knight. “You’re wrong. This is so much more important than that. It’s our mother’s last, dying wish—”

“It wasn’t her dying wish, Tahlia,” says Talis quietly, but Tahlia keeps speaking, passion sharpening her words.

“You are very free not to come with us, knight.” Tahlia bites off each word as Lellie frowns, “but my sister and I have unfinished business to attend to.”

“I’m not saying to give it up on it.” Lellie’s tone softens as she raises her hands in appeasement. Perhaps it’s because Tahlia is Talis’s sister, but Lellie is being very gentle with her. “But you both could go to Bright Coast together like sensible women. You could ride your mounts there, take your time and don’t take such chances as this.” She waves to the extra-large basket and grimaces. “You could—” but even as she’s speaking, she trails off, glancing to Talis.

Talis is gripping the reins even tighter in her hand, now, like she’s a drowning woman, and the bits of leather are her only link to safety. She shakes her head, ever so slightly, and leans forward, putting her gloved hand at her fellow knight’s elbow.

And then she murmurs something into Lellie’s ear.

And Lellie pales.

“Of course. Never mind. Yes, this all has to happen tonight. You’re right.” Lellie stands a little straighter and shakes out her shoulders. “Well, what do we have to do to make this carrier…a bit sturdier?”

“I’m telling you.” Fane shakes her head as she rises, rubbing at one of her shoulders as if she’s trying to work out a kink in her muscles. “This thing is sturdy! That bit that broke off…it’s just a fluke. It’s fine, ladies. It’ll take you where you need to go.”

“But the mounts are so heavy—” murmurs Lellie, but Fane shakes it off.

“This’ll hold everything! You, the horses. It’ll be fine! Get on in! The night’s not getting any younger, but then neither are we, eh?” She reaches out and claps Lellie on the shoulder, and the force of that bit of camaraderie would probably make a lesser woman stagger forward. But this is Lellie, and even though Fane is powerful, very powerful, Lellie doesn’t move a muscle. She simply absorbs the blow and gives Fane a scornful look.

“Get on in,” Fane repeats, gesturing to the carrier with a wide smile.

As I mentioned, the carrier looks like an enormous basket with shallow sides—the walls of the basket only come up to Fane’s waist-height. The “handle” of the basket is very tall and rounded only a little at the top, so it almost looks square, and it rises above us, at least the height of two horses above our heads. There’s some sort of material wound around the very middle of the basket’s handle, and from down here, it looks like thick leather, bound around and around the twigs and saplings.

Apart from that, there’s no ornamentation to the basket at all. There’s a sort of “gate” in the middle of the front of the basket that’s latched with a very crudely carved bit of wood, one you simply lift up, and then set back down between two other pieces of wood.

What I’m saying is that a toddler could open that with a sneeze. There’s no sort of lock to keep the “gate” closed while we’re in the air.

Well. This is fine.

Except it isn’t at all.

But we’re heading into the basket anyway.

“Lift your feet, Rane, there’s a good girl,” murmurs Talis, leading the warrior mare into the carrier. The mare steps very gingerly over the lip of the gate, and she’s swishing her tail in annoyance—you don’t need to speak Horse to realize that she very, very much doesn’t trust this. The donkey Cossie, on the other hand, trots right on into the basket, swishing his tail happily, and aiming for the far “wall.”

He reaches out and takes a big bite out of the top row of twigs.

“Uh…that doesn’t seem like a good idea.” Lellie waves at the donkey merrily chewing away at the basket. Talis sighs and speaks in low tones to the little creature, and that’s when he starts to get annoyed. But he does listen to her.

The problem—and there are a lot of problems with the situation, but perhaps the most pressing one—is that whenever Rane and Cossie take a step in the basket, the twigs and saplings creak dolefully beneath their hooves. Their bodyweight is pressing down on those hooves, the whole weight of each animal, and their hooves could easily make holes in the material of the carrier. And that could, of course, plunge all of us to our deaths.

Which is not exactly the way I wanted to spend the evening: dead.

I think Talis realizes this the same moment I do, because she coaxes Rane into a bow, and then slowly down until the mare is lying on the floor of the carrier. She asks Cossie to do the same thing, but he brays unhappily before obliging.

At least both animals are down now. Not that this makes me trust the basket, but I feel at least a tiny, tiny bit safer.

“All right. All settled?” asks Fane, peering over the edge of the basket, her smile as sunny as sunshine itself. “Good, good. All comfy?”

“Comfy?” asks Lellie, her head to the side from her position, seated regally on the edge of the carrier. She raises a brow and her lips twitch at the sides, but she doesn’t smile. “Why, this is the most comfortable I’ve ever been.”

“You, lady knight, are cheeky. And I love a cheeky woman,” breathes Fane, leaning on the edge of the carrier, too, one brow waggling with obvious flirtation.

“I love completing a quest that is literally years in the making,” says Tahlia with a little cough. Fane groans, but pushes off from the edge of the basket.

“Well, then, there’s no time to waste, I suppose. Here, you’re in charge of these—I’ll need them when we land.” Fane’s tone is casual before she takes off her pants, rolling them down in one, smooth motion, and her knickers, too, sliding the breastband over her broad shoulders and off completely.

And then Fane is as naked as winter.

But with much more heat.

The woman is muscular, which might be the first thing you notice, but it is, in fact, not, because her face is what draws you in. She’s wearing a wicked grin, as if she’s proud of her body and very much doesn’t mind showing it off. She turns a little, accentuating her profile with a deepening smile, and then she tilts her chin down toward the ground. It’s only a heartbeat or two of that gorgeous physique in front of me, the rippling muscles of her shoulders, her arms, her thighs and calves, the embedded stomach that looks like it might be hard to the touch if one ran fingers across that bare, delicious skin. I mean, my goodness. She looks scrumptious.

The knights are not as surprised at the nakedness as I am (I hope to the Goddess that I’m not showing that surprise, but I probably am, more’s the pity) and Tahlia isn’t, either.

Now that I think on it, Fane’s a shapeshifter—it’d make sense that she has to strip down so she doesn’t ruin her clothes.

But still!

There’s a gorgeous, naked woman before me, and when she turns, there’s her naked rump, and bless my soul, but I can’t help the staring. Talis glances my way and raises a brow, and I take her hand, even across the little space between us, and I squeeze it to tell her “I love your rear more.”

“It is perfect, that rear,” says Lellie, and she chuckles a little, but I can’t help but notice…is it possible? Is Lellie blushing? I’ve only known her for this evening, as much as the other women in the group, but she never struck me as the type of lady who would blush—and here she is now, her fair face as red as a beet.

Well. I suppose that’ll make two of us.

Fane leans forward in a graceful curve, and then…it’s odd, really. It’s almost as if the ground is made of hot stones, and they’re giving off heat, making the air in front of us waver and distort. That’s the best way I can think of to describe it, but I can assure you—it’s not a particularly hot evening, and it’s only the forest floor beneath the basket’s bottom, and beneath Fane’s bare feet…

But I think that, and it only takes a heartbeat, that thought that comes and goes…

And then Fane appears to be growing bigger.

And…it’s not really Fane I’m staring at anymore. It’s no longer the naked woman, bending gracefully down as if she dropped something small and only needs to scoop it up between her fingers.

Her skin darkens to a bold, brilliant viridian, the deepest green I’ve ever seen. It almost makes me shiver, it looks so cold, that color. It’s beautiful, gem-like, the way the scales begin to appear over her skin, rising like jewels beneath water, held in a hand and taken to the surface. Scale after scale ripples across Fane’s body, and then a tail begins to grow, curling into the air like a question…and then wings. Honestly, at this point, it’s a little hard to notice all of the changes. Just know that, in one heartbeat, it’s Fane the woman who is standing before us, and, in the next—or very close to it—it’s Fane the Draco who stands before us, her massive dragon body as tall as the trees around us.

Since there’s quite a lot of mist in Fury Wood at the present time, this means that it’s only her body and parts of her wings and tail we can see.

Her head is far above us in the fog and obscured from view.

“Are you ready, friends?” The rumble sounds like the beginnings of an earthquake, but there’s a warmth to that dire, low voice, and I realize that it’s Fane speaking from high up. I gulp down air, looking up and up and up, but no matter how I try, I can’t pierce the fog with my gaze and find the dragon’s head.

The light from the magelamp glitters off her scales, and I catch my breath—there’s an iridescence to those scales, like an inner fire is blazing within.

“All ready when you are, Fane!” calls Tahlia, and then, to us, with a much lower voice: “just…hang on. Tightly.”

“That’s not alarming,” murmurs Lellie, sarcasm dripping off her words as she loops an arm around the basket’s handle.

There’s one enormous whoosh, and Fane leaps into the air. From this vantage, I can now see her claws and talons quite clearly, and they are…um. Extraordinary.

And very, very sharp. And terrifying. But also extraordinary.

Thank the gods that Fane is a friend. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be on the receiving end of those natural weapons. But I don’t have to imagine. For Fane is our friend, and those claws are used for good. Hopefully good, anyway, as she grasps the leather-bound portion of the basket’s handle, and with a few huge surges of her wings, she…lifts.

And we ascend into the air.

We ascend so quickly that we clear the fog in a few heartbeats. Higher and higher into the sky Fane pumps her mighty wings, and we soar. I can’t help but look up at the large dragon above us, her bat-like wings curving like sickles and slicing through the clouds, the starlight and moonlight glinting on her scales with such a pure, cold fire of iridescence.

Honestly, it’s breathtaking.

But then I look down.

Which, now that I’m thinking on it, perhaps I shouldn’t have done, for heights and I don’t get along, and we’re suddenly very, very high up… It’s unthinking, the motion that I do then, but I reach across the little space that’s between Talis and I, and I grip her hand.

She glances at me in surprise, but the surprise fades from her face quickly, replaced with a softness I quite like. I gaze at her, my nerves calmed a little, and then we both look out together, out over the edge of the basket.

For we’re higher than the clouds that were low and brooding over Fury Wood.

We’re up among the stars now.

I try to focus on that, instead of the sheer, staggering height we’ve gained in so little time. And it’s an easy thing to focus on, for there’s beauty all around us. On the ground, the stars have always looked a certain way, and you could only see so many of them. People have told me that Arktos City has a lot of light, and that makes the stars harder to see, have said that they’re much lovelier out in the country. But I didn’t quite understand what that meant. Not until now.

For now, it’s almost as if I could reach out, reach out over the edge of the basket, and my fingertips would touch the silvered edge of a star, twinkling close enough to kiss. I take a step closer to the edge of the basket, almost as if lured by a siren song, and then I’m leaning out over the edge, my fingers trailing in starlight.

There are strong hands at my waist, just then, and I can feel that strength in them, and I turn and look over my shoulder at Talis. At Talis who’s watching me, her eyes soft, gentle.

“I’ll…hold you,” she tells me gruffly. “Maybe…maybe you can catch a star.”

I lean back into the basket, and I wrap my arms around her neck, cocking my head just a little, a cheeky grin crossing over my face. “Maybe I already have, my dear,” I murmur to her, pitching my voice soft enough so that only she can hear it. My mouth at her ear, I can taste her warmth when I whisper those words, and I’m rewarded by a little shudder that seems to move through the knight.

“Lady…you flatter me,” says Talis, her voice low. She ducks her head and then she’s found my mouth with her own, and she’s kissing me.

Up here among the stars, there seems to be a different weight to this kiss than there was before, down there upon the world. Here, here there’s a lightness to the both of us. We’re on an adventure! A dragon is carrying us to a distant land! Is this real, or am I dreaming?

Talis kisses like a goddess, like a star made real, made human, and I taste something celestial in her. There’s starlight, outlining the armor of this fair knight, and when our kiss ends, when we break away for air, I can’t help but pant as I look up at this woman I didn’t know existed a few hours ago.

How could I not have known? How could I have gone about my life, not knowing that something so lovely, so good, was out there? Out there, so close, in the same city, my city. She was there, and all this time, I didn’t know it. All this time I’ve gone about my daily tasks, made the same bread and cakes and pies, and she was out there, and I never knew. There’s a poignant pain to that fact, one I can’t sit with too long.

This night has already changed me. Already, there’s a sweetness to life that wasn’t there before. Before, there was longing and wishing. But, right now, I have this knight in my arms, I have a shawl of starlight lingering over my shoulders, and I’ve never felt more alive, I realize.

I feel alive.

And it’s beautiful.

Just like her.

“Thank you…for all of this,” I manage, then, emotion making my words catch in my throat as my gaze traces her curves in the starlight. Her brow furrows for a moment, and she shakes her head.

“What are you thanking me for? My sister kidnapped you…I feel terrible about it,” she begins, but I reach up, and I press a soft finger to her mouth. She stops speaking, her mouth slightly open, and the heat of her breath against my skin makes me shiver as she pins me to the spot with those beautiful blue eyes.

“It was wrong of her to do that, and I’m still quite pissed about it. I may never forgive her…give or take a few centuries in that ‘never.’” I grin up at her. “But that had nothing to do with you, her action. No…it’s just that tonight…tonight I met you. And you were the seed of an adventure. And my whole life I’ve wanted an adventure, and I never went on one. But I could have. I know that now. I could have always done this.”

“Ridden in a basket carried by a dragon?” asks Talis, her mouth turning up at the corners. We both laugh a little, and I shrug.

“Maybe. I’m sure there’s a dragon basket rental place somewhere on Agrotera.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Talis tells me with a soft smile, but the smile ebbs away. “But this…this puts you in harm’s way.”

“And I know that. I made the decision to come with you, Talis,” I remind her gently. “I could have stayed behind. I know it’s dangerous. But I wanted, more than anything in the world, to continue this. To continue…us.” I reach up, and I place my hand over the armor that rises over her heart. “I didn’t want this night to end. So I didn’t let it.”

“All nights end, Cinda,” Talis whispers, searching my face. “And…what then?”

I breathe out. “Day follows night.”

“But don’t things look different in the daylight?” She’s not stopped searching my face, and there’s a poignancy to her. She reaches up, curls her fingers over my hand that rests over her heart…and she pulls it away, my fingers leaving her armor. She takes a step back from me, and she bows her head, turning away. Talis’s face in profile is beautiful, and up here, among the stars, the starlight so bright, the moon shining with such passion that it’s almost as bright as day here, I notice how very young she looks. But there’s such pain to her features. How can she be so young and have already known so much pain?

“Talis…what’s wrong?” I ask her, trying to get the words out from around the lump in my throat. “Are you…are you sorry I’m with you?” I don’t reach out and touch her, trying to give her the space she needs, but I don’t have to. She turns to me, and she curls her fingers gently at the curve of my waist, doesn’t look at my face, but looks down where her hands meet my body. Her jaw is clenched, and there’s pain etched in every line of her. For a long moment, she doesn’t say a word. But then she lifts her gaze, and she holds mine.

“Cinda…what if…what if I’d lied to you?”

I blink. “I…I don’t know what you mean? Lied to me? About what?”

Talis opens her mouth, is about to speak, but Tahlia’s there, suddenly, at her elbow, and she’s about to say something when she breathes out, notices that we were in an intense bit of interaction.

“Oh…I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something?” She looks genuinely chagrined. “I can…I can come back.”

Talis takes a step away from me, shaking her head, her face flushed. “No…no. You’re not interrupting, Tahlia. Ah…what is it?”

“I just wanted to show you both. It’s just really worth seeing. Up ahead,” Tahlia nods, pointing.

Talis and I turn, and both of us—as one—breathe out.

“Oh,” I whisper, my voice catching. “It’s…it’s magnificent.”

And, indeed, it is.

Ahead of us, far ahead of us, rises a mountain range. I’ve, of course, seen pictures of mountains in storybooks, and once I took a tour of the Arktos palace, and from one of the tallest towers, I could make out the northern mountain range of Arktos easily. But it was far away, looked like a painting because the day was very hot, and everything seemed to be wavering along the horizon’s edge.

No, this is entirely different.

For one, with the starlight and the moonlight both shining so brightly, the edge of the mountains are in stark contrast with the night sky behind them. The mountains look sharp, jagged, like an old, serrated knife that’s rusted with disuse. But this profile of sharpness ends with the tops of the mountains. What should, arguably, be the sharpest part, the peak.

But the mountaintops aren’t sharp.

Because each of the mountaintops in view hold a different city at its point.

Tahlia catches me looking with wonder and grins. “Fane told me that the Draco like to build their cities up high, so it’s easier landing for them. Every Draco city is built at the very peak of a mountain,” she explains. “It looks incredible, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” I breathe out, taking in the faraway buildings and castles and fortresses, each mountaintop brimming with sharp, peaked rooftops and towers. I guess it does look like the mountaintop comes to an unnatural, created point, because of those towers. As we get a little closer with every flap of Fane’s mighty wings, I’m more mesmerized.

And, as we get closer, I can start to make out figures.

Dragons.

Dragons, flying around each city.

The moonlight shines down on us as we approach the dragon cities, as we approach the tallest mountain of all, the city on top of this, the largest of the peaks.

“That must be the capital city,” Talis murmurs into my ear. “Mount Verlit.”

The dragons fly across the moon, sharp shadows falling over us, the closer we get, and I grip Talis’s hand, nervous and excited, all at once.

I forget, of course, that she was about to tell me something important.

There are too many dragons in the sky to think of anything but wings.

Chapter 15

TALIS

I was about to do it. I was about to tell her the truth: that I am no knight. And she seems much taken with knights, so when she found out, she was going to say that it’d been a lovely time tonight, but.

But I didn’t get it out. My sister interrupted, and I’m sorry to say that I was glad of it. Now, as we approach Mount Verlit City, as I grip Cinda’s hand tightly, my heart rises into my throat as I think, perhaps clearly now for the very first time (the cold night air far up in the sky has a habit of doing that to you) what, exactly, we’re about to attempt.

We’re flying toward Mount Verlit City, capital of Bright Coast, land of the Draco. Right now, Lellie and I are in armor with no specific insignia of Arktos City, which is a very good thing, because if we’re caught, attempting to rob the head general of Bright Coast’s private horde, and Arktos is implicated…that would be fairly terrible. Also, say goodbye to ever, ever having the possibility of becoming a knight of Arktos if we get caught.

But what if Arktos is implicated anyway? What if we’re caught, and questioned, and we reveal that Lellie is an actual knight of Arktos?

I swallow, trying not to think of all the terrible things that could go wrong. My sister gives me a sidelong smile, and then she slings her arm around my shoulder.

“This is why Talis left us, you see,” Tahlia tells Cinda, her brows raised. “Can’t you see it on your pretty knight’s face? She’s already guilty for the crime before we’ve even committed it. You were never thief material, sister.” Tahlia sounds sad as she takes a step back from me. “It’s good that you found what you were meant to do. You make a good knight, surely.”

Lellie, still leaning against the edge of the basket, shares a quiet glance with me before looking away. Earlier, when Lellie thought it might be best if I and my sister attempt the heist another day, I whispered to her that we don’t have the time. That I must get this armor back and Rane back, too, before anyone notices. I must be back by morning, or risk being caught.

Rane noses the back of my leg from her position, uncomfortably lying on the bottom of the basket. Her ears are slicked back, and when she snakes her head at me, I know it’s going to take quite a fair deal of carrots to make this up to her.

“I wanted to go out for a nice night on the town,” she hisses at me. “I didn’t sign up for this. What if you get caught? I’m going to be fed to the dragons for sure.”

“You’re not going to be fed to the dragons, my friend,” I tell her quietly, sinking down into a crouch beside her head and itching behind her left ear. She allows me to do this, and relaxes a little into the scratchings, but keeps her ears flat back.

“You don’t know that. Draco eat horses. I’ve heard the stories. And if they see me, they’ll know I’m an Arktos warrior mare. Have you thought of that?”

I sigh for a long moment. “No,” I tell her truthfully. “I didn’t think of that. Maybe you should stay outside of the city.”

“And hide in a bush with this ass?” asks Rane uncharitably, angling her nose at Cossie. “No, thank you!”

“It’s not an insult if I’m actually an ass,” Cossie says, his voice prim, “which I am. We actually take it as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t given as a compliment.”

I look at the mare, the way she’s snaking her neck in annoyance, her tired expression on her face, and alarm starts to rise in me. “Rane,” I tell her quietly, running my hand over the parade blanket nestled over her belly. “Are you…are you feeling all right?”

“No. I’m cold and tired and I want to be in my nice, warm stall with some nice, warm mash,” says Rane, and she heaves a breath, her mouth open as her sides rise and fall.

“Do you feel…anything different?” I ask, looking pointedly at her very, very large belly. “Your foal, do you think its time for—”

“I know when I’m in labor, thanks ever so much,” hisses Rane. “And this is not that. I’m just tired, Talis.” And then she softens. “I’m sorry. I know this is important to you, getting that ring back.”

“Did you just apologize to me?” I really can’t remember Rane ever apologizing for anything ever, and this includes stepping on my foot purposefully that one time that she thought I’d given her slightly, slightly less mash than the other warrior mares in the stable (I had not—I always give her more because she’s Rane).

Oh, gods. She’s being nice.

That’s…probably an early sign of labor for Rane.

“Get that look off your face, I’ll tell you when I’m ready to pop,” says Rane severely, but then her whiskers twitch a little on her soft, horsey muzzle, and she relents a little. “Fine. If I have to be hidden in the bushes with an ass, at least it’s this one. He doesn’t do much talking, thank goodness.”

“It’s safer for you in the woods outside of Mount Verlit than in Fury Wood, believe it or not,” I tell her softly, stroking her muzzle.

“Oh, I believe it—I’ve campaigned in Fury Wood. It’s not a charming place. Which is why I wasn’t happy we were going there tonight,” Rane tells me plainly. But then her voice drops to a conspirator’s whisper, and she leans her enormous face closer to me. “Just…be careful going into this city, my girl. All right?”

“I always am—” I begin to tell her, but she shakes her head emphatically.

“No. I mean with Cinda. And your heart. You haven’t told her the truth, that you’re not a knight, and that might change things. Just…be careful. Don’t let her in deep enough for her to hurt you too much.”

I stare at the horse, and I don’t say a word. She blinks her long, black lashes at me and snorts.

“I care about you. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I appreciate it,” I tell her quietly, and I stroke the side of her face, lost in thought.

If Rane can see that I care for Cinda, then I’m done for. Rane doesn’t notice very much that’s outside of herself. Is it so obvious that I’m infatuated with the lady?

“Look, we need to discuss what we’re doing,” says Tahlia, breaking through my reverie. “Ladies, are you taking part in this?” She looks to Lellie and Cinda. Cinda nods enthusiastically right away, but Lellie looks to me first before she gives a short, curt nod.

“Of course. But only because Talis is involved. I am loyal to Talis, first and foremost. You must understand.” Her brow is up as she gazes at Tahlia. “If everything heads south, I will not hesitate to put you in harm’s way to save my friend.”

Tahlia gives a good-natured grin. “Sure, sure. Wouldn’t expect anything less of a knight. It’s all together and none apart with you ladies, isn’t it?”

“Not exactly,” I say quickly, and Lellie raises her brows, lounging against the side of the basket with her arms crossed. She waits for me to continue. “It’s just…” I stammer, thinking of everything I’ve heard the knights discussing amongst themselves, “we’re…we’re loyal to each other, yes, but the queen trumps that. And the good of all trumps even the queen.”

“See, you knights have too many morals,” Tahlia sniffs. “That’s too complicated. I don’t hurt anyone, but I take care of my own, and that seems to work out all right.”

“Ah, but you do have morals.” I give my sister a little smile. “Just like our mother did. You’re the Fox Queen, and you know you take care of your bandits. You’re loyal to them. If one was left behind in a heist, what would you do?”

“Go back and get her of course,” Tahlia says promptly without a thought.

“Well, see? That’s as firm and true and good as any knight’s code. And that loyalty’s to be commended,” I tell her with a little nod.

“Don’t go comparing me to any knight. I’m wanted in quite a lot of countries,” says Tahlia, her brows raised.

“We’re not saying you’re a good person, don’t worry. Remember, you did perform a small kidnapping this evening,” says Lellie dryly. “I think Talis is trying to say that you both have something in common. You’re both loyal. And that’s an important quality to have, whether you’re a knight or a thief.”

Tahlia snorts. “I won’t be lectured, knights, trust me,” she says, holding up her hands. “If I’m loyal to my people, that just makes me a good leader.”

“And very, very humble,” Lellie groans.

I glance at my sister, and I can’t help but smile. There’s a mischievousness to her eyes, and a light to them I haven’t seen in a long time—because I left. But here, tonight, she’s getting ready to plan a heist, and I’m transported back a few years ago. Heists and thieving jobs were Tahlia’s bread and butter. She lived off of the excitement and the planning, and it’s obvious that she was born to do this.

I tug at the collar of my stolen knight’s armor. Are we really so different? I stole armor tonight. I’m here, about to pull off a heist with her (dear goddess, let us pull off this heist!). Have I really changed so much, or am I still the same person?

If I get the chance to become a knight, is there any part of me that deserves it?

Lellie comes to sit beside me, brushing her arm against mine. “All right, Tahlia—so what is the plan?” she asks, genuinely curious. “And realize that I’m taking everything you say into account so that I can someday use it to hunt you down and arrest you,” she tells my sister sweetly.

“I wouldn’t doubt it.” Tahlia’s grin is sharp and cutting as she opens up her palm. “All right, everyone, look closely. Fane gave me a bit of intelligence, so I already know where in the palace the general’s quarters are. This is the palace,” she says, drawing a circle with her finger on the edge of her palm that borders her wrist. “The general lives here.” She stabs the front, right corner of the “palace.” “We’re going to land here, outside of the city.” She brushes a finger against the first pad of her pinkie. “So, we must go through the city and make it from here to here.” She draws a line. It doesn’t look so long on her hand, but looks can be deceiving.

“Now, there’s going to be some intense shenanigans going on because of Wild Night festivities,” murmurs Tahlia. “I’m certain we’re going to be separated, and that’s probably for the best, so we don’t make anyone suspicious. It’s true that there’s a much smaller guard detail because most of the folks are in Arktos City right now, but that doesn’t mean we should let our guard down. The guards who are there are going to be on high alert because of the festival tonight. So act as casual as possible. It’s a party! So party.” Her grin is wide.

“In the city square that lies right in front of the castle is the Draco Fire Fountain. It’s impossible to miss—it’s got an enormous statue on it of the first queen of the Draco, Queen Verlit, founder of Mount Verlit City and Bright Coast itself.” Tahlia licks her lips excitedly. “At the stroke of two in the morning, we’ll gather together at the fire fountain, all right? We’ll meet there and then Fane will get us into the palace, we’ll enter the general’s quarters while Fane keeps watch, and then we’ll get the ring back and get out of there quickly and quietly. You probably haven’t done anything like this before,” she says, turning to both Lellie and Cinda. “Or have you?”

Lellie snorts. “I’ve never even stolen a kiss,” she says, her brows raised.

“I stole a bit of candy once,” says Cinda excitedly. But then she sighs. “But I felt so awful about it that I went back and paid for it.”

Tahlia groans. “Great. Just great. Well, then, just be advised. We must move silently and quickly. Just keep up, and we’ll get in and out as fast as possible. And then you’ll all be thieves.” Her grin deepens.

Lellie snorts, obviously unconvinced that attending a heist with her best friend makes her a thief, but Cinda looks pretty spellbound by the whole idea.

“All right. We leave no one behind. We move together, got it?” Tahlia holds out her hand, palm down, into the middle of all of us. “My heart is in this. Is yours?”

“My heart is here,” I murmur, just like we always used to do, and I place the palm of my hand on top of my sister’s hand. Lellie raises a brow and takes a deep breath, and then she murmurs the same words, and places her hand on top of mine.

Cinda breathes out, too, and then she says: “my heart is here,” and her voice is loud in the stillness, and her grin is wide and happy as she places her hand on top of Lellie’s.

“Together!” Tahlia shouts, and we throw our hands up into the air, like we’re thieves moving against a small coach, and not, in fact, aiming toward the dragon city.  I glance over the side of the basket and my heart starts to pound even louder and harder in my chest.

We’re almost there.

“Since when did you start to plan things?” I ask Tahlia, mystified, as she pats down her corset, making sure everything is in place. She unhooks the sword belt and reattaches it to make sure it lies firmly against her.

“I had inclinations, once upon a time,” she tells me with a little smile. “But…Yeri taught me to be better. I don’t plan many heists. I just enter the situation and move as the fates take me. But…this one’s important. This one, I feel, our mother would have wanted us to plan.”

I nod, and then I place my hand on my sister’s shoulder. “Whatever happens…” I murmur, and I search her face. “I’m here for you. I’m sorry I left like I did.”

“I know you are, Talis.” There’s a momentary seriousness that comes over my sister’s face. “I just want you to be happy. Are you happy, being a knight? You still haven’t said.”

I stare at my sister’s face, stricken. I take a deep breath. Whatever happens tonight…I’ve got to tell the truth.

“Tahlia—” I begin, but Fane flaps her wings sharply, banking forward, and everyone in the basket has to struggle to maintain sitting upright.

“Hold on! We’re landing!” bellows Fane from above us. Her powerful wings beat much faster now, occasionally closing tightly against her body as she dives and then snaps the wings open, dives and then snaps the wings open. This…is not a gentle sort of landing. I fall to the bottom of the basket the first time she does it, and as I try to stagger up to my knees, she snaps her wings open again, so I fall completely flat against the bottom. The rest are not faring any better, save for Lellie, who was bright enough to stick by the handle, and is gripping it for all she’s worth so that she doesn’t get tossed about like a rag doll.

“Oof!” Cinda slams into me, and I manage to catch her, wrapping my arms around the softness of her waist and drawing her to me to try to keep from jostling around in the basket as much as the rest of us. Once I have her fastly against me, I manage to get an arm around the other end of the basket handle, and then I tighten my grip on both handle and lady.

Cinda grins, and then her teeth clack together—mine, too—as we dive a particularly steep descent, and Fane unfurls her wings a little sharply. “Thanks for saving me,” says Cinda, fluttering her lashes at me. She’s half-teasing, half-serious, and there’s something about the way that her mischievous, teasing expression feels to me…something good, an unfurling inside of myself, the tightness in me easing.

“It’s my pleasure,” I murmur to her, pitching my voice low so that only she can hear it, breathing the words into her ear. It’s the truth. It was my pleasure to wrap my arms around her, a pleasure that went bone-deep.

Cinda said that she didn’t want this night to end. I’m nervous about the upcoming heist, but if I’m being truthful…

I don’t want the night to end either.

Because, in the morning…well, Cinda will know. She’ll know that I wasn’t a knight this whole time, that I lied to her, that I kept lying to her each moment we were together. It’s a weight that’s so heavy on my heart that I can hardly bear it at this moment or any other. I want to tell her, want to tell her so badly, but—am I just imagining it?—it seems that every single time I try to tell her, something interrupts us.

I clear my throat, gaze down into the eyes of the beautiful lady before me. She senses the mood shifting, and the mischief and playfulness fades from her face as she stares up at me, as she wraps her arms around my neck, holding me just as tightly as I’m holding her.

“Talis—you were trying to tell me something earlier. Something weighs on you. What’s wrong?”

“I want to tell you the truth—” I begin, but just as I say the words, the basket falls with a bone-jarring thud against the ground.

And, it appears, we’ve landed.

“Oof…is everyone alive?” Lellie mutters from beneath a mound of her skirts that have flown up and over her head. She wrestles with them for a moment as I count my and Cinda’s limbs and figure out that we’re more, or less, intact. I help Cinda stand, and then I go to tend to the mounts. Rane is standing on wobbly legs, snorting over and over out of her nose, and Cossie is eating the edge of the basket again, blissfully unconcerned about everything.

“Is everyone accounted for? Good!” chirps Tahlia, springing out of a mound of twigs and branches that appears to be what once was the far end of the carrier. The basket itself appears to have been reduced to a pile of twigs.

I stare at said pile, fear rising in my throat.

How in the world are we going to get home in this thing?

The carrier’s handle is broken on one end, completely broken, and there are holes all throughout the bottom of the basket, where sharp rocks and stones from the ground appear to have jabbed through the basket’s weave. It’s in shambles, and if Fane lifted this thing up into the air again, it might disintegrate upon a touch from her claws.

Speak of the dragon, Fane lands on a higher, sharper crag of rock above us, and shakes out her wings and her head, licking her lips with a snake-like tongue as she stares down at us with her glowing dragon eyes. She appears to be growing smaller, or maybe it’s my eyes playing tricks. I blink them twice, and then Fane, the dragon, is no longer there, but it’s Fane the person, naked as the day she was born, stretching overhead, and yawning hugely on the top of that craggy rock.

“Sorry for the bumpy landing—the ocean winds are acting up tonight,” she tells us with a shrug, hopping down from the rock and prowling over to us. “Are any of you the worse for the wear?”

“I’m fairly certain all of us are,” remarks Lellie dryly, getting a grin from Fane for her troubles.

“Ah, well, this thing was on the way out, anyway. I’ve been meaning to get a new one.” Fane kicks the bottom of the carrier and watches where her foot touched it. The basket crumbles away there. She shrugs and grins happily at all of us. “But you made it here, didn’t you?”

“I thought…but you said it was sturdy!” Lellie’s voice is pitched high, and I glance at the knight in surprise. Her hands are curled into fists, and—for a brief heartbeat—I wonder if she’s actually going to punch Fane for this confession. The Draco stands there, fully nude, her hands on her hips and her chin pitched upward, as if triumphant, and the knight stands before her, fire practically radiating from her skin, her whole body, but specifically from her eyes. As if her eyes, themselves, might set Fane alight. It’s rare that you see Lellie in a rage, but I’ve heard that, on the battlefield, if she becomes a berserker there is literally nothing you can do to stop her.

That’s the look she’s giving to Fane right now.

I…would not be the Draco right now for all the gold in Arktos.

“Well, now, I did say it was sturdy. And it was. Before that landing” says Fane, picking and choosing each word carefully, giving the knight a wry, bright smile. “Anyway, we’re here now, aren’t we? You got exactly what you paid for. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” She winks at Lellie, and then she steps forward, almost as if she’s about to wrap her arms around the knight and do a little dance—but, instead, she slides smoothly past Lellie, and strides toward Tahlia. “My clothes, please, Fox Queen. We’re losing moonlight.”

“I’m going to kill her. I’m going to challenge her to a duel, and then I’m going to make that ill-begotten daughter of a—” Lellie begins, but I cut her off with a grimace, slicing my thumb over my throat.

“Best not to piss off the fire-breathing shapeshifter, hm?” I ask her, and she stops speaking, closing her mouth so tightly it appears to be sealed shut, her eyes still betraying quite a build-up of inner fire. When she manages to rein in her anger, she breathes out through her nose and then pins me to the spot with a still fairly fiery gaze.

“Talis, she’s not seen pissed off.”

“No doubt, no doubt,” I tell her, my voice crooning, “but we’ve just got to get through this, and then you can challenge her to a duel if you still want to kill her.”

Lellie thinks about this and looks a little happier. I grin, too. I know when she’s attracted to someone, and there are many signs she’s directing toward Fane. Wanting to kill her is a side road to the main city of lust.

“All right,” says Fane, taking the clothes from Tahlia, and she starts to wrap the breastband about her chest. “Everyone’s accounted for, yes?”

“Yes,” says Tahlia, before Lellie can say anything else. Cinda’s busy trying to braid her hair again, patting and pinning it into place, but even she rolls her eyes. We’re accounted for, yes—but a little jostled. “We’ll get separated, I’m sure, in the city—we’re going to meet at the fire fountain when the bell strikes two.”

“And the mounts?” asks Fane, throwing on her pants and shimmying them up over her rear.

“They’ll stay here,” I say, pointing to the ground. “If it’s safe here?”

Fane considers this as she does up the buttons of her shirt. “Well, I don’t think anyone will bother them. Some Draco say that this forest is haunted, but…can horses even see ghosts?”

“What kind of eyes does she think we have?” blusters Rane, but I pat the mare’s neck soothingly.

“Yes, I’m fairly certain they can see ghosts. But nothing’s ever frightened Rane—and I don’t think much bothers Cossie.” I glance thoughtfully at the donkey, but he’s making headway on his quest to eat the entire basket, so I don’t think he’s even listening to us.

“All right, then, yes, they’re safe here if that’s what you mean.” Fane tucks the shirt into her trousers and starts to pull on her boots. “And, yes, we’ll meet at the fire fountain at two. Obviously, there are tourists here because of Wild Night, so there are people in the city who are not Draco—Draco are expecting non-Draco to be about right now, so no one should really notice you ladies. Just, keep your heads down and stay out of major trouble. But get into some minor trouble, if that’s your fancy.” Her grin is wide enough to split her face.

Lellie glances at the Draco and raises her brows, and I wonder—just a little—if Lellie and Fane are on the same page…

It’s not two yet, and a lot can happen in a relatively short amount of time when you’re in a beautiful city, far from home, on a night that’s as magical as this…

I glance at Cinda, and her mouth is turned into a lovely, impish grin.

I think we’re on the same page, most definitely.

“All right. Let’s go!” Fane stands up straight and looks at the rest of us with a wide smile. “I do hope you love my city—it’s a beautiful place full of beautiful people who do beautiful things.”

“What kind of…things?” asks Lellie, and she sounds genuinely curious, not just flirtatious. “I’ve never known many Draco.” She falls in line with Fane as we start to move through the sparse woods, climbing upward and upward toward the city gate.

Her earlier professions of murder seem to be momentarily quelled.

“I can tell you all about them, lady,” murmurs Fane, and then like the smooth bastard that she is, she offers an arm to Lellie, her head inclined toward the knight.

Lellie raises one brow and stares at that proffered arm for a moment too long, as if to say that Fane certainly has some making up to do…but then Lellie, Lellie, actually takes the Draco’s arm.

Well. I know the trouble my friend is going to be getting up to. I can’t hide my grin, and when I glance sidelong at Cinda, she’s grinning, too.

“Well, now I just feel left out,” sighs Tahlia, throwing her gloved hands up in the air. Fane glances over her shoulder, a brow raised.

“Really? News of the Fox Queen spreads far and wide, my friend. Mention who and what you are in any tavern or in any press of ladies, and you’ll probably have your pick.”

“Maybe I do want a little dalliance before the main event…” she muses, and her mouth turns up happily at the corners.

“Just remember, we’re meeting at two,” I mutter, already nervous that with all of these dalliances, everyone’s going to forget the clock, but Fane and Lellie and Tahlia all make murmurings of promise, and as we enter the wide open gates of Mount Verlit City, everyone seems to disappear in the sudden press of people we’re met with.

It went from still and quiet to an uproar and riot in a heartbeat, it seems.

And then, here we are.

Mount Verlit City.

With Cinda on my arm, just past the big, black gates and into the city, the sights and sounds of a wild night unfold around us. I hold tightly to her, and I look at her shining face as she gazes at the party unfolding around us, and my heart skips a beat too many.

Oh, there are feelings growing in that erratically beating heart of mine.

Cinda’s the one I’ve been wanting. The one I’ve been waiting and watching for my whole life.

She grips my hand even tighter, and then she wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close, pulling me down to her for a spontaneous kiss.

There’s suddenly music all around us, bright, brass music like horns and happy bells, and the press of people start to form a line.

Cinda breaks from the kiss and laughs in delight as the woman in front of her grabs her arm lightly.

“What’s happening?” she asks the lady. And the lady, looking back over her shoulder, smiles at Cinda.

Her eyes are slit like a dragon’s—a Draco.

“It’s the Wild Night parade!” the woman cries, and—all around us—the very happy, very inebriated crowd…

Begins to dance.

Chapter 16

CINDA

I laugh in delight and wrap my one arm even tighter around Talis as the woman in front of us pulls us along, and the woman behind Talis grips her hand and follows us. We begin to weave in and out, in and out of the lines of people—mostly women—who form almost instantly on either side of us.

Most of the people are drunk, truth be told, but their dance formation doesn’t suffer terribly for it. Everyone wears the happiest of smiles, hoots and hollers in jubilation, as the lines of people begin to snake into one another. It’s almost as if we’re forming a spiral that begins to curve inward, but not quite. For when we start to curve tighter and tighter, that’s when the spiral loosens, and then we find that we’re curling outward. It’s hard to follow the steps—mostly it’s stomp once with your right foot, twice with your left foot, and then once with your right again, but everyone seems to be falling out of the rhythm—the rhythm that’s beaten by large drums that seem to be just ahead of us, but I can’t quite make them out. We do our best with the dance, Talis and I, and we laugh all the while as we weave our way through the city.

I’m mostly noticing the people, noticing how happy everyone looks, how thrilled and enthusiastic they are about the dance. Some people are singing words, but it’s in a language I don’t understand—it’s probably Draco, I realize, my heart soaring. I’m hearing them speak Draco!

The city rises around us. That’s the first thing I notice about it, really, that all of the buildings seem sharp and angular. They’re all mostly built out of this shiny, black stone that I don’t think I’ve seen before. It reminds me most a black-painted mirror. Everything seems to be long and lean and thin, tapered to a point at an end. There’s a high amount of towers that rise from the city itself, and as I look upward as the dance moves through the streets, I see a dragon land on one of the spires. It’s a smooth, easy landing—much smoother than the one Fane made (which is an uncharitable thought—she was carrying rather a lot of us), and the dragon reaches out and grasps the black spire with sharp claws. She folds her wings against herself and ducks her long, serpentine head to look down at the festivities with bemused eyes.

We follow the loose spiral, and we whirl together, and the bright colors of the city, of the people, begin to blur in front of my eyes.

I start to only notice Talis.

I know, I know, I wanted adventure, I wanted to see the world, and somehow, when I’m out in the world…it winds up that I only have eyes for the knight. I’ve seen bits and pieces of the city, and it’s all beautiful and epic in the best possible ways.

But this knight. Oh, this knight!

My heart.

Every time she smiles, every time she ducks her head, her grin growing as she watches her feet, trying to match the beats and moves of the women around her, and a little shock of red hair falls into her eyes…I don’t quite know how to tell you this, but every part of me becomes awake. Yes, my lady parts shout in jubilation, just as loudly (and with, perhaps, even more energy) than the joyously shouting crowds. But it’s my heart, too. She’s lovely, the way she follows the dance pattern, the way she moves through the crowd, the way she moves, the way she speaks. Everything about her is something lovely, something beautiful that my eyes can’t help but follow.

And everything that I am responds to her voice, to her touch, to her sweet nobility and to that perfect, smoldering mouth. She sets fire to me as surely as Fane set fire to the tavern…which might not be the best metaphor, but my goodness, was that fire hot inside of the tree. And that’s the best thing I can think of. All-consuming heat.

That’s what Talis does to me.

And I love it. I love it. I want to be baked in the oven of her love. And that’s ridiculous, that sentiment, but I’ve gone all mushy and gooey around the edges, and when I look at her, that’s the only way I think—in silly words and metaphors. I understand, now, how the poets come up with gods-awful poetry. I understand why bards sing like moon-drunk ducks about love. I always thought it a little silly, but now, now I’m the silly one.

And I don’t care who knows it.

I care for this woman, and it’s growing into something too big to contain. It’s only been one night.

But oh, what a night it’s been.

And it’s not over yet.

We wind our way through the city, and then the spiral starts to dance faster and faster. I’m pulled along by the woman in front of me, who’s laughing in delight as we spiral tighter and tighter with the line to the left of us, and the line to the right of us.

We must be reaching the heart of the dance.

For I think we’ve reached the heart of the city.

I gasp as I look up, then, at what must be the Mount Verlit palace. This great, black stone structure rises much higher than the rest of the towers that ascend from the city itself. The spires at the top of each palace tower branch out into curving points—these, I realize, are built to be actual perches for the Draco in their beast forms. I watch as, overhead, another dragon lands on one of these perches and sits there for a moment, looking every bit like a rather enormous (rather imposing) bird.

There are black stone steps ascending to the palace gate, and the whole thing is very nice and impressive, but what really draws my eyes is the structure right before those palace steps.

It’s a statue of a woman. But this isn’t just any old, run-of-the-mill statue.

This thing is taller than Fane when she’s in dragon form. This statue might, in fact, be taller than two Fanes in dragon form if they were stacked one atop the other. I look up…and up…and up (which is, apparently, the theme of this city), and my mouth drops open.

I’ve seen statues before, obviously. There are a million in the various temples of Arktos City, and there are statues around the city of different queens and knights and heroines in our long history. But we don’t have any that are so…impressive.

This statue is of the woman, the first queen of Bright Coast, Queen Verlit, apparently. And she is sculpted beautifully, in full armor. There is an iridescence to the black stone that was used to create this statue, and in the magelights of the city, she glitters like a star. There’s a stateliness to her form, with her chin lifted high, a swagger to her shoulders that are curved back, like she’s about to erupt in a warrior’s cry. She holds a sword in front of her, the point of the blade resting easily against the ground, her two hands gripping the top of the sword, her legs hip-width spread. She looks so powerful.

She looks like a queen.

As we enter the square, as I look at the statue, three clay pots positioned at the statues feet seem to explode. But that’s not quite right, because when the fire and its shadows are gone from my eyes, the clay pots are still there…that must be what they meant when they called it a fire fountain. For flames shoot into the air from the mouths of the clay pots, and then those flames arc down, almost like liquid, to curve into the basin at the statue’s feet. The flames burn away, and then repeat, fire shooting toward the heavens, rising to the height of the statue’s face. My breath catches in my throat as I watch the fire, but my breath is catching for other reasons—for we whirl faster and faster, the spiral of all of us, the drums clash, the brass bells ring, and the horns sound, and then the tempo of the beat changes.

“This is it! ‘The Dragon Maid of Bright Coast!’ They’re playing my song!” Talis cries out, laughing with delight, and as the spiral tightens until we’re all wedged in together, I turn and realize that I’m pressed up against the knight.

The crowd scatters as the song begins.

“Dance with me,” Talis whispers into my ear, the heat of her breath, of the dance, moving through me, burning brightly. I’m burning brightly, I realize, as brightly as the flames that rise in the night air, as brightly as the city itself, sparkling on the mountaintop like a jewel cradled in a perfect ring’s setting. I turn, and I wrap my arms around her neck, and her hands find their place at the curves of my waist, and we’re swaying to the steady beat, the rhythm of the song as hard and fast as the pulse of someone who wants something so badly.

Like my pulse right now.

I look up into the knight’s face, I hold her gaze, and I can feel the blood surging through me, can feel my entire body surrendering to the want and need that flow through every inch of my skin, through all my blood and bones, through every single part of me. She feels it, too. I know she feels it, too. For when Talis looks down at me, now, her hands gripping my waist like a lifeline, like something that could save her, she breathes out, the breath catching in her throat.

“Cinda,” she whispers, and when her tongue caresses the syllables of my name—I can’t help it. I shudder. She said my name like a supplicant speaks to a goddess, and I want to hear her say my name again and again. I want to hear her cry it out.

Perhaps it’s the heat of the city. Perhaps it’s the fact that, in a little while, we’re going to come together and do something patently wrong. Perhaps it’s the magic of this night. I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. Perhaps it’s just her. But I know what I want, and I want to claim it.

I want her. And I want her now.

“Do we…do we have time…before…” I murmur into her ear, and I don’t even get out all of the words.

“Yes. Yes, absolutely, yes,” she groans back, and then she lifts her hand and curls her fingers gently on the back of my neck. She bends down, and we kiss.

The heat of the air, the heat of the flames licking at the feet of the first Queen of Bright Coast…it tinges the air with the spice of desire. The scent of a match that’s just been blown out, the crisp woodiness of an apple log consumed by flames. Everything is heat as she drinks of me deeply, as I pull her down, my arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders, now, and I rise to meet her, and she bends to meet me, and we are met in the middle, Talis and I. We are well matched, well matched in every way.

And now, finally, after being interrupted hours ago…we’re going to finish what we started.

Come hell or some very high water.

“Where?” I gasp, breaking away from her, searching her face. Her eyes are dark with potent, hot need, and her mouth is swollen from our kiss. She runs a sweet, pink tongue over those swollen lips, and my entire body cries out in crescendo from that one perfect movement. I’m going to die right here and now if she doesn’t touch me.

Talis looks around the city square at all of the people reveling. “We can’t rent a room in the taverns—they’re probably full for Wild Night,” she manages, panting.

My mind runs through a list of possibilities and settles on one that I’m not sure about…but have some hope for. “Come on,” I tell her, turning and heading into the crowd toward the left edge of the palace gates. “Let me ask someone…”

The first person we run into (literally—I literally run into her actually fairly hard, my shoulder knocking into hers with so much gusto that she actually winces) is a Draco, and she glances at me in surprise, since I did clock her fairly hard.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell her with a grimace. “Listen…are there palace gardens close by?”

She takes one look from me to Talis, and a smile of camaraderie flits across her face. And then she winks at me. “Yes, that way,” she says, turning and pointing over her shoulder, her slitted pupils adjusting to the extra light as the fire fountain erupts almost right next to us. “Down that street, make a right. There should be many others who have the same idea as you, so I hope you can find an empty bush to hide behind.” She winks again, and then disappears into the crowd.

“Come on,” I repeat, tugging Talis forward, and she needs no encouragement. We move through the crowd as quickly as we’re able, and then, when we’re in the relative (compared to the crowd in the square) quiet of the street, Talis takes the lead, and we run, together, hand in hand, toward the palace gardens.

Arktos City has palace gardens, too, and I was hopeful that other cities followed suit—and I suppose I’m lucky, for Mount Verlit City’s gardens spread before us, now, just off this side street.

There are no magelamps here, except for a few small spheres of light that manage to edge the garden path so that one doesn’t trip and fall. I wish it was light enough for me to see the gardens, for what I can manage to make out from the little light is truly impressive…

But, to be truthful, impressive or not, it’s not the gardens that are captivating me at the moment.

True to the Draco lady’s word, there are people everywhere, soft moans filling the heady, fragrant air, perfumed with countless night blooming flowers. I almost trip over two naked women as Talis and I try to stick to the path, and I chuckle, mumbling an apology as they wave me on, immediately wrapping themselves up in each other again. I doubt they even really noticed me.

“Here,” murmurs Talis, and we find a tree. The trunk of the tree is about as round as I am, and there are fragrant blossoms in the boughs and branches, and they smell a little like flowers and a little like vanilla—it’s quite lovely. But, again, that’s all the attention I give it, because Talis pushes me up against the tree gently. With the trunk between my shoulder blades and against my buttocks and thighs, I lean against it, and I look at the knight. There’s moonlight here, though the clouds scuttle across it so often that it’s still hard to see, and I wish there weren’t so many shadows…but there’s a brightness in Talis’s eyes that I don’t think any darkness could obscure.

I look up at the knight, and my heart fills fair to bursting. I feel too much when I look at her, and I don’t feel like I can contain it all inside of me. I take a deep breath, and then I reach up, and I take Talis’s face—I press my palms gently against her soft cheeks, and then trace my fingers down her neck to the edge of her armor chest plate. She sags a little against my touch, her eyes closed, a fierce look of concentration on her face, tension in every line and curve of her, her mouth open, wanting…but then she reaches up and places her gloved hands over mine, her leather-covered palms hot against me.

“Lady,” she whispers, searching my face. She looks so serious, just now, so earnest, every bit of her, but then she straightens, taking a step back, turning away from me, her beautiful face in profile. “Lady,” she repeats, whispering the word with a sweetness to her low voice that sings along every bit of my skin. She kneels slowly, reverently before me, and every inch of me is a pounding heartbeat as she looks up at me with flashing, need-filled eyes. “Would you do me this greatest of honors?” she growls.

“Yes,” I whisper in the dark, and then I watch as she nods, a smile passing over her lips before she opens them again. She breathes out, in the dark, and then her hands are at her throat, where her cloak has been clasped. She unclasps the thing and snaps it wide in the darkness, settling it against the ground beneath that sweet scented tree.

She offers me a hand, breath making her chest plate rise and fall faster now, in the dark.

“Please lay with me,” she murmurs.

I step forward, and I take her hand. I turn and brush the errant bits of hair that have gotten out of my braids again (damn them anyway), and I shiver as I glance back at her, over my shoulder. I kneel down beside her.

“Help me?” I whisper.

Her hands are at the back of my neck, at the first closure of the dress. The leather of her gloves is hot against me as she undoes each clasp. Down my back, her fingers curve, and then the back of my dress is open, and she’s reaching up to my shoulder blades, pressing the fullness of her palms there, inching fingers under the shoulders of my dress and peeling the sleeves down from within. I shiver, feeling the cool breeze of the night kiss my skin, and then it’s not just the wind, but her mouth, the heat of her, against the back of my neck. I moan, pressing back against the knight and her mouth and her perfect hands as the top of my dress falls down to my waist, and I am naked from the waist up, except for her hands, her hands that are suddenly at my breasts, the heat of them making me shiver like I’ll never stop.

She cups my breasts with the palms of her hands, still encased in those leather gloves, and she rolls her thumbs and fingers against my painfully peaked nipples. It’s almost lazy, the sweet slowness of her motions, like she’s trying to remember, for always, what my nipples feel like beneath her touch, what my skin tastes like, as she traces her tongue over the soft curve of my neck and shoulder. I shudder against her, leaning back tightly against her, and I can feel her heart pounding, beneath the armor, and it’s like a song all its own.

I turn, on the cloak, and I regard this knight, this beautiful woman, and want her in every way with such a great surge of desire that I’m almost breathless from it. I take quick, shallow breaths as I reach out, as I gather her hands in mine, pulling her toward me.

“This,” I pant against her, glancing at the armor. “It’s got to come off.”

Her mouth smiles against me as she kisses my neck, my breastbone, dipping her head low. “It’s…not that easy to get on and off,” she tells me softly, her voice muffled as she dips her mouth low, tantalizingly low, and close to my breasts.

“I don’t care. I want to feel you. Please. I need to.” I reach up, find the first leather thong, the one at her right shoulder, and I begin to undo it.

I’m no stranger to the workings of a knight’s armor, and how to remove it quickly when you absolutely need to. I try not to think about Asla as I undo the armor, but it seems strangely familiar, each motion I do, as I divest her of the bits of metal that hide this knight from me.

But it’s easy to forget Asla, it’s easy for the pain to lessen, when the armor comes undone, when the leather undergarments are removed. Then, it’s only Talis at her truest self. Talis and Talis alone.

I find I’m breathing slower now, because I’m trying to savor these moments as if they’re the most perfect cake I could ever devour. They’re sweeter than that, lovelier, and yet I know that once a piece of cake is gone, it’s gone forever…only the memory remains. A few crumbs. Nothing more.

I’m aware, very aware, that the clock will toll two bells eventually. Perhaps sooner, rather than later. I’m aware that all of this will end much too soon, and then…well. I don’t know what happens outside of this night. No one knows what will happen, truly, one moment to the next. Your life can change so quickly. Look at mine, after all.

But as I press my palms against her shoulders, let my fingers trace down her arms, moving across the sculpted plains of her muscles, her breasts, her stomach, her hips, her thighs, I commit it all to memory. I commit the way she shudders against my hands as I palm her breasts, I commit the way she throws her head back in the moonlight when my mouth finds her perfect breasts, the smallness of them just right within my palms, filling them perfectly, like my hands were meant to hold them, like we fit one to the other exactly.

I commit to memory the way she breathes out, the way she wraps her arms tightly around me like there is no possibility of letting go, ever. We lie down side by side on the cloak, utterly naked, entwined limb for limb, heart to heart, and when she kisses me now, I taste jubilation on her tongue, taste victory upon her mouth as she trails a path of kisses, pushing me over gently, so gently, so I’m on my back, and she rises over me like a celestial body, shining her light down upon a light-starved world.

I feel the way her shoulders move above me, the way she steadies her hands on either side of my head. I press my palms against her back, tracing the muscles of her ass beneath my hands, delighting in every curve of her as she spreads my thighs with her legs, presses her center against my own. She curves over me, and she watches me carefully, her eyes never leaving mine, as she begins the oldest rhythm in the universe, as she moves her body against mine, a friction of delight that fills me. I bend under her, moving to meet her, the both of us finding the perfect cradle we both need. I hold her between my thighs, she moves over me like stars, and we dance.

Her mouth against me is a feast of sensation, her right hand finds my breast, oh, she finds it, and she makes it hers. The calluses of her fingers, her thumb, are hard against me, and rough, too, and my skin is on fire, a delicious fire, that licks my bones and skin with a desire I’ve never tasted before, but will crave again for always.

“Cinda,” she whispers against me, tasting my name like I taste her mouth, like her fingers taste my thigh, my center, oh, my wetness with her fingers trailing in it. “Cinda,” she repeats, as her hand, its calluses, its perfect fingers, begin to curve inside of me, the pad of her thumb pressing against my clit like she knows exactly what I need. She doesn’t have to learn what my body responds to. She moves like she knows already.

Everything about the arch of her shoulders, her body, her mouth and hands, her center and its slick wetness against my thigh, are a bright heat of pleasure. She wants to please me, her entire being is setting its course toward that star, and I can feel it like I’ve never felt anything before. She wants me, she wants to delight me, and as I shudder against her, as the white heat inside my center starts to grow, I know that I love her, and I don’t know what to say about it, so I don’t say anything. I feel it, instead. I feel her fingers inside of me, curling and questing, touching and claiming, I feel her mouth over my heart, devouring me wholly, and I feel…I feel too much as I come, as my whole body experiences that white heat unfurl, splendid, infinite, and all that I’m aware of as I’m remade in those moments is the places where she touches me, and how complete I feel because she does.

She is the adventure I’ve been waiting for. She is the part of my life I’ve been searching for.

It was her, all along.

And I found her in just one night.

Chapter 17

TALIS

I look down at this lady, and everything I am inside of me begins to unravel. There’s the pain and poignancy of perpetuating a falsehood against her, yes. But it’s more than that.

She’s remaking me from the inside out. There is something inside of her, something so deep and intrinsic that I can feel it when she moves against me, when I touch her, when I taste her. It’s as if I found the beginning and end of all magic, and it isn’t a star or a moon or a pillar of crystal—it’s her. Magic is this living, breathing beauty who lies beneath my body now and looks up at me with eyes full of such undying devotion that I can feel the entirety of my being shifting, somehow.

I love her.

I found her a few hours ago. I did not know she existed before this night. But there was such a sallow emptiness to my days that I couldn’t see. I moved around the emptiness, and I carried it with me, and I couldn’t see it, because to see it would be to admit that I needed something.

Someone.

I loved my mother to all the ends of my days, and I loved her fiercely, and when she passed…well, it taught me that to love anything was to lose it, and I could not abide losing something ever again. So I salted my love, and I refused to let it grow, and I ignored the pain in my heart because it was easier than facing it.

But now, now I’m facing her. We are naked, we lie heart to heart, and beneath me is the universe in the body of a woman, in the heart and soul of a woman who I’ve spent all my days in quest of. I sought to fill the emptiness with knighthood, with striving for something I could do or be.

But it was always love I sought, my body turning toward it, my heart longing for it.

And now here she is.

And now…now I’m afraid again.

Cinda reaches up and wraps her soft arms tightly about my neck, holding me close, as if this moment cannot end. I bend my face, and nestle it against that perfect curve of her shoulder, and I breathe her in. There is such a sweetness to her skin, to all that she is, and such a strength. I tasted it when I tasted her, and it was sublime.

But I know, can feel the thrumming of it beneath the moment, as tender and beautiful as it is—there’s the knowledge.

What I love is what I lose.

I shove away the thoughts that begin to cluster at the edge of my heart, hungry devils that tear at my spirit with sharp, poisoned teeth. They all whisper that Cinda won’t understand why I lied—that she’ll think I deceived her. She wants a knight. I am not a knight.

What I love is what I lose.

I rise, pushing myself off the ground with my palms firmly against it, and Cinda looks at me, worry passing over her face as she rises, too, lying back on her elbows now.

“What is it?” she murmurs, and then she reaches up, tenderly cups my cheek with her warm, soft palms. “Talis?”

I close my eyes, reach up, place my hands over hers, interlacing fingers so that we’re interwoven again, at least a little, she and I. I breathe out, breathe in, the flowers of the tree above us nodding their moon-bright heads as a breeze moves through the garden, bringing with it the music from the square, the laughter from the square. I look toward it, working my jaw, and I breathe out.

“It’s almost time—” I start to tell her, but I don’t get to finish it.

For the bell tolls.

The bell resides in the palace somewhere, and it must be gargantuan to be able to hear it so clearly out here—or magiced so that the sound emanates throughout the entire city. Either way, we hear that bell toll, once, twice, and then we’re scrambling, Cinda and I, trying to get back into our clothes and armor, trying to right ourselves…

“We must hurry,” I tell her breathlessly. “Everything can be thrown off if you make a thief wait. We start to think too much. Our mind gets out of the game.”

“I’m sorry I must make you wait.” Cinda’s sincere as she searches my face, but then an impish little grin crosses that sumptuous mouth of hers. “But it’ll make it all the sweeter when I get to taste you later.”

It’s immediate, the blush that races across my face, and I’m ducking my head, rubbing at the back of my neck, completely and totally delighted. “I…can’t believe you just said that.”

“You’re going to utter that phrase quite a lot, my dear,” says Cinda, pulling the sleeves of her dress up, righting her undergarments. She turns to me, glancing with a coy seductiveness over her shoulder as she shimmies a little. “Will you do me up?”

“I regret nothing more,” I murmur, leaning down and brushing my mouth on her shoulder as my fingers find the first button at the small of her back, “than hiding away those perfect breasts.”

She glances over her shoulder again, and there’s wonder on her face. “You think they’re perfect?”

“They’re objectively perfect,” I tell her without hesitation.

“It’s just...” She sighs, shaking out her shoulders a little. “I’m sure you’re usually with younger ladies.”

“Not…really,” I tell her, my fingers lingering gently on the last button.

She turns to face me quickly, wraps her own fingers in the gap on my chest plate. “Listen to me, Talis,” she tells me then, and her tone is low, urgent. “Something…happened. Just now, when we made love. Did you feel it, too?”

I stare down at her, transfixed. “Yes.”

She searches my face, and there’s fear there for half a heartbeat before she draws herself up to her full height, tipping her chin up. “I need you to know: I care about you.”

I nod. “Yes…I do, too.”

“But it’s more than that.” Her fingers tighten, and she searches my face. “Why is it so frightening to say this?” She licks her lips, her voice soft, urgent. “I…I think I lo—”

“Talis?”

We both start, and then turn guiltily, looking toward the square. “Shit,” I murmur, and I scoop up my cloak, my fingers fumbling with the leather thongs along my side. “We’re late. We’ll finish this later,” I promise to her, and I reach out, take her hand in mine. “I want to tell you something, too. I promise, later.”

“Later,” she repeats, and she looks sorrowful, for a heartbeat, before she nods, and the two of us race across the gardens—doing our best not to run over anyone—and we enter the side street that’s off the main square.

“There you are,” sighs Tahlia, throwing her hands up into the air in exasperation. Tahlia, Fane and Lellie are all standing in the side street, and though I feel guilty for making them wait, I’m fascinated that they even had any idea of the direction we might have gone.

“How did you know where to look for us?” I ask, but Fane taps the side of her nose and gives a big grin.

“I’ve got a good sniffer on me. All Draco do. Is everyone ready? Sated?” she asks, raising a brow, and I can’t help but smile, biting my lip as a blush creeps up my neck. This is not Cinda’s reaction, however, and she pats the Draco on the shoulder with a wide smile.

“Completely sated! How about you ladies?” She waggles her brows at the three, and Fane and Lellie glance at one another, both of them smiling in a fairly satisfied way.

Well, then.

“I didn’t have time for such things,” says Tahlia, waving her hand airily, which means she got rejected quite a few times, and is currently trying to nurse her bruised ego. “Let’s just get this show on the road. We’ve got to get in and get out while everyone’s having fun and is fairly inebriated.”

“Oh, that will be all night, don’t fret.” Fane shrugs. “It’s Wild Night, after all. No, we have to move quickly because we don’t want to get caught. Have you seen what Draco do to people they’ve caught in illegal acts?”

“No, no,” I start to mouth, drawing my finger across my throat, but Fane continues blithely, even as Cinda’s mouth hangs open.

“They usually eat them. Sometimes. It depends on if they’re hungry or not, but criminals usually get eaten.” Fane grins, and her entire mouth is full of points as she smiles at us. “So…we’d best get moving. The sooner we’re in, the sooner we’re out, and the sooner we can be on our way.”

“That’s…not the rousing speech I was hoping for,” murmurs Lellie, adjusting her front chest plate of armor so that it lies a little snugger against her. “Couldn’t you…I don’t know…Tahlia, can you say something uplifting? Inspiring? You must give a little speech before you go on raids with your bandits to inspire them to, I don’t know…steal harder.”

“Steal harder? That may just be the entirety of my next speech.” Tahlia grins and gives Lellie a wink. “And I do give speeches, yes, but it seems that Fane has taken the wind out of my sails just a wee bit, what with talk of being eaten and all.” Tahlia grimaces, and then glances at me, her brows up. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so unsure of herself as she is right now, looking to me. She’s never looked to me before. She shifts the weight from one foot to the other and clears her throat. “Uh…Talis. Do you want to take the helm? Maybe say a few words?”

I stare at my sister, and then I blink. Oh, she’s being serious. She really does want me to say something to the others, a rousing speech that will inspire them. I’m already tongue-tied because of everything I wanted to tell Cinda and did not have time to do again, and the gods know I’m not the give-big-speeches-in-front-of-people type. I’m quiet. I have thoughts, but I often keep them to myself. Tahlia’s the one who can leap up on a table and get the entire tavern singing along with her.

But she wants me to try now. And I close my eyes, think of how Ma used to get the thieves going. She’s the one who taught Tahlia how to jump onto tables, after all, how to get the entire group of people on your side, get them stirred up, get them excited.

I remember how she’d grin down at us all, leaning back onto her heels on the tabletop, her hands on her hips, her chest puffed up like she couldn’t be prouder of her bunch of brigands than she was right at that moment. It did something to you, made you feel important, somehow, seeing her pride in us.

I open my eyes, smile softly at Cinda who looks at me with a very similar expression. Like she cares about me. As if, to her, I am important.

I forgot what that felt like, but it’s good, how it slowly flows through me, that warmth, as if my heart is pumping different blood through my body.

This is what love feels like.

My mother loved us, all of us, her “blessed thieves,” she’d call us. She made us feel like there was nothing we couldn’t do.

And, right now?

That’s how Cinda is making me feel.

I take a deep breath, glance at the assembled ladies in front of me.

“It’s…good of you to be here tonight, my friends,” I say, and the words come out faltering a little until I clear my throat. “You had other places you could be, surely. Lellie—you’d be back at the knights’ barracks right now. Tahlia, I know you’d be at the Fox Palace, living it up like the queen you are. Fane—I’m sure you had better things to do than carry a bunch of ladies across country in a basket.” Everyone chuckles, and I do, too, my smile deepening. “And, Cinda…this isn’t the night you asked for. Perhaps…” I take a deep breath. “Perhaps I’m not the knight you asked for. But you’re here, with me, and I’m glad of it. I’m glad that all of you are here with me. I couldn’t have asked for better friends to attempt to this than you. That ring was important to my Ma, and here we all are, together, ready to get it back. I’m grateful you’re here with me. Now let’s do the job and do it well, and there’ll be drinks all ‘round when we get out of this alive.”

Everyone’s smiling, and they all nod. Tahlia’s grinning deepest of all, and when Fane turns, ready to lead us back toward the palace gardens, she swings an arm around my shoulders, drawing me into a one-armed embrace.

“Good job. Ma would’ve been proud of that,” she murmurs into my ear, and then she lets me go, looking away hurriedly, probably because she doesn’t want me to see the tears swimming in her eyes—but I do. I smile after my sister, and then I take Cinda’s hand, and we follow along behind Fane as she leads us toward the gardens.

“I figure the best way to get into the palace is through the kitchens,” says Fane, suddenly all business, her tone and walk brisk. “There’ll be no one there right now, and it’s easy to pick the kitchen door lock—honestly, they often leave the door open. There’s a palace cat who lives in the kitchen, and he likes to go in and out all day, every day, so they like to make it easy on themselves.” Fane grins back over her shoulder. “So we’ll move through the lower quarters and up toward the noble chambers. That’s where the general lives now. I’ve heard she’s having a thing with the queen these days, but…” Fane sniffs. “I’m not sure, so it’s all just hearsay. But she did move out of the lower quarters. Usually generals like to live near the barracks, don’t like to make a big show of being noble, so…it’s odd the general would have moved.”

“Palace gossip?” asks Lellie, raising a brow. “Fane, I would have thought you above such things.”

“Well…” Fane takes a breath and rubs at the back of her neck, giving Lellie a sidelong glance. “The queen’s happiness concerns me.”

Lellie’s brows rise higher, and she looks at a loss for words for a moment. Tahlia glances from Fane to Lellie, worry making her raise her hands, clear her throat.

“Look, ladies, we have to concentrate. I know you’ve probably never done anything like this before, but if you don’t concentrate on a heist, it can head south in a heartbeat.”

“No, I’m concentrating. I just want to tell you, Fane, that what we just did together, you and I…it was fun. I hold you no ill will if you’re in love with the queen,” says Lellie quickly, raising her own hands, too.

“I do not have a thing for the queen,” says Fane, fairly at the same time, so that she and Lellie talk over one another. Fane tries to act nonchalant and utterly fails as she raises her brows, puts on a cooler face, like she’s hasn’t a care in the world. “I just care about my country, of course. I care about its ruler.”

“Of course,” agrees Cinda, nodding. “I can understand that. Queen Calla—she’s our queen in Arktos—”

“I know who she is,” Fane snorts.

“Well, I wasn’t sure.” Cinda grins. “Anyway, we care about her greatly in the city, always want to see her happy. She’s beloved by her people, and I’m sure your queen is beloved by hers. I mean, if she wasn’t, I’m sure we would have heard about it in Arktos—news like that travels. For example, have you heard of the king of Furo? Of course you have, because he’s an asshole.” She says this defiantly, and I turn and stare at her, my mouth actually open.

I’m so attracted to her in this moment my heart could burst.

It’s generally well known that King Charix of Furo is, in fact, an asshole. And though the braver subjects of Arktos will say this unflinchingly, it’s almost as if it’s bad luck to say so.

Furo and Arktos have never been friends, but lately, the relationship between our countries has been downright nasty. When King Charix staged the coup in our palace only a few days ago now, it was handled deftly and quickly by our knights and no real harm came to anyone in Arktos…but I know that folks were frightened, are frightened.

But, it seems that Cinda is not one of those folks.

“We’re not big fans of him here, either,” says Fane dryly, her head to the side. “The rules and laws he’s been bandying about on his own people are barbaric. You’ll find no love of King Charix here in Bright Coast.”

“Last full moon, he banned Moonborn.” Lellie’s voice is quiet as she lifts her chin.

I glance sidelong at my best friend—the pain is obvious in her voice.

“Can you imagine?” she murmurs. “He said that anyone who was Moonborn must leave Furo. And he did it on the full moon to be as cruel as possible. Can you imagine?” she repeats, her voice soft, aching. “I care about it, because I’m Moonborn,” Lellie says then, tilting her chin up, gazing at Tahlia and Cinda with a quiet strength and nobility in her gaze. “But I think it’s something we should all care about.”

I reach out and wrap an arm around her shoulders, squeezing gently. I can feel her shaking with anger as she curls her hands into fists. Her face is white as the stars.

Lellie and I have been friends since I came to Arktos City three years ago with my dreams of knighthood. Lellie was already a knight when I arrived, but she never felt that she was better than me. She was always funny and sarcastic, but with a heavy dose of compassion that endeared her to me right away…which happened about a moon into my job of being an Arktos knights’ stablehand.

Long before my friend, Kosta, was a squire, she was a stablehand, like me. Most of the people who want to become knights aren’t women…they’re girls (which makes me stand out like a sore thumb even more). You must train for knighthood for many years, so for those who want to become knights, being a stablehand isn’t a very long job, and you become a stablehand when you’re fairly young…

So Kosta was just a kid, but I saw a lot of my sister in her, and I loved her fiercely. We’d only known each other for about a moon when she took me aside. “It’s my Moonborn ritual tomorrow,” she’d told me, searching my face, “and I want you to come as one of my witnesses.”

I was deeply honored and told her as much. Lellie was the other who Kosta had asked, and together, Lellie and I set out for the temple the next night.

Lellie told me on the way to the temple that she was a Moonborn, too, and it’s why she’d taken Kosta under her wing. “Deciding when to do the ritual can be hard, and she wanted to know my opinion. And, speaking of opinions,” she glanced at me with twinkling eyes, “you may have, perhaps, brought a bit much for the ritual offering.”

I shrugged around my very large armful of wheat. “I…wanted to be prepared. My goddess usually likes large offerings, so…”

I’m bound to the Goddess Fox (of course), the trickster goddess, and the rituals at her temple are a little…well. They’re interesting. I’ve, of course, taken part in the festival rituals for different goddesses in Arktos since I arrived, but since I was raised worshipping Fox, I hadn’t been to another goddess’ temple, at the time.

And I was impressed.

I loved how beautiful the Moon Goddess’ temple was, all silver with pretty, blue-inlaid tiles on the floor in crescent patterns. The statues of the goddess were all iridescent, forever shifting in your line of sight, and the pool in the very center of the floor was as blue as the sky as darkness falls.

The ritual was moving. The priestess, presiding over it, spoke about the fact that Moonborn are born with bodies that don’t match their hearts. The moon changes how it looks, from full to new, but it is always the moon, and so, too, will Kosta still be Kosta, no matter how her body looks. Her body, right then and there, did not have a vessel, her body had a phallus. But she was still Kosta, still a woman, and the phallus was not what she knew she should have. So, if she wished it, she could enter the pool, and the goddess would transform her body to match her heart.

Kosta entered the pool, and there was so much light, light as soft as moonlight. When she emerged, she looked different. She looked happy. The priestess blessed her, there were offerings made to the goddess, and then, of course, there was a feast. It was a happy day, but what was even happier was how Kosta went about life then: with a surety and joy. The priestess, that day, said being Moonborn was as natural as the changing tides…seeing how Kosta changed, with the ritual, was a joy in my own life.

The King of Furo, in his declaration, said that being Moonborn was an “insult” to their god of war. How any god or goddess could not want their people to be happy was and is something I cannot fathom. Why would anyone worship a deity that did not love them wholly?

“I’m sorry, Lellie,” says Cinda, here and now. She takes a deep breath—there’s a firmness to her jaw as she shakes her head. “The moment I heard that the king of Furo banned people, I hated him completely. I’m so sorry, Lellie,” she repeats firmly. “He’s an asshole. Everyone knows he’s an asshole.”

Lellie nods to her, her face soft. “I’d heard that not everyone is as good about Moonborn as Arktos…but they were just stories. It’s naïve to assume that all cultures will accept you, but I’ve never met anyone who didn’t…until I met some men from Furo.” She shakes her head, obviously upset. “Being Moonborn doesn’t come up all the time, of course, but I mentioned something in passing about the Moonborn temple in the city, and they spat on the ground at my feet. This was a week ago. I am obviously still shaken about it.” She clears her throat, looks around at all of us. We had been talking while we were walking, but now we stand still.

“The world, right now, is changing,” says Fane softly, her gaze gentle as she looks at Lellie. “I heard what happened, with the Goddess Cower in Arktos…how she escaped, how she personifies pure darkness. I know you captured her again,” she nods to us, even as Lellie, Cinda and I all shudder. “But, even with her caged once more, there is a darkness rising…I know there have been peoples who’ve said that for many years, probably since the dawn of time…” She chuckles, but there is no humor in it. “But doesn’t it feel like something’s changing? There’s a great deal of unkindness in the world. Pain. Suffering. It’s all going to come to a head before it alters for the better.”

“That’s…not very hopeful,” murmurs Tahlia, and Fane pauses for a moment, gazing down at the ground.

“No. I think it’s as hopeful as it gets.” Fane looks up finally, her eyes flashing with a brightness I haven’t yet seen. Could all of that bluster, flirting and bravado hide something deeper? Fane shifts her weight back on her heels, spreads her hands. “This world is going to change for the better. But only if people fight for what’s right and good relentlessly.”

We don’t say anything more as we walk toward the palace gardens, the lot of us lost in thought.

We enter the gardens, and then through them. There’s a small alleyway that leads to a cook’s garden, and the palace towers above us, but it begins here, in the lean-to stone shed that’s attached to the kitchen.

Fane goes up the two squat steps and tries the door handle…

And the kitchen door opens.

“Thank goodness they weren’t worried about a siege,” she tells us, turning and giving us a wink before she disappears into the darkness of the kitchen.

Without the moon and stars above us, it would be impossible to have found this place—there are no magelamps back here, burning brightly. But, still, moonlight and starlight don’t cast much radiance, and when we step inside, it doesn’t take very long for our eyes to adjust to the dark.

The place looks quite like the palace kitchen in Arktos—either way, it’s too dark to make out much more than base similarities (there’s the hearth, there’s the bread oven). We silently make our way into the corridor beyond, and I’m relieved that, out here at least, there are softly glowing magelamps along the wall, dimly lit, but with enough light to see the corridor stretching before us.

“Aren’t you a bit worried that we’ll be spotted?” asks Tahlia then, pausing. She has her hands on her hips, and she raises a brow at Fane, who stops, too. “It’s just that…normally, when you steal something, you make a bit of an effort to hide yourself. Maybe I didn’t make myself clear, but we’re here to rob the place.” Her tone is light and joking, but there’s genuine worry to her eyes.

“What would you have had me do, lead you through an open window?” asks Fane, her brows up.

“I’ve gone through quite a lot of windows in my day,” replies Tahlia, snorting. “Windows are, in fact, a very good way for a robber to gain admittance to a premises without getting caught.”

“I’d have never asked this lovely lady to go through a window,” says Fane firmly. She takes one of Lellie’s hands in her own, and brings the back of that hand up to her mouth with a mild suggestiveness to her smile. “I mean, look at these hands—they’re much too delicate to scrabble up a wall!”

“Delicate?” Lellie actually laughs at this. “I’ve killed quite a few people with these,” she says mildly. It’s only partially a joke—she’s gone on quite a few campaigns in the few years she’s been a knight. I wouldn’t doubt it.

“Well, either way, climbing walls is taxing work,” sniffs Fane. She gives Lellie a wink when she drops her hand. “But I did mean what I said—I’d never ask you to go through a window.”

“Because doors are so much more lady-like.” Lellie is dissolving into giggles at this point.

“I hate to be rude,” murmurs Tahlia, putting a finger in front of her own lips with a wince, “but, usually when you’re out robbing, you keep the conversation to a minimum. That whole dratted being caught thing.”

“Sorry,” Lellie murmurs, wincing, too. “I don’t think I’m cut out for a life of crime.”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to recruit either one of you at this point,” Tahlia grins at Fane and Lellie, and then glances at Cinda with an appraising brow raised. “Maybe you. I guess we’ll have to see how you do. A life of crime just might suit you.”

Cinda shrugs. “The only thing I like to steal is a taste of cake batter. I don’t think I’m cut out for it, either.”

“Well, the thieving life certainly didn’t suit her,” murmurs Tahlia, gazing at me a little wistfully. “Ah, well, we all have our strengths, yes? And we need to work within our weaknesses. And, right now, we all need to try to pretend to be robbers, whether we are or no. Good?”

We all nod, and then we move along the corridor on quiet feet. I have to admit, it’s a little odd to be brazenly walking down the hallway like we belong here. Fane is a Draco, yes, but the rest of us are clearly not, and if anyone from the palace saw us here, there would certainly be questions. We have no alibi, not even a made-up story at this point. I wrack my brains, trying to think of something I could say to someone, should we be caught. I’m settling on the not-very-good “we wandered in here accidentally—we were partying for Wild Night! We’re very drunk! So sorry!” when we hear a noise down the corridor in front of us.

“Oh, this is very bad,” murmurs Cinda quietly, looking at me with wide eyes. “Is this very bad?”

“Only if we get caught,” Tahlia breathes, and then she casts about, ducking her head into a room off the side of the corridor, and when she sees no one in it, she motions over her shoulder to us. “In here!”

That is, of course, always a terrible plan. For one, the people heading down the corridor toward you could actually he headed toward the very room you sought shelter in. But it can’t be helped. There’s no place else for us to go.

“I just think this was a terrible plan, coming in through the ‘back door,’ using the hallways in plain sight,” Tahlia whispers as we crowd together in the dark, unlit room as footsteps echo in the corridor outside the shut door.

“You hired me to get you here and get you inside the palace. You didn’t hire me for subterfuge,” Fane snorts softly. “They’ll be gone in a heartbeat—I’m surprised there’s even anyone here at all. Between the Hero’s Tournament in Arktos and Wild Night in the city, there shouldn’t be anyone here.”

“Well, we’re here,” mutters Lellie dryly. “And Tahlia’s right—we’re waltzing in here as if—”

In the dark, Fane holds up her hand, and Lellie’s about to keep talking, but we hear the footsteps a little too loudly. It sounds like someone’s coming right for this room.

“Fuck,” Tahlia mouths at the same time as the door’s pushed open.

“What about in here?” comes a coy, flirtatious voice, a woman who sounds a little bit inebriated and a little bit turned on.

“No, no, that won’t do,” comes another woman’s voice. “Too obvious. Someone might find us, and I do not want to be interrupted.” There’s a soft growl to her voice. “Let’s try a little farther along.”

The door shuts, the footsteps recede, and everyone in the room breathes an audible sigh of relief.

“To whoever decided not to use that room—may that be the best sex you ever have,” Tahlia blesses them, and then we ease out into the hallway again. “Let’s get this over with. Go, go, go,” murmurs Tahlia, all but shoving Fane at the small of her back.

There’s many corridors and hallways, and though my senses are all fine-tuned and highly honed because of all the alertness moving through my body…I don’t really notice the décor. There’s a lot of red, that much I can see, but other than that, it’s just unending hallways and the constant worry that someone’s going to catch us.

Finally (finally!), we make it to a corridor that is, obviously, much more ornamented than the others, so ornamented that it finally causes me to notice. There are dragon gargoyles everywhere, dragons carved into the banister of the stairs, dragons carved in the wood around each doorway, with large maws open, and pointed teeth on full display.

“These are the royal chambers. The general’s is the very last one on the right,” Fane murmurs. “Her horde will be located right off of her living chamber. Let’s go.”

“How do we know the door’s not locked?” asks Tahlia worriedly. “You said it wouldn’t be, but how do you know?”

“Because no one’s ever been daft enough to rob the palace, that’s why,” Fane snorts.

As Fane continues down the corridor, followed by Cinda and Lellie, I hang back and pluck at Tahlia’s shirtsleeve. She turns, annoyance clearly outlined on her features, and then sighs when she sees my expression.

“Don’t start, we’re almost there,” she tells me, holding up a hand, but I do anyway.

“Tahlia…have you even questioned how Fane knows this place so well?” I lick my lips. “Haven’t you noticed? She has a fairly amazing knowledge of the palace itself. Don’t you find this a little strange? Why are we trusting her?”

Tahlia shakes her head. “Because we are, Tal. She’s trustworthy, I promise you that.”

“But…but how do you know that?”

Tahlia’s face is inscrutable. “She’s saved my life more than once—we have to trust her. And, anyway, we’re already here. The time for wondering is over. Now is the time of doing.” She waves her hand, and then she plucks her shirtsleeve out of my grasp, and trots—feet light, making no sound on the floor—to catch up with the others.

I sigh for a long moment, and then follow after her. I like Fane, like her a lot—she strikes me as a good person. But there’s an itch along the back of my neck, the kind I used to get when something awful was about to happen…

I have a bad feeling about this.

But I have no choice. Tahlia’s right. We’re already here. I have to go along with it.

But my senses are extra heightened as I follow the rest down the corridor. I look at the magelamps flickering along the wall and shudder a little.

They glow a dark, sinister red.

We get to the last door on the right, and when Fane reaches her hand toward the doorknob—an ornate, golden thing—I wonder, for a moment, if it’s actually going to turn. But it does. The knob gives way in Fane’s hand, the door creaks eerily as it opens fully into the dark room beyond.

“After you, ladies,” says Fane with a sweeping bow, her mouth turning up at the corners. She’s pleased with herself, that much is obvious. We let ourselves into the room, glancing about. There’s no light, so it’s hard to make anything out until Tahlia snaps her fingers, and a magelamp appears over her right shoulder.

“All right—where’s the door to the horde?” she murmurs, glancing around. There are two doors off the main living quarters, and the first one we try is unlocked—it opens upon a bedroom with a large, blue canopy bed with rich, velvet drapes and coverlet.

The second door is locked.

“This will be the one to the horde,” says Fane sighing, tapping the locked handle. “The horde doors are always locked.”

“I thought you said they don’t lock the doors in the palace?” hisses Tahlia, reaching into her hair to unearth a hairpin. She finds one, crouching down in front of the door and begins to pick the lock.

“Well, hordes are always locked—it’s a Draco thing,” says Fane with a shrug. “Dragons steal from each other’s hordes all the time if we’re not careful.”

Tahlia sighs, but in a moment—or a bit less—she has the lock picked, and the door opens.

“There’s no booby traps, right?” asks Tahlia, but she doesn’t sound so sure of herself. Fane shakes her head.

“We don’t do that here,” is all she says.

Again, I worry that we’re simply going on her word alone. Though there’s no indication that she’s lying to us, and though she feels like a good person, the hair on the back of my neck is rising now, and when we step into the horde, I look at my sister, my jaw clenched.

“We need to find the ring and get out of here, fast,” I whisper to her.

“I’m right there with you,” murmurs Tahlia.

“I’ll guard the door. I’ll alert you if anyone comes,” says Fane with a little salute. She eases past us and goes to stand in the hallway, shutting the door softly behind her.

I look to my sister, my eyes probably conveying all of my are we sure we should trust her? feelings, but my sister ignores them, taking a deep breath. “Okay, ladies, it’s a simple ring with a fox head…you’ll know it when you…see it…” Tahlia trails off as we all step into the horde.

I don’t know what I was expecting. I suppose a small room with shelves and bits of treasure stacked along said shelves.

But that’s not what we encounter when we step into the general’s horde.

“How is this possible?” Cinda breathes out.

The answer is…I don’t know.

For the general’s horde is a cavernous maw of a room, going back and back…and back. The mage lamp over Tahlia’s shoulder doesn’t illuminate the far corners of the room, because I don’t think a bonfire could illuminate the far corners—they are, in fact, too far away to see.

“How are we going to…no,” says Tahlia, and she chokes out the word and with a sharp dismissal of her hand, sends the magelamp up into the air to hover over all of us. “No,” she repeats, and though her voice quavers, she forces the words out of her mouth: “we came this far. Surely…surely the gods are on our side. Look hard. Look fast. It’s here—we just have to find it. Maybe there’s some sort of…some sort of system to all this.”

The room, itself, is glorious—a thief’s dream come true. It’s as cavernous as a cave in here, and it seems that every bit of that space is taken up with treasure. Everything you think of when you hear that word is here: golden coins, golden statues, golden crowns and rings and chains and necklaces and bangles and there’s an actual golden chair, off to the side, where the general must sit to gaze on her horde and be pleased by it.

All of the treasure is in differently sized mounds, heaps and hills of the stuff, and there’s no rhyme or reason to the heaps, no matter what my sister said. It’s all a jumble, piles of treasure as far as the eye can see, limitless treasure…

I stare at the monstrosity of the task in front of us, and I know…I know, like I know, that we’re not going to find my mother’s ring in all of this. It’s impossible. The general obviously uses magic on her horde—the space is so much bigger on the inside than the outside—and if she uses magic for that, then what else does she use magic for? Maybe she has my mother’s ring hidden away in a compartment we could never find.

Maybe she threw out my mother’s ring long ago.

I stand there, and all of the wind is taken out of my sails as I stare at this impossible task laid out before us.

And that is, of course, when I am at my lowest, that my trickster goddess would choose to take things from very bad to so much worse.

Because the door to the general’s chambers, the door to the main living chamber, just beyond the horde’s door…

I can hear it opening.

For half a heartbeat, I tell myself that it’s just Fane, letting herself back into the quarters, wondering if we’re done yet. But I know it’s not Fane. I know it, because the bootfalls upon the floor are hard and flat, and Fane was being as quiet as possible…

So, when the door to the general’s horde is thrown wide, I know it’s not Fane we’ll see.

And it’s not.

It’s not Fane.

It’s a palace guard.

It’s obvious that this woman is a palace guard. She’s dressed in red and black—the Bright Coast colors—and she has a golden sword strapped onto her back. Her hair is swept up into three braids that are then pulled into tails that dangle down her back. Her slitted pupils graze over all of us, and her eyes narrow.

I take a deep breath, spread my hands.

Maybe, just maybe, I can explain our way out of this.

But she grabs one of my wrists, pulls me forward—not ungently.

“What are you ladies doing here? You should have been down to the Circ an hour ago. They are going to flay me alive if you’re late!”

I throw a glance over my shoulder at Tahlia. She looks as desperate as I feel, but she’s immediately smoothing it over, putting on her most charming of smiles.

A thief is many things, and—at the very top of the last—a thief is a very, very good bullshitter.

“Late?” she asks coolly, a little haughtily. The guard looks back at her as if she’s grown an extra head.

“Are you drunk?’ she asks, voice rising in anger. “If you’re drunk, you’re going to die in a matter of minutes, and they’ll know if you’re drunk, and then it’s my hide that’s in trouble.”

Tahlia shakes her head quickly. “Not drunk!” she promises, flashing a cheeky grin, though the cheeky grin is as transparent as glass.

Die?

This is not good.

This is very much not good.

“Come on, quickly now, we don’t have a moment to lose!” says the guard, pulling me forward. She tugs me out into the hallway.

Fane is gone.

Cinda and Tahlia and Lellie follow, because they must, though all of their eyes are wide.

We may be very good at bullshitting, Tahlia and I…but even the best sometimes get in over their heads.

And, right now, we’re very much in over our heads.

Chapter 18

CINDA

Well, I wanted an adventure.

And now it seems I’m having one.

Just…not the type of adventure where everyone survives at the end.

I heard the woman with the sword and the uniform—I’m assuming she’s a palace guard? She reminds me of the ones in Arktos—and she said the word “die,” and I don’t think she was talking about what happens when you dunk clothing in a vat of bright colors. She was talking about death, the kind I was hoping I wouldn’t see until I was a ripe, old age, and was in the middle of having sex with a very attractive and very lovely woman who I’d just baked a cake for.

Everyone has their ideal scenarios for death—mine just involves a lot more cake than most.

So we were following the guard who gripped Talis’s arm fairly tightly, and we followed her down the corridor of the palace, trying to keep up with her very long strides. I kept looking to Tahlia to see if she was about to act on a brilliant plan—but, no, she seemed just as uncertain as I was feeling—and then I looked to Lellie to see if she had any ideas, but her face was grim and determined and dark. Which made me assume that any ideas she had would involve drawing swords and lots of shouting.

And Fane was nowhere to be seen.

So I guess that leaves…me.

Do I have any bright ideas?

And the answer to that is no. Solidly no. Nope. Not a one.

But I can’t do nothing. I’m watching a guard drag the woman I love away, and I’m following after because I’ll be damned if any harm comes to Talis on my watch…but no, I…have no ideas.

Because I have no idea what we’re up against. And I don’t see any good moments where we could make a break for it, maybe bop the guard (poor lady) on the head and get away.

So I follow after, and I pray to any goddess listening that this ends well for all parties involved. Or, if not all parties, at least us.

And, at least semi-well. I’d take semi-well at this point in the evening.

So we follow the guard out of the palace and down the street and down another street. The guard is moving fairly quickly—she did mention something about being late—and we follow after her through all the twists and turns of the city, beneath the steadily glowing magelamps and through the crowds—but there aren’t that many crowds in the side streets—I’m thinking as quickly as I can.

I realized the moment that the guard came into the general’s horde with us, that she was, of course, mistaking us for someone else. But the only other time I’ve been a victim of mistaken identity was when my mother thought it was someone else who’d eaten all of the cookies. Which is a charming case of mistaken identity. And a delicious one.

Somehow, I don’t think this time around is going to be as charming.

As we stride hurriedly down the street, as I try to keep up with the guard, following along behind Talis and Tahlia and Lellie, I’m breathing fast, my heart roaring in my ears…but as I trot along, I begin to realize that I’m hearing something else beside our footsteps, besides the hum of the crowds for Wild Night, besides my own breath and roaring blood.

I start to hear a noise…a noise like none I’ve ever heard before.

We’re approaching a structure that’s tall—very tall, as tall as the palace itself. But whereas the palace had towers, buttresses, interesting architecture that created the shape of a building, what rises before us now isn’t a building, per se… it’s more like a solid black wall, tall and unyielding and fairly foreboding, without any breaks in its surface.

Honestly? It looks like a prison, which makes my heart rise into my throat. But it’s not a prison. Because as we duck into a side door—the first break in the wall that I could glimpse—I realize that the sound we’re hearing?

It’s shouting.

And rhythmic feet banging over and over again against something.

And many, many people rhythmically clapping over and over and over again.

When Talis looks back over her shoulder at Tahlia, there’s a change to her expression. She was worried and unsure before, but it’s changed, now. There’s a grim determination on her face. Grim determination that she seems to be sharing with her sister. I glance sidelong at Lellie, and she, too, has her jaw clenched, her eyes narrowed and steely, as we move through the low, dark corridor.

It seems that she’s just realized where we are.

But I’m still in the dark.

“Lellie?” I chirp, giving her a big smile as I throw an arm around her shoulder and draw her close, doing my absolute best to act nonchalant (and probably failing). “Lellie,” I hiss into her ear, “what the hell is going on? Do you know where we are?”

“Yes. But we’ll get you out of this, don’t worry,” she promises, patting my hand before slipping out of my half-hearted embrace. “Don’t worry,” she promises again, and she seems to be making a genuine effort to try and calm me.

But I’m calm.

I’m very calm.

Completely and utterly calm.

“Where…exactly…are we?” I ask again, and—even to me—my voice sounds very high-pitched, even as I try to keep it as calm and even as possible. Because, of course, I am very calm right now. Totally calm. A calm and serene sea.

The chanting gets louder as we walk down the dark corridor.

I swallow.

“Do you remember hearing about the Circs that used to take place in Arktos City?” asks Lellie mildly, staring straight ahead.

I wrack my brains. I paid attention when I was a child and going to the temple teachers, but the history of all the countries on Agrotera and Arktos itself…it never interested me very much.

To be perfectly frank, I was often glancing about the classroom for who might be the next girl that I’d consider starting something with. Possibly. This isn’t to say that I didn’t learn quite a great deal—I just applied myself to things I cared about. And history…was not one of those things.

“No?” I answer with a whisper, cocking my head and glancing at Lellie. “What were they?”

Tahlia falls into step alongside me and leans close. Her face looks dire. “People pitted against one another for sport. Against creatures. Fighting to the death. Lots of blood. In front of an arena full of people. That’s what the Circ is. Fighting to the death for entertainment.”

“That…doesn’t sound very entertaining,” I manage, but Lellie is shaking her hair out over her shoulders, straightening her back, lifting her chin and her eyes are blazing.

“We’ll get through this. We’ve been mistaken for another set of warriors, obviously. But Cinda isn’t a warrior. They won’t make her fight,” murmurs Lellie to Tahlia.

“We have to get out of this,” Tahlia is hissing. “We may be warriors, but that means nothing in the face of whatever they’re going to put us up against. Have you heard about the Draco Circs? They’re the bloodiest that have ever been. They get creatures shipped in from far away countries, creatures that people haven’t ever seen…” Tahlia trails off, biting at her lip. “Shit. Shit. This is all my fault.”

“If anyone’s going to do the blaming around here, it’s going to be me, for even allowing any of this to happen. I could have stopped you from kidnapping Cinda, probably,” says Lellie severely, but then her face softens when she glances at Tahlia. “I love my mother and I understand why you wanted that ring back, understand why you were trying to start up a relationship with your sister again. I understand. But this is bad. The best we can do is make certain Cinda stays out of it as a civilian.”

“Yes,” Tahlia agrees, though she, too, looks as if she wishes we could all stay out of this.

“Ladies.” I clear my throat. We’ve fallen somewhat behind the guard and Talis, and I’m able to talk in a soft murmur now. “Civilian or not, I’m here with you. We promised we’d stick together.”

“I’m not going to send you to die for honor’s sake,” Lellie snorts, shaking her head. “Talis…she cares about you. That much is obvious. She is thinking the exact same thing we are right now, I guarantee it.”

The hallway ends, and the guard and Talis stop in the rounded room with high ceilings and high-up windows. Talis turns to the guard who’s finally let go of her arm, and she straightens herself up to her full height.

And Lellie’s right.

“We’re ready,” says Talis pleasantly, her smile bright. “But you must understand—Cinda isn’t a fighter. There’s been some sort of mistake,” she murmurs, as she indicates me. “She can’t fight.”

The guard’s brows furrow. “You are the four champions that General Uru gathered for the Wild Night fight, yes?”

“We’re only three, sadly,” says Lellie, her voice smooth as she steps forward. “Our fourth…died. Tragically. From bandits.”

“Then who is this?” asks the guard, waving to me. She’s starting to get agitated. “You’re the ones the general asked me to get, the ones who will fight the—”

“Yes, yes we are,” Tahlia promises, spreading her hands. Her smile is warm and just as bright as her sister’s. “But this is my…handmaiden. Our fourth fell to bandits. It’s tragic, really. But you can’t expect my handmaiden to fight, or—”

The guard glances up at the high windows above her, her eyes narrowing at the loud sound of hands clapping, feet beating against the ground. The crowd is agitated, that much is obvious. She shakes her head. “There must be four. There have to be four. She’ll have to go out with you.”

“No,” Talis begins, her face tight, but I step forward, too.

“Of course I can!” I tell the guard. “I’m ready!”

Talis glances at me, her mouth open, but the guard nods immediately, obviously relieved. “Good. Right. Here are your weapons, you may choose.” She gestures to a wooden table in front of us, layered with every pointy thing imaginable.

I stare at the hundreds of weapons, and I can feel my stomach tighten. Lellie shakes her head, refusing the weapons—she has her sword strapped to her back—and Tahlia, too, has her sword, but Talis looks through the assembled things and picks up a blade from the end of the table, a plain-looking silver thing with no ornamentation at all, but when she hefts it up in her hand, she appears to like the balance of it.

It’s all happening too quickly. I gulp as I look at all of the tables and my choices, and I say the very first thing that comes to my mind:

“Do you have a rolling pin?” I ask the guard mildly.

The guard’s eyes narrow, and, as she breathes out, actual smoke curls out of her nose and ascends past her head.

“You’re joking,” she tells me flatly.

“No, not a joke…I was, uh…trained in the. Um. Ancient art of…rolling pin…combat.” It does not sound remotely convincing, but the guard has had enough of us. She shakes her head, throws up her hands, and strides past us.

There are two doors in the chamber, and she prowls to the one we didn’t enter through. “Can someone get me a rolling pin?” she barks out of it. “Just go to the kitchens where they make the pies for the Circ-goers.” Someone makes a noise outside of the door. “I don’t care, just do it,” she snarls, and slams the door shut behind her.

“And…what are we going up against? If you’ll remind us again?” asks Lellie.

The guard stares at her in disgust. “You honestly don’t remember? The most important thing is the one you don’t remember? I thought you were using the extra time in the general’s chambers to try and figure out a pattern to defeat the undefeatable.”

The…undefeatable.

That…sounds pretty terrible.

Talis shakes her head quickly, behind the guard, and Lellie shrugs a little, jutting her hip against the counter and leaning against it.

I wonder what the knights and Tahlia are thinking? What if we just told the guard? Would it be easier/less painful/less dying-related if we just told her the truth? That we were in the general’s quarters, and we were trying to steal back a ring that the general stole? Maybe we could appeal to her humanity. After all, the general took what wasn’t hers, surely she could understand that feeling…but as I move around the table to stand beside Talis, she reaches across the space between us and takes my hands in her own.

“Listen to me,” she whispers, searching my eyes. The guard is turned away, her arms crossed in front of her, as she waits for whoever she sent to get the rolling pin. She’s not paying attention to us, and Talis uses that to her full advantage. Her voice is low, anguished: “there is no reason that you should fight with us.”

“But I want to,” I tell her quietly. “I don’t want you to have to go up against…whatever we’re going up against alone. I know you’re a knight, Talis, and I know that you’re brave. But I don’t want you to do it alone. I want to be with you. I want to help. I’m not some china doll who should be kept on a shelf. I’m brave, too,” I insist, even though my voice shakes. Because it’s true. I am brave. I’ve been brave my whole life, in the face of sadness and tragedy, I still kept going. That takes bravery.

I’ve been brave.

And now I need to try and be braver.

And I hope I can rise to the occasion.

The pain in Talis’s face deepens as she grips my hands tightly, as she ducks her head. She takes a deep, quavering breath, and when she looks back into my eyes, there’s such anguish in her own gaze that I’m taken aback by it.

“Talis?” I whisper, “are you all right? What’s wrong?”

“I have to tell you the truth, right now…before anything else happens. Because I’ve been lying to you. And I’m so sorry, Cinda. I’m so sorry that I lied. It was so wrong, and I can never make it right. I…I met you under false pretenses,” she growls, all in a rush, pain edging every word. “You need to know: I am not a knight. I’m…not a knight.”

I stare into her face, and I try to make sense of what she just said. But I can’t, and I tell her as much. “I don’t—” I begin, but Talis is talking again, all in a rush, as if she’s worried she’s going to be cut off, and she has to get everything out between us in only a matter of heartbeats.

“I stole this armor, just for the evening. I wanted to go out on the town and forget my troubles. I’m…I’m a stablehand. And I’ve been working in the palace stables at Arktos, trying to work up to being a squire. But I was told, earlier today, that they weren’t going to let me become squire anytime soon, because some of the knights had a trouble with my…with my family lineage. They didn’t trust me. I never should have stolen the armor, I never should have taken Rane out on the town, even though she wanted to go…it was wrong, it was all wrong—but the worst part, perhaps, is that even though it was all wrong, and even though I was wrong for doing it—I met you because of it all. So I can’t be fully sorry. I can’t be. Because I’m so very glad I met you, Cinda,” she whispers to me, her eyes blazing. “I’m so glad.”

I take a deep breath as I try to process everything she’s said, but I don’t get a chance, of course. Another guard, wearing the exact same uniform as the one in the room with us, enters through the door, holding onto a large, wooden rolling pin gingerly with two fingers. There’s flour and a bit of dough coating it—she looks like she snatched it right out of a cook’s hand a moment ago…which she probably did.

“Your…rolling pin,” she manages.

“Thank you.” My words are brisk as I take the rolling pin out of her hands, and then the guard is waving her arms at both of us.

“Move, move, we’re already late—the crowd’s going to revolt on us.” She sighs and ushers us through the door the other guard came through. “Right down here. Step lively.”

The corridor is very low—my head brushes against the top of the ceiling, and the knights and Tahlia must duck their heads…

Well. I suppose only Lellie is a knight.

Talis…isn’t a knight?

I think about it for a long moment, because I have a long moment. The corridor is very lengthy, and it gives me that blessed moment to put everything together. Talis said that she stole armor and Rane. But she only stole them for the evening? For a night on the town, for drinks? She wants to be a knight more than anything, but the knights had prejudice against her family…I gather?

That’s…wrong. They shouldn’t have prejudice against anyone. I know Talis, and I know that I’ve only known her for a night, but that doesn’t make my knowing any less valid. Because we’ve moved together, in this night, and we’ve been on adventures together, this night, and we’ve experienced so much in these hours.

And I know she didn’t mean to mislead me.

And I know she has the heart of a knight, even though she may not be one by book definition.

And I know I love her.

And I stride forward, trying to catch up with her longer legs, because I want to tell her all of this, need to tell her all of this, but the guard is between her and me, in this narrow corridor, and I can’t quite catch up…

And then it’s too late.

For we’ve reached the gate to the Circ.

When the Circ was explained to me earlier, I remember, vaguely, a lesson or two on it in my youth. I remember it being taught to me that once, long ago, there were amphitheaters scattered across Arktos, and—for sport and entertainment—women were pitted against other women, creatures, animals, and they fought to the death. These places were, of course, outlawed long ago because they were inhumane, to the humans and the creatures and animals…but I had assumed, of course, that this meant they were no longer in use all across Agrotera.

But, I’m beginning to realize, that we’re not in Arktos anymore. And there may be similarities between our countries, but there are always, always going to be differences. They can be bad or good…

And this one. Well, it’s just bad.

And now we’re caught up in it.

And we’re going to have to fight for our lives.

This isn’t how I wanted the night to go. But would I change anything, knowing that meeting Talis would bring me here tonight?

No, because I met her. I met her. No matter what comes now.

I take a deep breath as the guard lines us up in front of the large, metal gate.

“Good luck,” the guard mutters, but she rolls her eyes, and it’s very much implied that all the good luck in the world won’t help us.

It’s…not the most reassuring of thoughts.

Talis reaches between us, and she takes my hand in hers. She squeezes, tightly, and she won’t look at me, but she lifts her chin as the gate begins to rise.

It is, apparently, an old-fashioned portcullis that separates us from the arena. Everything about this endeavor, this Circ, is old-fashioned, so I don’t know why I’m surprised by the gate, but it is a little surprising, a little whimsical, and a little quaint. In any other circumstance, I would think the portcullis was actually adorable.

But I’m not in any other circumstance.

And as the portcullis rises, as the gate clears our sightline, I take a deep breath, staring out…

The reason that the wall was so tall on the outside of the Circ was that this is a stadium, with lots and lots of seats. And the seats are all full. The magelamps overhead are gargantuan, and illuminate the arena perfect. The whole place is as bright as day, and I’m able to see the many, many faces of the people in the seats, waiting in anticipation for us to enter the arena.

I’m also able to make out that there was just another fight in the arena. And that there are people out there on the arena floor right now with big, wooden buckets of water, trying to throw water on the patches of blood on the sawdust.

This is also not a reassuring thing.

I try to focus on the fact that I can smell pies. Delicious-smelling pies, hand pies like the ones that they sell in Arktos when we’re having festivals. There’s a stand right along the edge of the lower arena—where we’ll have to fight—and there’s a line alongside that little stand of people waiting to purchase pies. I can see the stacks and stacks of hand pies, and the mouthwatering aroma reaches us, even here.

I wish I was eating a pie right now.

“What do you think they’ll have us fight?” asks Talis almost nonchalantly. We step forward into the arena.

“This is Bright Coast,” remarks Lellie wryly. “I’ll be surprised if we’re not fighting an actual dragon.”

“That’s gonna be fun,” mutters Tahlia. She sounds just a wee bit sarcastic.

Talis and I, hand in hand, step forward with Lellie and Tahlia. Tahlia takes the sword out of her sheath, Lellie shimmies her shoulders, trying to loosen her muscles, as Talis takes a deep breath of air.

Lellie glances sidelong at her friend. “No matter what happens, I love you, Talis. I’ve been glad of your friendship. You’re a good person. It’s good you found Cinda tonight.”

“Oh, we’re doing this? I don’t think we should do this. That implies we’re not going to make it.” Tahlia says the words lightly, but there’s a little bit of sadness to the undertone of her voice as she shakes her head. “Come on, ladies. We’ve been through a lot, all of us, yeah? We can do this.”

“We don’t even know what we’re up against.” Lellie slides her sword out of her sheath over her back and draws it down, pointing the blade at the ground before rolling her shoulders again. “Have you seen the opposite gate?” She arches a pretty brow and nods toward the gate across the arena from us.

That gate is…quite large. It’s about five times as tall as the gate we, ourselves, came out of. I look over my shoulder to make sure. At least five times as tall. Maybe taller.

“Well, for the record,” I say, gulping and gripping the rolling pin with sweaty fingers. I’m trying not to shake and very much not doing a good job of it. “I’m so glad I met you, Talis. And you, Lellie. And you, Tahlia. Even though you kidnapped me.”

“Sorry for kidnapping you,” she mumbles, but the apology seems heartfelt.

“If we’re making right with the gods, I’m glad for your friendship, Lellie. And glad for you sisterhood, Tahlia. And so glad I met you, Cinda.” Talis’s voice breaks on that last, but she stares straight ahead, gripping the sword with her other hand. “Come what may—let us be brave.”

“We’re always brave, my dear sister,” Tahlia snorts. “Let us be victorious.”

“I can get behind that,” I grin, lifting my rolling pin.

And the opposite gate across from us in the arena…it begins to rise.

Click, click, click. The gate slowly opens. And I do mean slowly. I think I’ve aged a hundred years as the chains causing the gate to rise click so unhurriedly that the suspense is going to kill me long before whatever-it-is-behind-that-gate manages to. I grip the rolling pin, my palms so sweaty that I’m in danger of dropping it. And we stand, side by side, the four of us.

And we wait.

The first thing I notice about what’s behind that gate is…well, darkness. Whereas the area we stand in is somewhat lit with magelamps, whatever is behind that gate is bathed in pure shadows. Everyone in the arena has gone silent now, which is a bit unnerving. I would think they’d be calling out for everything to move a little faster, yelling at us, booing at us…I don’t know. I’ve only ever been to one public theatrical production, and if I remember correctly, there were a lot of rotten vegetables involved and quite a lot of booing (it wasn’t a very good play).

But as the gate slowly ascends until it stops, all the way open…the crowd is silent.

Lellie looks around at the people in the stands and growls a little, hefting her sword aloft. “Why are they so quiet?” she murmurs to us, and Tahlia and Talis shake their heads, and I do, too. We don’t know.

The gate is fully open, and whatever it is…it’s quiet, in the darkness.

Talis takes a step forward, and then another. She lifts her sword aloft.

“Come out!” she shouts, her voice strong. “Come out and face us!”

It does.

If we’d told the Draco who we were, there would probably be imprisonment and death. And possibly being eaten.

But as the creature steps into the arena, I wonder if that might have been a better way to go.

I’ve never seen anything like it. It…well, I suppose the closest approximation would be that it sort of looks like a dragon. Or an enormous lizard. The few dragons that I’ve seen this evening are sleek-looking, and actually pretty, with their iridescent scales and fluted shape.

This thing before us…he’s not pretty.

He’s a big, stocky lizard, with thick, squat limbs and a long, thick tail. He has a long snout, and he waddles out of the darkness slowly, slithering almost like a snake as he moves forward on his thick legs. His scales and skin are jet black, and he’s enormous, towering over us, but he moves so slowly. And is it my imagination, or are his eyes closed?

“Tahlia, do you know what that is?” Talis calls back over her shoulder. Her sword hasn’t wavered, held over her head, and her voice is still strong—but not so sure.

“No idea,” says Tahlia, clearing her throat. “Uh…Lellie?”

“Not a clue—I’ve never seen something like that before,” says Lellie, taking a step backward as the thing slowly slithers toward us.

The crowd, still, is painfully silent.

“Hello,” Talis murmurs to the creature. “I can understand you, if you want to speak to me…” She trails off.

The creature has stopped.

He stands in the center of the arena across from us. Under the glaring lights of the magelamps, far above, he looks almost matte black, the kind of black that seems to suck in all of the light around it. He stands there, perfectly still, and I realize my heart is in my throat. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And then it does.

The creature opens his eyes.

I stare in shock.

His eyes?

They’re actual fire.

Well…that’s not quite right. They’re the embers of a fire, right as the last of the flame has died out, when the embers become living things, the soul of fire licking along its sides, red hot and ready to spark into flames at a moment’s notice. The creature has actual ember for eyes, and when he opens his eyes…

Well, everything else comes to life, too.

The crowd roars awake, yelling and jeering and shouting at the top of their lungs, though everyone seems to be shouting something different, and it’s impossible to make out exactly what it is they’re saying.

Fire begins to lick along the creature’s skin, fire born of embers. His whole skin, all of his scales, every part of him, appears to be one gigantic ember now.

The creature opens his mouth slowly, almost lazily, as if he’s yawning.

And fire comes shooting straight toward us, out of his mouth.

“Out of the way!” Talis shouts, and she grabs me around my shoulders and one moment, I’m standing there like a silly stone, my mouth open, and the next moment, Talis has squirreled me away to safety, out of the range of the fire—for the moment. The creature keeps breathing fire, the flames licking along the ground where we stood.

Lellie stares in astonishment at the creature.

“Oh, no,” she breathes, and then she groans. “I know what this is.”

“That…doesn’t sound good,” Talis manages, panting, crouching beside me. I stare in shock at the fact that steam seems to be rising from her armor, and her red hair—adorably sticking in all sorts of directions, usually—is a little singed at the ends. One lock is actually smoking. I lick my fingers, and—watching the creature all the while—reach out and put out Talis’s hair.

“Thanks,” she manages to me, then glances at Lellie again as she rises to her feet. “Lellie, what is it?”

“It’s a Cherufe,” says Lellie, and we all begin to walk in a circular motion around the creature, keeping our backs to the wall. He’s yawning again, slowly turning, his tail making the sawdust beneath him burst into flames. “The queen, the original queen of Bright Coast, Queen Verlit, defeated the original Cherufe a long time ago…they’re a sort of fire lizard monster…thing. They’re literally fire itself. They eat coal.” She shrugs, paling a little. “They’re actual fire…how are we going to defeat actual fire?”

“What do you mean ‘actual fire?’” asks Talis, lifting her sword again. It’s hard to hear each other over the roaring of the crowd, so she has to shout. “He has skin, doesn’t he? You can pierce skin.”

Lellie shakes her head, and then she races at the creature. She holds her sword aloft, leaps into the air, and brings the sword slicing down toward the creature’s leg.

The Cherufe, up until this moment, moved as slowly and as lazily as a kitchen cat. But when Lellie’s sword nears him, he turns, and it’s so sudden, so quick, that I gasp. His tail comes sweeping around, and the very tip of it—enormous, just like the rest of him—slams into Lellie’s belly. She’s wearing her armor, of course, but the impact was intense. She sails through the air, past us, and thuds into the wall of the arena with a sickening sound I’ll probably spend the rest of my life (short as it may be) trying to forget.

Talis makes a strangled sound and she crosses the space between us and Lellie in a heartbeat, crouching down beside the knight. Lellie groans, holding tightly to her stomach, and I gasp as I realize that part of her armor…

It’s actually melted.

“That’s gonna leave a mark,” sighs Lellie, standing. She undoes the leather thongs along the sides of her torso, and the chest piece falls to the ground, smoking. “I’m fine, Talis, just bruised—the leather saved me.” She winces, crossing her arm over her leather-covered stomach. She’s wearing a leather shirt over the dress beneath it. “Gods…that…was unexpected.”

“Looks like our boy is full of surprises,” says Tahlia, lifting her sword. “Just…everyone try to keep one step ahead of him.”

“Try talking to him again,” urges Lellie. “Both of you.”

Talis steps forward, holding her sword aloft, the blade unwavering. She takes a deep breath. “We don’t want to cause you any harm. I’m sorry Lellie rushed you.” Her voice is soft, soothing, pitched so that only the Cherufe can hear her, not the rest of the crowd. “Are you all right?”

The Cherufe opens his mouth again, rolling it lazily open, like he’s giving another yawn.

But this time, it’s not a yawn, and he’s not breathing fire.

This time, he roars.

It’s a sound…well. It’s a sound you never want to hear. It makes the ground shake beneath our feet, it makes the stands around us in the Circ’s arena tremble and shudder.

It makes the bones in our bodies wobble, just a little.

“Do you even need to translate that?” asks Lellie dryly. And though her voice shakes, just a little, her sword does not as she raises it to the level of her heart, pointing it toward the creature.

“He’s very angry,” says Talis, swallowing, taking a step backward. “And very hungry. And he wants to eat us. Though he says…no hard feelings.”

“Well, that’s comforting.” Lellie grimaces. “Can you tell him that we won’t much enjoy being eaten?”

“He’s aware, but he said something about the circle of life, no hard feelings, but we can either go nice and calmly, or he’s going to chase us around the arena eating us up until he’s full.” Talis is pale as she glances over her shoulder. “I…don’t think there’s any swaying him.”

“But…but we don’t want to get eaten,” I announce the very obvious. Tahlia gives me a bit of a withering look, and I take a step forward, brandishing my rolling pin. “Hello, mister…guy…” I trail off. I shouted the words, and they sounded fairly laughable, and a large portion of the arena is already chuckling at them, but I don’t give two figs. I square my shoulders back, pointing the rolling pin at his nose. “I’m sorry you’re hungry, but you’ve got to understand—we don’t want to be eaten.”

The Cherufe looks down his very, very long nose at me, cocking his head to the side. He looks a bit like a dog you’d just asked a question to, and—out of context, and out of this situation, certainly—it might even be described as slightly cute. But there’s nothing cute about the creature as he lifts his nose, opens his mouth, readying to breathe more fire.

“Get out of the way!” yells Talis, and then she’s rushing at me, but she’s not fast enough. The Cherufe breathes fire…

But I stepped neatly out of the way myself, this time.

Talis stops dead in her tracks, for now there’s an enormous stream of fire between her and me. And the sawdust beneath our feet is starting to burn. I bounce around on one foot—I’m really only wearing dancing slippers, after all—and try to move outside of the circumference of fire.

“Look out!” Tahlia calls, and I look up just in time to see the Cherufe turning his head—and the stream of fire—toward me. I manage to back up, but then my back is against the arena’s wall.

I have nowhere else to go.

Tahlia takes matters into her own hands, and though Talis and I are still separated, Tahlia is outside of the fire’s reach. So she races toward the Cherufe, and then she jabs her sword into his leg.

This is not an action the creature was expecting, obviously, but then I don’t think Tahlia was expecting how the stabbing would go. Because though she puts her entire body weight behind the sword, the metal of the blade simply scrapes down his skin, glancing off of him.

“He’s…he’s fully armored,” Tahlia breathes, backing up to stand beside her sister. “It didn’t even leave a dent.”

And then the Cherufe stops breathing fire and glances at me through sly, half-closed eyes.

He looks practically smug.

“Cinda…” calls Talis in a warning tone, as she glances my way. My expression must have changed.

Because honestly?

I can’t abide smug.

So I stalk over to the creature.

I don’t get close, not really, anyway. The Cherufe is tall—about as tall as my bakery, even though he’s on all fours—so it seems like I’m closer to him than I really am.

But his fire-breathing face is still much closer than I’d like it to be.

I don’t think about it at all.

I just start talking.

“You listen to me,” I demand to the Cherufe, holding the rolling pin pointed at his snout. “I understand that you’re hungry. I get it. And these people want a show.” I brandish my rolling pin at the people in the seats in the arena, the people who have—shockingly—fallen silent as they try to listen to what we’re on about. “But you have to understand—we don’t want to die. You don’t want to die—”

But the creature shakes his head, almost adamantly and makes a little noise…

But he’s not making the noise, I realize, as I stare at him, eyes wide.

It’s his stomach.

This slightly terrifying beast…is his stomach actually growling?

“Look out!” cries Talis, and I do, sidestepping another blast of flame that comes from the creature’s mouth. For half a heartbeat, I actually felt sorry for him—how many of us have turned into beasts because we were famished?—but then he tries to kill me again, and everything else flies out the window, except for trying to save myself.

Which I manage to do. I backpedal enough that my back slams up against the far wall of the arena, and I’m standing there, brandishing my rolling pin, and the Cherufe has me pinned in his sights. He’s slithering forward, his belly dragging on the ground, his squat legs—squat in proportion of him, of course, he’s quite large—moving quickly.

This is it.

This is how I’m going to sail out of this world and into the next.

As a meal for a very hungry beasty.

I suppose it’s poetic justice, really. I’ve baked my entire life. I’ve made a lot of people happy with sugary concoctions, and that’s all well and good and ironic and nice that I’m going to end up one myself, but I don’t want to die. I want to live. I want to live with Talis, and I want to fall into deeper love with her, and I want to make love to her damnit, and I want to make her a million pies and cakes, and I want to bake for her every day of my life, for the rest of my life.

I want to love her.

“Pies!” I hear a voice. It’s an almost goddess-like voice, considering the predicament I’m in, and I wonder if actually is a goddess, calling to me from the other side, trying to make me feel a little better about how I’m about to be some creature’s dinner.

But it is not a goddess, promising me baked goods in the afterlife.

It’s the pie seller, the pie seller that I first saw when we entered the arena. Quite a lot has happened since we entered the arena, so, of course, I forgot about her. But when I look up, I realize I’m right beneath the pie seller’s booth.

Perhaps it was a goddess, calling out about pies, because as I look up, as I get a waft of delicousness on the wind…something strikes me.

The creature is hungry.

Is there anything more delicious than a baked good, when you’re famished?

A plan forms in my head almost instantaneously. It’s not going to work—it’s too ridiculous to work.

But we’ve got to try something.

“Tahlia?” I shout at the top of my lungs.

“Yes?” she shouts back. She’s staring at me in anguish, probably realizing that I’m about to become someone’s dinner right in front of her eyes.

“Do you still have that hook and rope on your person?”

“I’m a thief, I always have it—” she starts, then considers the circumstances, and stops talking. “Yes! Yes, I do!”

“Can you get up there?” I ask, pointing straight up at the pie seller’s booth.

Tahlia glances up and narrows her eyes. In an instant, the hook has materialized in her hands, secreted out from some compartment on her belt, and she’s swinging the hook and rope in the air, trying to get some momentum going.

“Today, please?” I ask, my voice a little high-pitched as the Cherufe slithers closer.

“I’m not near enough to it!” yells Tahlia, and then she looks to Talis. “Catch it, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Talis’s voice is tight, and when Tahlia shoots the hook across the space between them, she grabs it in her hand, and then glances up at the pie seller’s booth.

Everyone in the arena has bated breath at this point. They want to see me get eaten, or they want to see a good show…either way, it’s nothing personal to them, I know.

So we’ll have to give them a good show, now won’t we?

The hook lands on the railing around the pie seller’s shop. Talis doesn’t even test if it can hold her weight. She races across the space between her and the arena wall, and then she starts to climb the thin rope.

I know the circumstances aren’t very good for acknowledging how attractive Talis is, but if I’m going to die, the sight of her arm muscles tensing, and her lithe, muscular body ascending a rope is really a nice, high note to go out on.

Talis gets up and into the booth, and she peers down at me.

“The pies!” I shout, my gaze focused on the Cherufe, who’s opening his mouth now, ready to eat me up in a single bite. “Just…feed him!”

Talis’s mouth forms a round “o” of astonishment, but she understands immediately.

And she picks up an enormous, wooden crate of pies, as the pie seller stares at her in astonishment, a bit too shocked to move…

And Talis tosses the wooden box of pies into the Cherufe’s mouth.

The Cherufe bites down, probably on reflex, but then the creature…stops. He stands perfectly still, and his jaw works, as he mashes the box of pies and the box itself, chewing almost thoughtfully.

Tahlia comes around beside me, gripping her sword tightly, pointed at the Cherufe, and Lellie limps along beside me on the other side, holding her sword aloft.

When the Cherufe stops chewing, he looks at me, something like an “ah-ha” moment crossing his scaly face.

And then he looks up at Talis, who’s waiting, holding her breath as she gazes down at him from the pie seller’s stall.

And the Cherufe opens his mouth, a little like an overly-large dog, waiting for you to drop a treat in.

And he waits, his mouth open wide.

“Oh, my goddess,” Lellie breathes. “Is this…is this going to work?”

“Depends on how many pies are up there,” Tahlia remarks wryly.

Box after box of pies, Tahlia throws down into the Cherufe’s maw. Box after box, he crunches merrily, and we stare at him, astounded and holding our breath. He crunches away at the boxes, the delicious aroma of pie wafting around us all, until there are no more boxes left.

He’s chewing on the last box as Talis slides down the rope to land beside us. She sighs out, and she puts her arm around my shoulders.

And, together…we wait.

The people in the arena haven’t made a single sound while Talis threw the pies into the Cherufe. The pie seller was about to say something, but someone pulled her aside. We were allowed to do it, we were allowed to feed the Cherufe pies, and as we stand there, waiting for him to finish his rather tasty meal and swallow, we stand together, waiting to see what he might do next.

I wonder if this will work.

Talis squeezes me tightly, and I thread an arm around her waist. I place my head on her shoulder, and I breathe out.

“No matter what happens,” I tell her, screwing my eyes up tight and shutting them against the Cherufe, “I’m so glad I met you. I love you, Talis.”

“I love you, too,” she murmurs, her low voice tight with emotion.

There’s the heavy, beasty chewing sound of the Cherufe. And then a very loud swallow.

And then…

“Enough!”

Up and up and up in the crowd, we look, startled, until our gazes reach a dais set in the middle of the far wall of the arena. A dais that’s obviously meant for someone important—maybe even royalty.

Someone’s standing there, panting, like she’d just run from somewhere far away. A crown is slipping off the back of her head as she stands there, and even though she’s slightly distant, I still think I can make her out.

“…Fane?” I murmur.

Chapter 19

TALIS

“Enough!” Fane repeats, and there must be some sort of magic on that dais, because the sound of her voice reverberates down here, even to us, standing in the arena.

The far portcullis that the creature slithered out of clicks open—much quicker this time—and the aroma of something delicious wafts out of it. The Cherufe turns on his heels and starts back, toward the portcullis.

“Sorry!” he mumbles over his shoulder. “I was really quite hungry!”

I hold Cinda so tightly that it probably hurts a little, I realize, but I don’t let go of her (though I do loosen my grip) until the portcullis drops, and the Cherufe is on the other side.

And we’re safe.

“Get them up here. Go get them,” Fane is telling someone, and then she stands tall, pushing the circlet forward on her head.

“Good people of Bright Coast. They have defeated the Cherufe! Three cheers for Talis, Lellie, Tahlia and Cinda!”

The crowd erupts into cheers, stamping their feet on the bleachers and clapping rhythmically. A little while ago, that sound was terrifying, but now it signals that we have done it. We defeated the beast.

It simply involved more pies than I might have assumed, heading into this.

I glance sidelong at my sister, and she sags against the arena wall, letting the tip of her sword drop to the sawdust at her feet.

“We got out of that by the skin of our teeth.” She grins tiredly at me, and then she “toasts” me with her sword blade, bringing the pommel of the sword up to her forehead, and sweeping it to the side before re-sheathing it. “Good job, pie thief.” Her grin widens. “You might find it of interest, Cinda, that stealing pies was one of the first thievings that Talis ever did.”

“And was she good at it?” asks Cinda—also very tiredly—as she squeezes my waist.

“Only the best, of course.”

Lellie winces as she wraps an arm around her stomach. I can tell that she’s bruised—perhaps she even has some cracked ribs—but she doesn’t want to draw attention away from the victory. “You did well, Talis,” she murmurs to me, patting me gingerly on the shoulder and wincing. “Very well. I’m proud, truly.”

“Lellie,” I mutter as she sags to the side. I let go of Cinda, and I place an arm around her as she falls into me.

“I’m all right. I’ve just got to try and concentrate before I can form a healing spell. I haven’t had time to gather the energy. We were…fairly busy,” she gasps, and I realize I’m touching where she’s terribly bruised. I try to hold her up and not hurt her.

“Don’t the knights help each other…when they’re wounded?” I ask her. She nods a little, gritting her teeth.

“We give each other the energy necessary for the healing magic. But you don’t have to do that, Talis—it exhausts you out.”

“You’re my best friend,” I manage to tell her, and my voice is thick again with emotion. “Please, let me.”

“Lellie…” Cinda murmurs, stepping forward. She takes my friend’s hand and squeezes gently as she smiles at the knight. “Talis may not be a knight, not truly. But she has the heart of one. Let her do this.”

I stare at Cinda, and she looks to me, her smile soft and bright and beautiful.

And then she winks.

She said I had the heart of a knight.

No matter what happens after this evening, no matter the trouble we’re about to get in, Cinda said that I had the heart of a knight.

I feel like I could soar right now. And when Lellie nods, when she takes my hand and closes her eyes, and I can feel the energy start to leave me, it doesn’t feel as draining as I thought. Because though I’m exhausted—though I’ve had quite the long night—I’m full of love at this moment.

And with love?

Well, with love, you can do anything.

After a long moment, Lellie stands upright, and though she winces a little, I can tell that her ribs have started to heal. She picks up her slightly ruined chest plate from the ground, dusts it off and nods to me with a lopsided smile.

“I’ll make it through this. Thanks, Talis.”

“What are friends for?” I ask her with a tired grin.

The smaller portcullis starts to rise, and several of the Draco guards file out into the arena, fanning out toward us.

“Here we go,” Tahlia mutters, then stands, feet hip-width apart and her hands on her hips. “Well?” she asks the closest guard, once she gets into earshot. “Where are we headed?”

The guard seems a bit taken aback at the venom in my sister’s voice. “Uh…to Princess Fane? She said you won? She wants to commend you?”

“Princess Fane?” I manage, and we’re all staring at the guard. She looks completely at a loss for words, and the other closest guard shakes her head, as if we’ve clearly been through battle, and our minds are quite a bit addled.

“Princess Fane, the sister to Queen Ardyth, queen of all Bright Coast.”

I turn to my sister, and I say, as blandly as possible: “where did you say you picked Fane up again?”

Her cheeks are flaming red, and her jaw is hanging loosely as she stares at the guards. She snaps her mouth shut. “In a pub. She was sitting in a pub. We got to talking. We flirted. We made love. She became a friend. It was just…she was just Fane.”

The guards sigh. “Princess Fane likes to travel the world, and she never goes about declaring who she is. She enjoys dressing as a ‘commoner.’” The guard rolls her eyes heavenward. “That’s our princess.” The words come out in hardly a flattering tone.

We’re escorted through the dark corridors of the arena and ascend quite a few stairs until we emerge into the magelights of the Circ itself again.

And there is the dais. And, upon the dais, seated upon the highly ornamented, gem-encrusted throne…

Is Fane.

She stands quickly when the guards usher us through, and then she’s waving the guards away. “My thanks,” she says quickly. “Please leave us.”

The dais is in a sort-of box that’s separated from the other arena-goers, so it’s just us and Princess Fane, then.

“Hello,” she says, and when she gives us a grin, it’s a bit abashed. “Uh…good job. On defeating the Cherufe.”

There are a lot of things we could say in this moment, but Tahlia settles on: “you just disappeared.”

“I couldn’t let the guards see me…I didn’t think they’d take you to the Circ. I thought they’d take you to the dungeons, which is where I went first…which is why I was late to here,” she sighs, adjusting the ill-fitting circlet on her head again with exasperation. “I’m sorry, I truly am—I never thought you’d be taken here, and I surely didn’t think you’d be pitted against the Cherufe. I tried to stop it as quickly as I could.”

“Well…thank you,” I manage, and then I glance sidelong at Lellie, who nods to me. And Lellie and I flourish a bow and sink to one knee before her. “Your majesty.”

“Oh, seriously, no. No, no, no, I can’t abide that. Please stand, you’re embarrassing me,” sighs Fane, waving her hands. “Please.” So Lellie and I both stand, and lift our chins, still not at ease as we look to the Draco…who was, apparently, royalty among us.

“This has turned out to be an interesting evening,” says Tahlia, her mouth twitching at the edges as she tries to suppress a smile. “Does anyone want to hit up a tavern? I’m fairly parched. And I need a drink or two to steady my nerves after almost being eaten.”

“Oh, thank the gods, I thought you’d never ask,” sighs Fane, tossing the circlet onto the seat of the ornamented throne, where it hits the velvet cushion with a dull thunk. “By the way…you get a reward. For defeating the Cherufe.” Her eyes are sparkling with amusement. “I assume I know what you’ll want?”

Tahlia and I look from one to the other and say, at the same time, “our mother’s ring?”

Fane nods. “I sent someone to go dig through the general’s horde, now that the door is unlocked. Uru won’t be too happy about the intrusion, but…eh. If she is sleeping with my sister, and if I don’t approve of her, there’s far worse I could do.” She gives an impish little grin, and then she slings an arm around Lellie’s shoulders. “Shall we, ladies?”

We follow Fane and Lellie and Tahlia down through the Circ and out into the streets of Mount Verlit City. Far, far overhead there are stars twinkling brightly, and down below, here upon the streets, the magelamps glow above us, as bright as stars.

Cinda leans on my shoulder, her warmth and softness grounding me here, to this moment. This lovely moment where we’re alive, we’re together, and we’re content.

I thread my fingers through hers and squeeze her hand gently, tightly.

“That worked out fairly well, didn’t it?” she grins up at me, and then she laughs, and the sound of her laughter lifts my heart. I laugh, too—I can’t help it, and then Tahlia glances back, and she’s giggling with us, and Lellie’s lips twitch up at the corners, too, and she’s laughing, her laughter sounding like bells in the night. Fane chuckles as she glances back at all of us, and then shakes her head.

“So much can happen in one night, eh?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.

“So much,” Cinda repeats, drawing me down for a sweet, long kiss.

---

Would that the night could have gone on forever. But we are merely mortal, and after we close out the tavern, dawn edging the world with a golden halo of light, Fane helps us round up Rane and Cossie from the forest, and we are all sent through the palace’s portal, and, born by magic and with my mother’s ring in hand, we all stand on the streets of Arktos City once more.

“I must to bed. I’ve never been more tired in my life!” says Lellie, placing the back of her hand against her mouth, but her yawn is huge anyway.

“You’ve never been more tired?” says Rane, shaking her head, her mane flying. “This has been an exhausting night.”

“I’m going to have to pay the late return fee for the donkey,” sighs Cinda, patting his spiky mane gingerly. Cossie puts his ears back, but not as deeply as he used to.

A lot can change in one night.

“It was good meeting you,” says Tahlia, giving Cinda an embrace before she hugs me tightly, saluting me. “I’ll find you soon, sister. You keep the ring. For now.” And then, with a wink, she swings her hook over the edge of a roof and climbs up like a spider to disappear into the dawn.

“If you tell me what stable he’s from, I’ll take your donkey back for you. I’d rather ride most of the way,” says Lellie helpfully, giving me and Cinda both a wink. Cinda tells her, and Cossie and Lellie go down the road. I don’t think I’ll ever get the oddness out of my head, the vision of the noble Lellie on the back of that adorable, tiny burro.

And then it’s just me and Cinda and Rane. And, far outside of the city, far, far away, the sun rises over the edge of the world.

And it’s a brand new day.

But I don’t want it to be. Not yet.

“Come back with me. To the stable,” I whisper into Cinda’s ear. “If you do…the night won’t end.”

So she does.

And when we’re wrapped up in one another again, my stolen armor at the foot of my small bed, the both of us nestled in each other’s arms, I know that the spirit of the night will never end.

For love goes on and on.

I kiss her, in the darkness of the room, and my heart is light.

Chapter 20

CINDA

I wake up and I groan. My body is sore, sore in places I don’t think it’s ever been sore in. Deliciously sore.

I sit upright, and I clutch the sheet to me. I blink as I glance about the place, and then I settle back upon the threadbare pillow with a wide, satisfied smile.

I’m in Talis’s bed.

Talis.

Last night…

I blink.

Everything comes back to me in a rush, and I sit back up again with a gasp. I glance down at myself—I am currently as nude as an unfrosted cake. Drat. Where’s Talis? I get up, glancing at my clothes heaped by the edge of the bed, and I wrap the sheet around myself instead.

There’s a trapdoor in the floor, and it’s open. I peer over the edge of the open door, and I’m surprised to see that the opening leads down into a horse’s stall.

That…is not a sight I thought I’d see upon waking.

It appears that this is Rane’s stall.

And it appears that she’s currently in the act of giving birth.

“Hello!” calls Talis, glancing up at me with a wide smile. “Come down—do you see the ladder there? I’d like you to meet someone.”

I gingerly climb down the ladder, still wrapped up tightly in the sheet, and I stand, barefoot, at the very edge of the stall, staring at the scene before me.

Rane, the mare, is standing, and her sweat-soaked sides are heaving, and she looks very, very tired…but also content. And she’s currently nuzzling a tiny, baby horse.

And the foal?

The foal has a tiny, tiny spiraling horn growing out of his little, fuzzy head.

“Is that…” I blink. “Is that a unicorn baby horse?”

“A unicorn foal,” Talis corrects me gently, her chest puffed up like she’s the proudest mother hen of the flock. “Yes, she is…apparently, Rane and a unicorn got together.”

I blink. “I…didn’t think that was possible.”

“With Rane, anything’s possible,” says Talis, affectionately patting the mare’s neck. “You did good, old girl. You did so good,” she croons to the horse, and then she turns and gives me her full attention.

Talis scoops me up and twirls me in the air before wrapping her arms tightly around me, her hands cupping the back of my head with a soft, sweet gentleness, and she’s capturing my mouth. She kisses me long and deep, and it’s so good, so lovely, that my toes actually curl.

We kiss for a long moment, until I forget that there’s anything outside of this kiss, outside of us.

There’s a cough at the stall door.

I blink, and then my blood runs cold. Wait a moment…I know that cough.

I break away from Talis, and we both turn…

And there, in the stall doorway…

Is Asla.

The knight who, up until yesterday afternoon, I was having a bit of a lovely dalliance with. The knight who, for vanity’s sake, broke up with me because I was a bit too fat for her to bed.

I stare at her, and she stares at us, her eyes wide as she puts all the pieces together (my standing there in nothing but a sheet surely helps that calculation). And then a sneer comes over her gorgeous face. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, places an elbow languidly on the stall door.

“I see that it didn’t take long to forget me,” she drawls, glancing from me to Talis. The sneer deepens. “But with my stablehand? I thought you liked knights, Cinda, but I guess anyone will do if you can’t have me.”

It might be just my imagination, but it seems that storm clouds are congregating around my head, complete with tiny, angry flickers of lightning.

“Asla,” I say, and the word is as cool as winter. “I don’t want you.”

Asla blinks, but then goes on breezily, ignoring what I just said. “Talis, make sure you get me my polished armor by this afternoon. I want it shining enough to see my face in, is that understood?”

“Yes,” Talis murmurs, her voice soft, tense.

Rane stomps her back left leg, swishing her tail in annoyance, snaking her head and gnashing her teeth together.

But Asla doesn’t let it go.

“Yes…?” She trails off, her eyes narrowed, pinning Talis to the spot.

“Yes, ma’am,” says Talis, gritting her teeth.

“Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no,” I growl, and then I’m standing to my full height—which, admittedly, isn’t tall, and I’m wearing a sheet, but, damnit, no one deserves to be talked down to by Asla, most of all not Talis. “You listen to me, Asla,” I start, and then I take a deep breath. “No. Don’t listen to me. Because there’s absolutely nothing that can help you. You’re always going to be a silly, pretty, vain peacock, and you will never know if someone loves you for you, or because you’re a knight, because there’s no heart to you, Asla. You do not have the heart of a knight. But Talis? Talis does. And that’s why I love her.”

Asla snorts. “Talis,” she sneers, through gritted teeth, “will never be a knight. Now will you, Talis?” Her tone is so mocking that, if those storm clouds were actually swirling around my head, there would be tiny bolts of lightning shooting at her at this point. “You come from a nothing family, and that’s what you’ll always be, a nothing—”

“Asla?”

Another knight stands in the stable corridor, and she’s staring at Asla with narrowed eyes. She has a noble manner to her, and a quiet strength. With bronze skin and straight, black hair, with subtly ornamented armor, I realize that I’m looking at the leader of the knights, and I stare at her. I’ve never seen Magel in person, but she’s known and beloved through all of Arktos City as a good and just leader of the knights.

And she’s staring at Asla as one stares at a particularly unloved rodent.

“Magel.” Asla pales, and takes a step backward.

“We’re going to talk later,” says Magel, her voice low, containing multitudes. She takes a deep breath, and turns her gaze from Asla to Talis…and then there’s a softness that comes to her. And a smile.

“Talis,” she murmurs, stepping forward. “Good work, helping Rane, that little foal is lovely…but I’m afraid I have to pull you from your duties right now. You’re wanted.”

“Wanted?” Talis echoes.

“You’re to have an audience,” says Magel, her mouth twitching upwards at the corners. “With Queen Calla.”

We both stare at her. And then we look at one another.

“Calla?” Talis repeats, and her voice cracks.

“Yes, please—hurry, this way,” says Magel, stepping backward and motioning Talis to follow.

“But, I…” Talis looks down, and I grimace—I didn’t quite realize, when she scooped me up and kissed me, that her clothing right now, after helping Rane give birth…well, it’s not as clean as one would like.

“I’m sorry, there’s no time to freshen up—there’s a very narrow window that Calla is available.” Magel can’t help but smile at Talis’s state, too. “And, you—you are?” asks Magel, glancing from Talis to me.

I give her a curtsy, or my best approximation of one, being as I’m gripping the sheet as tightly as I can over my breasts…and being as I am only wearing a sheet. “I’m, um, Cinda, milady.”

Magel chuckles, and shakes her head as she steps forward, unbolting Rane’s stall door. Asla seems to have disappeared into the woodwork—she’s completely vanished. “No need to call me ‘milady,’ milady. It’s lovely to meet you.” Magel does a flourishing bow after she lets herself into the stall, and she takes my hand and brushes her mouth over the back of it. “Now, do please hurry, Talis—it’s best not to keep a queen waiting.”

We follow after Magel through the stable halls, and then into the halls of the palace. I do my best not to stare around me, and I do my best to forget that I’m wearing a sheet—I fail at both of these things, but not a single person in the palace seems to notice the state I’m in. Or, they do, but they’re too nice to stare.

When we enter the throne room, however, my mouth falls open, and it’s all so regal and gorgeous, and there’s the queen, sitting on her throne, and I’m seeing the queen sitting on her throne, and I’m just clad in a sheet. As Talis and I approach the dais that the throne is set upon, Queen Calla stands and smiles down on both of us. There are other knights gathered around the throne, and my eyes glance over all of them in a heartbeat, but I can’t help but turn my gaze back to the queen. She’s so beautiful, in person—I’ve seen her give speeches, but I’ve never been this close up. She looks so kind and good, her face gentle and regal, her hair long and auburn and cascading over her shoulders and her bright green velvet dress.

“Talis,” she says, and her voice is just as soft and gentle as she looks. I take a deep breath, and I glance sidelong at my lover. Talis looks as shocked as I do, but she’s trying not to show it. Talis bends in a deep bow, and I realize, just then, that I should be doing a curtsy, and I try, but the sheet is tangled in my feet, and I fall to the side a little, and Talis has to catch me, her arms warm around me.

The queen chuckles, and it’s such an affectionate sound that Talis and I can’t help it—we chuckle a little, too.

“Talis,” the queen repeats, and she lifts up a bit of parchment in her hand. “I have here a letter that arrived this morning by dragon. It concerns you. Do you know of any reason I might get a letter from a dragon about you?” She’s trying to keep from smiling, but it doesn’t work, and a soft smile comes over her face.

Talis pales further. “My queen…I…I can explain.”

“Oh, Calla, let her off the hook,” says another knight. She’s seated at the dais, and she has her long, black hair in a high ponytail. Hanging from the ponytail, interwoven with her hair is a wolf’s tail. She has the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.

“My dear Virago,” says Calla with a laugh, glancing over her shoulder at the knight, “she was never on the hook in the first place. My dear,” she tells Talis gently, “I heard that you made us very proud in Bright Coast last night. You defeated one of the beasts in the Circ, and Princess Fane has highly recommended you to me. Frankly, I’m not sure why it’s taken this long, but I wanted you to know…you are promoted to squire as of today. Train well, Talis, and you soon will be a knight.”

Talis stares at the queen, and then she kneels before her, breathless, speechless.

“Thank you,” she manages, and then she breathes it again: “thank you.”

“I would have you know that there were many knights who recommended you to me. Kell, Virago, Lellie,” Calla gestures over her shoulder, and I see Lellie also seated on the dais, beside the other knight…Virago, I’m assuming. Lellie has her hands folded prettily in her lap, and she’s grinning widely at the two of us. “There were many knights who asked to promote you, Talis. There are many here who believe in you. And I do, too. Welcome to squirehood,” murmurs Calla, spreading her hands. “Welcome,” she smiles.

Talis tries to say something, but it comes out unintelligibly, and then Lellie stands and offers her hand to Talis, still in the kneel. Talis grasps Lellie’s wrist, and Lellie grasps Talis’s, and the knight helps her friend to stand.

“Congratulations, Talis,” says Lellie, embracing her tightly. There are tears in the knight’s eyes as she squeezes her friend tightly, and then Talis steps away from her, and she catches me up again.

Talis spins me in the air in pure and true delight and embraces me and holds me so close I’m in danger of being smooshed…but I don’t care. For when Talis kisses me, it’s sweeter than any cake or pie. Her kiss is sweeter than sugar, and I should know.

The night has changed to morning, but, with my soon-to-be knight by my side, I know our adventure will go on forever.

The End

If you enjoyed Just One Knight, you'll love Beauty and the Wolf! Bella has lived her whole life in the little town of Paris, Vermont. Her family's restaurant, the Rose Garden Diner, has been a point of pride...until they're forced to sell it. Unfortunately, the diner's buyer is Andrew, a cruel bully, and when he fires Bella's friend for stealing food scraps, Bella's had it up to here.

But Bella's fierce loyalty hasn't gone unnoticed. Every day, a mysterious woman comes to the diner for lunch. Mel Grim enchants Bella, and when Grim makes her an offer she can't refuse, Bella goes to work for her…

Beauty and the Wolf is available to read for free in Kindle Unlimited!

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- Raised by Wolves: Meet Becca Swift! She's got the most overbearing family in the world—because she was raised by wolves. Literally. Becca is a werewolf, and she is part of a loud and crazy, up-in-your-business pack. In her day-to-day life, she tries to keep the fact that she's a werewolf a secret... But then along comes Loren…

-  The Protector:  Elizabeth Grayson doesn’t want a bodyguard, but changes her tune when she meets brooding, mysterious, sexy-as-hell Layne…who harbors a secret.

-  The Vampire Next Door:  (Co-written with author Natalie Vivien) Courtney's book store is failing, and she thinks her girlfriend might be cheating on her...Courtney doesn't even think she believes in love...that is, until she meets the vampire next door.

-  Meeting Eternity (The Sullivan Vampires, Volume 1):  Would you risk your life for love?  The compelling, epic love story between Rose and the mysterious Kane Sullivan begins.

-  Trusting Eternity (The Sullivan Vampires, Volume 2):  What would you do if a chance at love slipped through your fingers?  The compelling, epic love story between Rose and the mysterious Kane Sullivan continues.

- The Guardian Angel:  When Erin's life is saved by a gorgeous woman who swears she's Erin's guardian angel...things begin to get complicated.

- Wolf Queen:  When they were teenagers, Amber and Stevie were so deeply in love that nothing could drive them apart. Until the one night, when Amber needed Stevie to be there...and, instead, Stevie disappeared without a trace...

-  Wild: An Erotic Lesbian Romance:  Six months ago, Lily made the worst mistake of her life and let the woman she loved walk away.  Now, at a campground party, she glimpses Cora across the fire, the woman she's not stopped thinking about or wanting, and sparks begin to fly.

-  Come Home, I Need You:  An Erotic Lesbian Romance:  Faith has a passionate, potent relationship with her wife, Marina, one that has stood the test of time. What started as a fiery fling has evolved into a lifelong love affair of two powerful women who love each other intensely. But Marina's job often takes her out of the country, and Faith's been missing her terribly lately…

-  Falling for Summer:  On the twentieth anniversary of her sister's drowning, Amanda goes back to Lake George to face her past and unexpectedly meets Summer McBride. Summer is a beautiful, vivacious, carefree woman--everything Amanda isn’t--and Amanda begins to fall for her until she learns Summer’s dark secret. Can love heal all wounds?

-  Don’t Say Goodbye:  Maxine “Max” Hallwell has spent her entire life making the safe, responsible decisions.  When her best friend, Jo, introduces her to her new girlfriend Fiona, a stunning, charismatic cake decorator, Max realizes that making safe decisions might have cost her the woman of her dreams...A heartwarming, poignant romance.

-  A Wolf for Valentine's Day – Trish Dalton has put her wild, adventurous days behind her. But when she's gifted a weekend stay at a remote lodge in the Rockies, she finds she may have one more adventure left in her.  A light-hearted, steamy romance, perfect to read any time of year.

-  A Wolf for the Holidays:  Mandy’s not having a great December.  Her lackluster girlfriend has given her a massive dog--who looks a lot more like a wolf than a dog--as a gift.  But all problems seem minor when she wakes up to a gorgeous, naked woman stealing jeans out of her dresser...a woman who swears she’s a werewolf.  A warm, holiday romance!

-  The Christmas Wolf:  When Kat meets potential roommate Jewel, she has high hopes. For one, Jewel's gorgeous as hell. Distracted by that fact, Kat's budgetary concerns fly out the window, and an intoxicating chemistry begins to brew between Jewel and herself.   There's just one problem: Jewel just happens to be a werewolf...

-  Wolf Town:  Amy moves to the strange little New England village, Wolf Town--but she finds more than a fresh start when she begins to fall in love with the daughter of the Wolf Town patriarch...who also just happens to be a werewolf.

-  Big, Bad Wolf:  During a terrible snowstorm, Megan thinks she sees a wolf.  But when beautiful, hungry-eyed Kara comes into Megan’s life, she brings more danger than a pack of wolves.

-  Dark Angel:  Cassandra Griman was in the wrong place at the wrong time when her life is saved by an angel.  But first impressions aren’t everything, and the captivating woman who saved her life is no angel.  Can love save the soul of a vampire?

These and more are available now.

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About Author Bridget Essex

My name is Bridget Essex, and I write about werewolves, vampires and lady knights; about two strong, courageous women who fall deeply in love with one another, living love stories that transcend time.  I’m married to the love of my life, author Natalie Vivien.

I’m best known for my Knight Legends series, stories about women knights, real world hi-jinks and love stories that are out of this world. My Sullivan Vampire novellas are a popular series lauded as “TWILIGHT for women who love women,” and I have several other series and stand-alone novellas, and I’m always putting out something new. Sign up for our newsletter to be the first to know when I release something!

You can find out more about my work at http://BridgetEssex.wordpress.com  I’d love to connect with you on Facebook!  Friend me on Facebook here:  https://www.facebook.com/bridgetessexauthor

Learn more about Rose and Star Press, publishers of lesbian romance and fiction of distinction, at http:///www.LesbianRomance.org