Page 20 of The Scouts

He flashed me that predacious, knee-buckling grin of his. “Red suits you.” The compliment sounded all the better for the raspiness of his voice.

“You mean this old thing I threw on?” I winked, extending my hand to meet his palm. “May I have this dance, Guard Féyes?”

My accent came out thicker than usual. I’d never thought I would dance with him that night. I hadn’t permitted myself to wonder what it would feel like. And until that moment, I hadn’t even fully realised how much I’d desired it. But when my arm curved around his waist, my heart unfurled with bliss.

The musicians chose a slow-tempo melody to finish.

Despite that, we didn’t talk. The piece sounded like something that would be popular with the royal court—fancy and lyrical. I didn’t know the steps. It didn’t matter, though—we made our own.

Our hands and gazes never disconnected. I led and he followed, moving alongside me in perfect harmony, ever so receptive to the smallest shift I introduced to the sequence. Gut-clenchingly beautiful to behold.

And all mine.

* * *

Chapter 6

SIGRUNÉS

Rottehwÿn

ERVYN

The night seemed perfect for the mission. Dry, moonless, and chilly enough to discourage anyone from wandering about needlessly. And everything had been going swell and dandy. Until around midnight, when a lazy breeze picked up strength and turned into a blustery wind. That screwed with our original strategy.

The irony had it that the commander had predicted the issue during his meticulous planning. Hence the request he’d put in for a Weather Mage’s assistance. It’d even been approved. But the bastard had never shown at the inn on the outskirts of Rottehwÿn. We’d lost a day on his account, sitting tight and twiddling our thumbs.

Heinnés had refused to stall further. And rightly so. The longer the delay, the bigger the chances of something going tits up—like someone noticing us in the area. If the Magic Supremacists got wind of that, they were bound to suspect a security breach and either move Sigrunés elsewhere or place new wards on the property. And that would render our two main assets—the element of surprise and the antiward token—useless.

So here we were, huddled together in the dark—Mageless.

It started off well. Lieutenant Javyés fused the antiward, tempered with a charm, into the wall that wrapped around the residency. The stone emitted a pale glow at first. Then it flickered and dimmed, indicating a magical short circuit. Our Spark flashed us the good-to-go sign.

With the protection disabled, we waited for the commander to grant us the signal to action.

Diéyes, the unit’s senior sharpshooter, pressed his lips into a thin line. He looked at Heinnés and shook his head.

Fuck. Shite. And wank.

I had to concur with his assessment, though. The wind had grown tempestuous, too gusty and unpredictable to guide our arrows with the degree of accuracy required for sharpshooting. No way could we do a job that left no room for mistakes without the fucking Elemental sorting out the damn, well, element the way he’d been supposed to. Therefore, we—the archers—were out.

One of us peeked at the three sentinels up on the watchtower at regular intervals to ensure they weren’t onto us. The robust structure that stood three stories tall must’ve given them a grand view over the area. If any of them thought to lean over the south corner just a tad to look down, we’d have been spotted.

Heinnés drummed his fingers against his chin for a time, his brow furrowed. No doubt he deliberated whether to proceed or abort and return the next night. Preferably, with the Weather Mage being dragged behind our horses by his hair.

I knew the commander would be swift about forming a judgement. Loitering out there carried too much of a risk.

“All right. There’s no helping it. We’re going in through the tower,” Heinnés whispered and turned to face Lochan. “Féyes, take care of those guards. No change to the plan otherwise.”

Given that sending the sentinels an arrow tip to the eye each wasn’t an option, someone had to get up there quietly to do the deed from up close. It only made sense for that someone to be an assassin and our best free climber.

Lochan nodded, having clearly expected that order. After checking the sheaths on his wrist and thigh containing his throwing spikes and knives, he put on his tiger claws.

“Rope,” he said without inflexion.

Someone passed a coil of rope twisted in a way that guaranteed a quick deploy for use. I helped Lochan to secure it onto his back like a rucksack.

A glance my way and he was off, climbing the tower like a spider enveloped in the night’s shadows—silent and deadly.