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“Arazian only wants to talk.” The voice comes from the Miscrete, but it sounds strangely like Levi’s.
I don’t drop my bow, but I hesitate.
There’s no way.
My upper body shakes as I keep my aim on the creature. “Well, I don’t want to talk to him.”
“Shoot it!” Bastian calls over his shoulder. He has the flat of his sword against the chest of a Miscrete. Using his shoulders, he barrels the creature over, knocking five others down with its body.
The Miscrete moves closer to me. “Come, come, Maribel. Imagine taking the throne as princess of the First City. We have a horse waiting for you outside to whisk you away from this place.”
Arazian doesn’t know me. Why would he want me to come to the First City other than to kill me because of the prophecy? I let my arrow fly straight into the lying bastard monster’s heart.
Levi never calls me Maribel.
I aim my arrow at the doorway, hitting monster after monster with my arrows as Bastian takes them on with his sword. His clean white shirt is now torn and covered in gashes where the Miscretes swiped at him. Beads of sweat line his forehead. He swings his sword, making a clean swipe to remove an arm.
Blood gushes from the creature’s wound, but it continues coming for me. I don’t have time to draw an arrow, so I snatch a dagger from my boot and hold it in front of me. “Stay where you are.”
“Maribel Nexus Winsong-Barellis,” the creature says, somehow still standing on two feet while losing a ton of blood.
What the hell?
This monster sounds like Flynn. Arazian must use magic to transform their voices, but it’s really creeping me out.
“Daughter of Daxon Barellis, the Northern Duke.” An evil grin crosses the Miscrete’s lips. “We know everything about you, princess.”
“If my dad’s a duke, I’m not a princess.” My body shakes so badly, I’m afraid I’ll drop the dagger. Hearing my friends’ voices affects me more than I thought. “You better study up on the whole lineage thing. I’m nothing more than the daughter of a Citizen of Avren.”
A hissing sound comes from the monster, which I assume is a laugh. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard the prophecy. You’re to tear down Avren, the dear city you love, brick by brick. Come with us, and you can live a peaceful life, devoid of such—” it looks down at the blood gushing from its socket— “such bloodshed.”
“You’re a liar.” I hold the tip of my dagger to its chest. “Arazian steals humans from the wilderness and turns them into disgusting creatures like you. What’s more pathetic? Violence to free a people or violence to obtain power? I choose to free my people.” And with that, I drive the dagger into its heart, finishing what Bastian started.
Blood stains my hands and cream-colored dress, but I don’t care. I’ve now fully earned the throbbing pain of the tattoo on my shoulder. Both cities need to fall—the First City, with its outright evil agenda, and Avren with its veneration of the perfect person, and its subjugation of all who fall short of perfection.
Exhausted, I turn to help Bastian just as he plunges his sword into the final Miscrete. From across the room, we stare at each other. He’s killed dozens, and I only a few, but I know my role was just as important in this room.
He drops to his knees, weighed down by the toll. I kneel beside him, careful not to touch his wounds, and let him envelop me in his arms. This night, full of dancing and music, was supposed to draw me closer to him. But after fighting side by side, I can’t imagine anything else to better strengthen our bond. We fought together for a common purpose. In this battle, it was to protect the savior, but in the war, we will tear down the injustice surrounding us.
“Are you hurt?” His eyes hold concern as he touches the bloody material of my dress.
I shift to inspect the gashes in his tunic. Blood seeps through the thin material. “No, but you are. We need to get you back to the inn.”
“I’m not ready yet.” He sits crisscross and pulls me onto his lap. His fingers trail along my hairline, sending shivers through me. “You were amazing. I heard every word those creatures said to you, trying to deceive you, but you were having none of it.”
“It’s a little strange.” I glance at the dead bodies and stockpiles of armory around us.
“What’s strange?” His fingers trail to the sensitive spot behind my ear.
I wiggle in his lap, feeling him hard against my leg. As much as I want to puke after all I just went through, the experience has the opposite effect on him. “Having a romantic moment surrounded by all this… gore. Can we go somewhere else?”
He laughs, then bites down into his lip, his dark hair hanging like a curtain around his eyes. “I know just the place.”
We follow the riverbank, holding hands and getting strange looks from the few people out after the attack on the dance platform. We appear as if we’ve walked off a battlefield and lost. It doesn’t bother me. Let them stare.
At the end of town, the river veers to the left, and a vast field stands before us. Fireflies dance among the tall grasses, and the moon lights our way to an oak tree standing like a sentinel beside a small pond.
Bastian winces as he removes his shirt. In the shimmering glow of the sky above, I can see the true extent of his wounds.
