Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) (45 page)

Skin-warmed steel settled against her palm, the hilt heavy in her hand. She gripped it tight, thought of Xavian...pictured his face and wrapped herself in his strength.

“Are you certain about this?”

The whisper made the back of her neck tingle. She tossed Hamund the fiercest look she owned. What kind of question was that? Of course she wasn’t certain. No one in their right mind would be...but what other choice did she have? “Stop asking me that or I will find a branch and bash you with it.”

Hamund cleared his throat, cutting off a snort.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He sounded strained; the tremor in his voice said it all. The dolt found the idea of her hammering him amusing.

“Goddess help me,” she muttered, smothering the urge to turn and smack the smirk she just knew he wore right off his face. “I need a club, not a knife.”

“I will get you one...after.” Hamund bumped the outside of her thigh with his knee. Afina teetered on the balls of her feet. She grabbed a rambling weed to keep from falling on her behind, reestablished her crouch, and tossed him another dirty look. His lips twitched. “You may hit me all you like when Barbu is dead and you are safely home.”

A shiver slithered up her spine. “Promise.”

“No word of a lie.”

She huffed—half laugh, half despair. It was the best she could do under the circumstances. Her chest was too tight, rib cage pressing in, lungs getting smaller by the moment. A full breath would have been nice—good even—but she settled for Hamund’s distraction instead. Goddess bless him. She needed the
diversion, something to keep her focused on what she must do and not what might happen.

Afina glanced skyward. Heavy branches flowed into delicate ones, the jagged leaves changing from green to orange and gold. A gentle breeze caressed their veined underbellies, tousling the tips, mocking the gathering storm in her mind. How could everything look so normal on the outside when inside she was less than an echo, barely enough? No answer came; no rush of comprehension or relief from the pain...from the picture of her mother lying on the stone floor, a red pool spreading beneath her white gown while Vladimir stood over her, bloody blade in his hand.

She pressed her palms flat against the rock face. Damp moss pushed back, tickling her fingertips as the chill sank into her skin. The cold settled her, gathered her in its embrace until her focus narrowed. Opening her senses wide, she listened then reached out and connected to the hum of the woodlands: heard the trees murmur, an eagle call, and the water miles beneath her feet gurgle and rush. Each sound, unique and alive, reminded her of the magic and her purpose.

No. She wouldn’t run. If she did, the monster who haunted her sleep and hurt her people would win. She’d come too far—learned too much—to make the same mistake twice. Dax needed her. The men trusted her. All of Transylvania was relying on her. For once she would do as she promised, be the high priestess fate had made her.

Shifting to the right, she opened her eyes. The narrow trail didn’t look so scary now. A bird called, the tone pitch-perfect, but man-made. Hamund answered, whistling with the soft song of a lark.

Afina tilted her head, ear to shoulder, first to one side then the other. Tight muscles protested before uncoiling one strand at a time. “It’s time?”

“Aye. The men are in place. They will not be able to see you, Afina. They will stay back until I give the signal.”

“You don’t wish to give away our advantage,” she murmured, finishing Hamund’s thought before he could. He must think she had brain damage. He’d made her recite the plan at least a dozen times since leaving Drachaven.

“Exactly.” The captain bumped her again. Afina understood the silent entreaty. She glanced over the curve of her shoulder. Dark eyes bore into hers. “Tell me again.”

She wanted to sigh—to tell him she understood, could recite the plan backward and forward, probably in her sleep. Instead she nodded. “Distract. Divide. Retrieve. Retreat.”

“Simple. Straightforward. Keep your eye on Dax, Afina. The moment you have him...run like the devil. We will do the rest.”

Which meant kill Vladimir.

Afina liked the plan...especially the last part. “Got it.”

“Go, then.” Hamund gave her a pat on the shoulder. “I will keep you in sight...be no more than ten paces behind you the entire time.”

His words should have brought her some small measure of comfort. They didn’t, and as she slid from her hidey-hole and crept onto the path her mind laid out images. Each one flashed, vivid, colorful, like the past was only moments away instead of two years ago. She slammed the lid on the memories shut. Too late. They were already out in the open, asking questions she didn’t want to acknowledge, much less answer. Why had her mother not fought back, used her magic to save her life? What
kind of monster was Vladimir Barbu? Did he have power of his own...a way to deflect the goddess’s essence? Afina flexed her hands as she tiptoed closer to the trail entrance. And if he did, what chance did she have against him?

Her magic wasn’t exactly mature. She hadn’t practiced what little she knew, and that knowledge was sketchy at best. Afina swallowed. She should have cornered Garren, insisted he teach her...well, at least the basics. Like how to protect herself.

Halfway down, the tunnel rolled into a blind curve. Afina paused, gripping the hilt of the knife strapped to her thigh. She took the outside track, moving to her left to see around the wild shrubs tangled with a clump of saplings. Shadows pressed in, entombing her like a funeral shroud. It was an apt description. She felt like she was being buried alive. The smell of wet dirt and pungent pine did nothing to dissuade her morbid imagination. All she needed now was a hole: two feet wide, six feet deep, and just as long.

The wind picked up and tree limbs moaned, creaking as they clattered against their neighbors. Another gust. Another push from behind. Afina took the hint and, goose-bumped, dry-mouthed, rounded the bend.

Sunlight greeted her. The yellow rays spread like fingers, penetrating the gloom, illuminating the almost perfect circle of the tunnel mouth. Afina blinked. From spine-bending scary to cheery in a few short steps. Ridiculous. Thank the goddess. She needed the reprieve, if only for a moment, to catch her breath, to settle her spirit, to ready her mind for the violence to come.

She thought herself ready for it. Now she knew better. No matter how certain she’d been—standing in the inner bailey at Drachaven, discussing strategy, making plans—following through was something else entirely. The goddess was right.
She was a nurturer at heart, not made for violence or able to inflict it without hurting herself.

Oh, how she missed Xavian. Not for his skill with a sword, but his ability to soothe her. Afina closed her eyes. She wanted his arms around her, to hear his voice and feel the magic flow between them. Cowardly, she knew, but she couldn’t stop the yearning...the need to touch and be touched in return. Reaching deep, she searched for their connection, the essence of him. More than the physical, she needed his spirit, that intangible something...the what and who that made him hers.

She shivered as it bubbled up, surrounded her heart, loosened her lungs, gifting her with her first full breath since leaving the safety of Drachaven. The rumble followed, rolling through her like an earth tremor. Afina froze, surprise morphing into dismay as a stream of magic surged down her legs. A lightning bolt sensation followed, zigzagging out of the soles of her boots and into the ground. Her feet followed the quake, shuffling toward the edge of the pathway. Grabbing a nearby shrub, she stopped her forward progress, heart slamming in her chest, breath coming in shallow bursts.

What was that?

A
pssst
came from behind her. Afina glanced over her shoulder and found Hamund crouched in the foliage, the agreed-upon ten paces away. He tipped his chin, waved his hand, encouraging her to move. Forgetting the odd surge of magic, she took one step then another. The last few feet were throat-gripping, muscle-twisting awful.

Was Vladimir waiting for her beyond, haloed in sunlight?

Afina almost snorted.
Haloed.
Right. The only halo the swine would wear was one of fire when he fell from this world into the one below and met the devil. She set her teeth, praying the plan
worked and the bastard met his maker, preferably sooner rather than later.

Her hand flexed around the knife hilt. Staying low, she crept forward, past tree roots and thornbushes. She paused beneath the boughed archway to get the lay of the land. Almost a perfect oval, the clearing boasted a knoll at its center, rolling out to large trees on three sides. Giant, sharp-toothed stone slabs rose at odd angles on the fourth, guarding the path down the mountainside. Dower Pass...it was exactly as Hamund had described it, but for one thing: It was empty. Not a soldier in sight. Not a branch out of place. No swine to be found.

Vladimir was playing his usual game. The bastard had never met a lie he didn’t favor.

So what now? How could she get to Dax if she couldn’t find him? A sharp pang hit her chest level. The sensation clawed at her throat and desperation pushed her feet forward, looking for a clue, no matter how small.

A dark blob shifted in her periphery. Heat surged along her spine, burned in her fingertips as Afina spun and, hands up, unleashed magic. With a soft shriek, air rushed, blasting a hole near the base of a huge oak. The dirt exploded, mushrooming before it came down in a pitter-patter of wet earth. Fingers curled, she stood stone still, waiting. A squat shrub bobbed, bouncing beneath a swath of grey fabric.

Each exhale choppy and chilled, Afina glanced right then left. She was still alone. No one was coming through the trees or attacking...yet. Wiping her damp palms on her trews, she tiptoed toward her only clue. Hollowness threatened to swallow her whole when she reached the lip of the clearing. Oh, no. A piece of Dax’s cloak—perfect stitches torn, wool ripped down the
seam—lay over the clustering shrub. She fingered the soft lining. Rabbit fur caressed her palm as she brought it to her face. It smelled like her little boy...sweet with a hint of the soap she made Dax use at bath time. Under duress...always under duress. It was one of the things she’d learned about lads his age—they didn’t see the need for cleanliness. Bathing, after all, cut into their playtime.

Afina’s throat went tight. She clamped down on the swell of grief. Finding his mantle didn’t mean Dax was dead.
Stay calm. Stay even.
’Twas the only way she’d see Vladimir’s trap.

The calculating swine never played by the rules. He was setting an ambush...but where? The mountain passes kept their secrets. The bastard could be anywhere.

Like an apparition, Hamund appeared at the tree line. She lifted her hand and showed him the piece of mantle. The captain mouthed a curse and—

A scream vibrated through the forest.

High pitched, the terrified shriek thundered up her spine, collided with the back of her skull. The fine hairs on the nape of her neck spiked, and without stopping to think, Afina sprinted toward the path that descended the mountainside. Hamund shouted her name. She ignored him. Vladimir was cutting her lad. Oh, no, his beautiful little fingers.

Fear whipped through her, lending her strength as she sliced between two giant slabs of stone. Small pebbles unbalanced her, rolling beneath her feet. She caught herself and kept going, following the narrow trail, dodging boulders and sheared rock. To hell with caution and consequence. Vladimir was a dead man. She would rip him apart, blast him off the mountainside...smile as she listened to him shriek on the way down.

Another spine-chilling scream. Then another. And another.

Afina’s heart slammed and her legs pumped, hurtling her through a jagged maze. Dax’s name echoed inside her head.
Please, Goddess...shield him, save him, keep him alive.

She gripped the edge of a flat-faced stone. Her skin gave way, leaving her palm raw as she pushed off, looping and bobbing around obstacles. The sun beat down and sweat rolled, drenching the small of her back. With a final push, she lunged across a series of low-lying rocks and vaulted into the expanse beyond.

Flat to the point of perfection, the area was huge, mayhap fifty feet wide and twice as long. Rimmed by small shrubs, sheared sheets of rock formed haphazard piles before giving way to a plateau that rolled out to the edge of a cliff. A whimper, a choked sound of protest, sounded to her right. Her boots sliding on stone dust, Afina pivoted, afraid to look yet unable to turn away.

Her heart hiccupped behind her breastbone.

Her enemy stood behind Dax, a blade pressed to his slender throat. Bloody hand cradled against his chest, Dax’s eyes were huge in his small face. Afina’s hands curled into fists. One false move and Vladimir would use the knife...slit her lad from ear to ear. Suppressing a surge of panic, she met her enemy’s gaze, looking him in the eye for the first time in her life. And wished she hadn’t. Madness lived there, a dark gleam that said he enjoyed the power he held.

“Afina.” He hummed her name as though tasting it. “Welcome.”

The sick satisfaction in his tone made her stomach roll. “Let him go.”

“M-mama.” Dax reached for her with his uninjured hand. The bastard twisted her lad’s hair, yanked him backward.

“I’m right here, love,” she said, keeping her voice soft to smooth out the hitch. He’d never called her Mama before, not once...not even when she tucked him in at night. Afina breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth, struggling to stay calm.

Flexing her hand around the dagger, her gaze swept the plateau, looking for a weakness. Vladimir had to have one. The swine was too arrogant—too sure of himself—to believe another capable of besting him. But she’d done it once already, and so she searched, examining the rocks and twisted sycamores behind him. The trees hid something...a narrow trail, mayhap?

“Toss the knife away, Priestess,” Vladimir said, tone pleasant as though he stood in a great hall conversing about the weather. “Or I gut your lad.”