Defy (5 page)

fighter, but I was always the smarter one.”

I couldn’t bring myself to laugh, because it was true. His quick

thinking had saved me from discovery and the breeding house

twice now.

“Do you want me to get you anything?”

“No,” he said. “But I
will
let you be the one to deal with

Prince Damian in the morning.”

I grimaced. “Of course.”

He carefully lowered himself to lie down on his bed with a

smirk on his face. “I’d take ten lashes over one of Prince Damian’s

temper tantrums any day.”

I shook my head with a rueful smile. “Thank you, Marcel.”

“I’ll never forget that little boy, trying to protect his sister,”

Marcel said suddenly, his voice quiet. “I did what I had to do.”

I waited until his breathing was deep and steady before I

finally crawled under my own covers. Even then, it was hours

before I was able to go to sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about

what Marcel had done and the horrors of the breeding house. Of

Kalen, lying down in the attic, probably still crying with the other

girls. Of the girl I’d glimpsed on the bed, her face turned toward

the moon.

And just before I drifted off, I thought of Iker, hunched over

a table in his room, doing something with a knife that smelled of

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blood and fire. Something that he was so upset about us seeing,

he’d punished us even more thoroughly than he probably could

have imagined.

I hated him, and the king who did this to our people, more

than ever.

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 four 

T
he next night, the air was still damp from a passing

storm, and would most likely stay that way for hours. The

darkness was so complete, it felt alive, as though it sucked at me,

pulling my eyelids lower and making my limbs heavy. Because of

King Hector’s dinner party, the normal perimeter squadron had

been called inside the ballroom, and Prince Damian’s guard was

assigned to patrol the outer doors to the main palace until the

party ended.

“I’m going to go walk the perimeter,” I announced, pushing

away from the wall. Walking would help me stay alert. The

drenched heat of the jungle was too much for me tonight; I’d never

stay awake if I continued to stand in place.

Marcel glanced over at me from his position on the other side

of the doorway. “Would you like me to come with you?”

“It’s been a quiet night. Stay here and rest,” I said, noticing

the sheen of perspiration on his forehead and the pain in his eyes.

“I’ll take the whistle just in case.”

The palace grounds were mostly peaceful, although inside, the

royal dinner party was still going strong, and had apparently

turned into an impromptu dance. Strains of music began to waft

through the air as I neared the dining hall windows. I caught a

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glimpse of Prince Damian waltzing with a pretty young woman

across the dance f loor. In his evening attire, with the warm can-

dlelight painting his features so softly, his customary sneer

absent from his face, he was almost painfully beautiful. His dark

hair, olive skin — so much like mine, since we were both half

Blevonese — and his pale blue eyes were a striking combination. I

couldn’t deny that he was attractive. Too attractive.

There had been a moment when I’d first met him when I

wished I didn’t have to hide that I was a girl. But then he’d opened

his mouth to speak, and it didn’t take long for me to come to dis-

like him.

Realizing I was staring at the prince, I squared my shoulders

and scowled at myself. The heat was getting to me. That was all. I

nodded at another guard, one of the king’s men, as I continued

forward. Echoes of laughter and voices slurred by drink were

clearly audible as I crossed in front of the open windows, scanning

the courtyard.

I’d nearly passed the length of the dining hall when I heard

the thud of a body. Instinct took over, and I dropped to the ground,

whirling at the same time. An arrow pinged as it hit the wall, right

where my head had been moments before. One of the king’s guard

lay on the ground across from me, an arrow protruding from his

eye socket.

Sliding my sword from its scabbard, I turned my back to the

wall, and spun to face the unknown enemy. My heart beat errati-

cally. How many were there? At least one of them was obviously an

excellent shot. If they had breached the outer wall without a racket, there couldn’t be too many of them. No, this was a small group —

possibly even a single assassin.

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Straining my ears, I barely heard the whistle of another arrow

before I spun again, raising my sword up to the level of my face. It

bounced off the wall inches from my cheek.

I was blind, sitting like a target in the spilling light of the

party, staring out into the black night. Raising the whistle to my

lips and simultaneously leaping through the open window, I blew

on it hard, three times. It was a special whistle that emitted an

earsplitting sound, so loud, not only would Marcel hear it and

repeat the call, but so would the rest of the guard who were above

us in their beds or on duty in the hallways.

The people nearest me gasped and screamed in horror when

I vaulted through the window, the echo of my whistle blows

still ringing in my ears. I got a glimpse of the king sitting on his

throne, watching the party with his pale, cold eyes, before a ser-

vant bearing a tray of wine collided with me, dumping the tray

on the f loor with a crash as f lutes filled with the scarlet liquid

shattered.

“Attack! Guards, clear the room!” I shouted into the sudden

silence as the music stumbled to a halt.

Immediately, those of the outer guard, the king’s guard, and

Rylan — who was guarding Prince Damian at the party — jumped

into action, herding the royals and their court out of the room.

Prince Damian glanced at me, his expression inscrutable before

turning and guiding his companion, resplendent in diamonds and

silk, out the door in front of him. Iker ushered the king behind the

throne to a special passage hidden there.

“Rylan, come with me!” I shouted before turning away from

the f lashing jewels and bright silks to plunge back outside into the darkness and the aim of the unknown shooter.

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Marcel was already there, holding his bow. “I shot down the

one who killed the king’s man.” He nodded behind him, where

the guard’s body lay prone, a puddle of blood surrounding his

head. “But there was someone else. He scaled the wall before I

could get off another shot.”

“There could be more outside the walls as well. Let’s go.” I

took off at a run, sheathing my sword and pulling my bow over my

head, drawing an arrow from the quiver on my back. The outer

squadron for the west gate was nowhere to be seen. Most likely

shot as well. We had to waste precious seconds locating the key

ring hidden behind a loose stone and heaving the door open. By

the time the jungle was in full view, the rest of the prince’s guard

had arrived.

“Not a single king’s man showed up to help, huh?” Asher

noted, glancing behind us.

“Typical,” muttered Jerrod, his extremely pale blue eyes ghost-

like in the darkness. “They’re probably all too busy waiting in line

for their turns at the breeding house.”

“Fan out,” Deron whispered harshly, ignoring them and

pointing into the jungle. “They won’t have gone into the city; they

must be out there. If they’re assassins from Blevon, they won’t be

comfortable in the jungle. Use your senses, track them.”

The men nodded and we silently began to slip away in pairs.

Shouldering the bow so I could move more easily through the

trees, I headed straight forward, straining for any sign of the men

who attacked the palace. The leaves and vines of the jungle were

still coated with drops of moisture, and the ground sucked at my

feet as I moved ahead silently. My heart thudded in my chest, but

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I gritted my teeth and kept going. There was no time to waste on

being afraid of the jungle.

I motioned at the ground, and Marcel nodded. His hairline

was damp and his eyes bright with pain, but he gamely followed

me into the jungle without a word of complaint. Directly ahead of

us were a broken leaf and a fresh boot print. We were on someone’s

trail.

The darkness was so complete, the shadows seemed to take

form around me as we plunged deeper into the belly of the rain

forest. My mind made enemies from the mist. As I stalked through

the jungle, stealthy as a predator, I had to sort what was real from

what was imagined. Trees, vines, rocks — all were menacing in the

steamy night. But my prey was cunning and far more intelligent

than any jaguar’s quarry — and a better shot. The pungent scent

of moist soil filled my nose. Heavily laden leaves, swollen with

water, brushed against my face. A hanging mist coated the air. Not

true rain, but enough to make my skin wet.

I caught sight of a shadow ahead of me. Not one of our own.

He tried to blend in, but he wasn’t at home here. Not like we were.

Though I was afraid of the jungle, I understood it — I
knew
it, and how to blend into it. I halted, lifting a fist silently. My eyes narrowed, and I squinted to make out the details as the assassin melted

from tree to tree, trying to conceal himself. I silently lifted the

arrow I’d been holding the whole time, felt the smooth wood,

the tickle of feathers against my fingers.

He froze. Possibly felt the weight of my stare. Time was short

now before he realized he’d been caught. Would he turn to fight

or try to f lee?

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In one smooth movement, so fast there were few, if any, who

could match me for speed, I swung the bow off my shoulder,

notched the arrow, and let it f ly. Only the smallest twang from the

string sounded as the arrow whistled through the damp air toward

the enemy.

There was a cry of pain and the shadow dropped to the ground.

My arrow hit true. I never missed.

Someone drew up next to me on my right. Without looking, I

could sense my brother. Marcel was always close by — always try-

ing to protect me.

“Is there only —?”

I jerked my head to silence him, but it was too late. I heard the

returning whistle right before the arrow embedded with a wet

thunk in Marcel’s chest. He cried out, sucked in a shocked gasp of

air. Just as before, the aim was perfect. Marcel fell to his knees, his eyes wide as he stared up at me. I could see my name form on

his lips, my true name.

Alexa.

But the word was nothing more than a gurgle as his mouth

filled with blood and he collapsed to the ground.

The blackness of night was like a living thing, breathing in

hope and expelling terror. As I stood next to his body, the dark-

ness took the shape of death, reaching, grasping for him. I was

helpless to stop him from leaving me.

The night was painted red now, red with my fury, red with his

blood. There was a small snap from a twig, near the first assassin I

shot down. I grabbed an arrow and let it f ly, barely even looking.

The second attacker — the one Marcel didn’t see, the one who

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killed him — dropped next to my first victim. But it wasn’t enough.

I wasn’t fast enough.

Sure now that there were no more assassins hiding in wait, I

dropped to my knees beside Marcel. My fingers clenched the

blood-soaked folds of his tunic. A prayer to beg God to somehow

save my brother formed but didn’t leave my lips before his chest fell and did not rise again. A tear slipped off my chin and splashed on

his motionless face. Already he looked different, now that he was

really gone. Was this how I’d look when I died? His olive skin

was beginning to to turn ashen. Once-full lips were bloodless. I

gently closed his eyelids, hiding his sightless hazel eyes. Stroking

the thick, raven hair back, I pressed a kiss to his still-warm fore-

head. Tears ran down my cheeks now, hot and urgent on my skin.

Marcel couldn’t be gone. He was my twin, my other half.

“No, Marcel, no,” I sobbed, bending over and pressing my

forehead to his, my fingers still clutching his bloody tunic. “Don’t

leave me, don’t leave me here alone. . . .”

“Alex! Where are you?”

“Here.” I forced myself to call out, belatedly remembering to

lower my voice. Hopefully in the turmoil of the chase, no one

noticed the higher pitch. Or maybe they’d attribute it to grief.

“Over here,” I tried again, swallowing my tears. A member of

Prince Damian’s guard didn’t cry. Not even for his own brother.

“Marcel is dead.”

We were a somber group as we walked back through the gate, car-

rying Marcel’s body. The regular perimeter squadron parted for

Prince Damian’s elite personal guard — the squadron that hadn’t

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been here at its normal post because of the king’s infernal party,

and hadn’t joined us in pursuit of the men who’d done this. I

forced my face to be blank, to hide the pain that was tearing