Fireblood (Fireblood 1)

He runs his blade along mine as he steps into a fighting stance. The shrill sound and vibration send chills along my back. “Oh, princess,” he says low, tense. “I was so hoping you’d say that. I only wish I could see poor Devlan’s face when he views what’s left of you when I’m finished.”

He’s mad. He has to be. I pull back into a defensive position, and block his blade as he slashes toward my face. He’s not performing. This isn’t a training exercise. Larkin is going for blood. I drive his blade upward, then take the clear shot at his exposed side, slicing him along the ribs.

“Bitch.” He grabs his rib cage.

Larkin’s injury should make this a more even fight, but I have to focus my attacks where they’ll count the most. Not giving him a second to recover, I feint and lunge, my blade straight as I aim for his stomach.

Favoring his right side, he taps my sword to the side. “I see Devlan trained you well,” he says. “But who do you think trained him?” He flicks his sword quickly, wounding my shoulder.

My arm spasms with pain and I cry out. Gripping my arm to hold it steady, I shakily extend my sword. The sleeve of my now-tarnished wedding dress hangs loosely, my bare shoulder dripping blood. The muscle has been spared—only a flesh wound—but the searing pain is distracting.

Larkin laughs. “It may be fun to remove your dress bit by bit.” He cocks his head. “Both boys would get a rise out of finding you in such a scandalous way.” His sword takes another swipe and I retreat, the tip just missing my other shoulder.

Lifting my chin, I counter, “Is that the only way you can get a maiden to disrobe before you, Larkin?” I advance, striking his blade and knocking it downward. “Or do you just hate strong women because you’re weak?” I raise my sword and twist sideways, bl

ocking his attack as he cleaves the air before me. “I’ll be sure to leave you with a shred of dignity.”

His face pinches in anger, and he grinds his teeth. He moves forward, slashing at the foliage to clear his path to me, and then repeatedly beats my sword downward. I move backward, keeping out of his range, his injury limiting his reach. Angered, he shouts and lunges. I attempt to turn and cover my body, but he slashes my midsection.

I drop my sword and wrap an arm around my stomach as I fall to my knees.

He stands above me, his sword aimed at my throat. “Goodbye, Princess Zara.” He bends over, leaning in close to my ear. “I’ll give my condolences to your father.”

Anger wells in my chest, overtaking the pain in my stomach, and I stare up his blade. My fingers find the hem of my dress. Before he straightens, I grasp my dagger and lunge.

He falls to the ground, bringing me with him. I hear his ragged, gurgling breath as he gasps, and I lift myself off his body. His eyes look from me to the dagger and back. His lung is punctured, and he’s going to die a slow and painful death.

I close my eyes and twist the dagger, digging the blade deeper into his chest.

He releases one last, labored breath.

Shaking, I open my eyes and extract my dagger. Blood runs down the blade and onto my hand. I lean over and wipe it off on his vest.

Before I sheath it and pick up my sword, I look down at him. “I will save your sister.” I give him one last look of regard before I dig out the two vials and head toward the gatehouse.

THIRTY-FOUR

Two guards stand watch in each of the gatehouse towers. Ducking behind a tree, I press my back against the bark and take shallow breaths. After carefully examining my stomach wound, I found it wasn’t as deep as the pain first led me to believe, though it bleeds steadily now. I use my sword to cut a strip of material from the bottom of my dress and bandage the cut. I bite down on my lip so I don’t cry out as I pull the knot tight.

I quickly inspect my shoulder. It’s already started to clot. Sliding my sword into my sash, I hold my stomach with one arm and move out of the brush.

Glancing at the castle once, I inhale a deep breath, then latch onto the first rung leading up to the control booth. My hand trembles as I reach for the second, my stomach ablaze with pain, but I pull myself steadily up.

I don’t want to kill another, but if Sebastian still has his knights ordered to arrest me, and the guard in the tower attacks, I’m not sure what I’ll do. All I know is I need to close the gate. Maybe I can simply bash him over the head and knock him out.

Or maybe he will end me. I’m in horrible shape.

There’s no use trying to figure out what will be before it happens. I reach for the third rung and hoist myself up the ladder. Hands grasp me around my waist, pulling me down. I scream from the pain and fail to reach my sword.

“You’re ordered by the Force to surrender your weapons and come with us, Princess Zara,” the knight in a crimson vest says as he restrains my arms.

He grips my shoulder and more pain slices through me. I struggle against him only a moment before I’m thrown to the ground. My hands scrape the gravel as I slide to a stop. Another knight approaches. His large black boots stomp my way, then I feel a shock.

A V-Baton.

I fall limp, and my chest hits the dirt. Willing my limbs to listen to me, I attempt to move my body, but I can’t move anything. I know I’m shaking—convulsing as I saw the crazed man do—because the earth vibrates in my vision.

They grab me by my biceps, and pain blazes through my body as they drag me toward the castle. The ground blurs, and my mouth parts to release a rant of reasons why the gate needs to close, but even my tongue won’t obey me. Don’t they understand what’s happening? Doesn’t Sebastian understand?