“No,” he cuts me off with a swipe of his hand. “That's not why you’re here. You're here because we need to see the claw marks on the wall, and to do that, we need permission from Darius to return to the city after we step outside the gates. That’s all. He won’t be willing to do anything for you if you criticize him.”
“He's right, Lena,” Zander says, flicking his hand in a shooing gesture. “Now go use those seductive feminine wiles of yours.”
Amara snorts. “Besides her looks, Lena doesn’t have any feminine wiles.”
I gasp. “I have feminine wiles! I can wile with the best of them. Just the same as the highest paid courtesans, if not better!”
“It's adorable that you actually believe that,” Amara replies, patting my head. I grit my teeth at the patronizing motion, barely restraining myself from punching her in the face as she continues. “I told you all before, it's not going to work. No matter how attracted Darius is to her, he's not going to defy a direct order from his mother. We're going to end up sneaking over the wall anyway, so you might as well let her teach him a thing or two.”
“You're just bored and looking to stir up trouble,” Tristan accuses.
Amara shrugs, not even trying to deny his claim as she climbs over the fence and seats herself on the top rung. “Maybe I wouldn't be looking to stir up trouble if you hadn't locked me in a room for weeks.” She glares at him over her shoulder. “Weeks, Tristan. Weeks.”
Sputtering, he tosses his arms up, seeming at a loss on what to do. “Maybe if you two weren't so prone to attracting attention, I wouldn't have had to.” We give him a dry look and he looks to Zander for help. “And I'm not the only one who thought it best for you to stay out of sight. Zander did, too.”
“Hey! Don't bring me into this.” Zander gives us a rueful bow of his head. “You ladies do as you wish. I've learned my lesson.”
Amara gives him a solemn nod of her head. “Thank you, Zander.”
“You're welcome.”
“Coward,” Tristan mumbles.
Zander shrugs shamelessly. “They're biters.” Grimacing, he rubs the upper part of his arm and tugs down his tunic, revealing teeth marks that still haven’t healed, even with his shifter healing.
“Well, oh wise one,” Amara drawls. “Now that we're finally free, how much attention do you think we're going to attract now?”
Tristan groans, pinching his nose. “So this is my punishment? For you two to be even more insufferable than usual?”
“Of course,” Amara and I reply in unison.
“You're already giving me a headache.”
“That’s merely a happy byproduct.” Amara beams. “Having said that, Darius' training methods are going to get Trip killed. With a few harsh words to the Captain, Lena can save that boy's life.”
Tristan’s lips thin, but he remains silent, unable to argue with her logic.
“Plus, dickhead’s ego could do with a bit of bruising,” Amara says, and I want to hit her less for it. She turns her attention to me. “Go on, Lena. You know you want to.” She nudges my shoulder with a goading smile. “You said so yourself. No one gives you orders.”
Should I or shouldn’t I?
“Lena,” Tristan growls.
I absolutely should!
“That weapon is ill suited to him,” I call out, hitching my leg on the bottom rung and draping my arms over the top.
Tristan tosses his hands up, pacing. “Here we go.”
Darius holds a hand out to Trip, signaling a break, and turns to face me. “Excuse me?”
“It’s too heavy for him.” Pushing off the fence, I hop over the side and stride purposefully toward the duo. “He needs something lighter.”
Darius’ lips instantly flatten. “I did not ask for your advice, nor do I want it. Now I'm allowing you to observe, but if you wish to continue to do so, then you will do so silently,” he sneers, turning his back on me. “Without any unsolicited advice, I might add.”
“Ha!” Zander barks a laugh behind me.
“He's just asking for it now,” Amara adds.
“Is your male ego so fragile that you'll ignore sound advice from a female even if it means it could save lives?” I argue, stopping beside the ward and placing my hands on my hips.
He sighs and turns to face me, irritation lining his face. “No, but I do ignore advice from women who have no training in battle.”
“And how many battles have you been in?”
“More than I can count,” he states in all seriousness.
I roll my eyes. “I don't mean challenges with males you've known your whole life. I mean a real battle.”
He gives me a bland expression. “None have presented themselves, so none.” He arches a brow. “Have you?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, you have, have you?” He laughs mockingly, glancing back at his friends who’ve all stopped their bouts to watch us. “And what kind of battle was this?”
A light flashes before my eyes and I suddenly vanish from this world, only to reappear in another. A different time, a different place, a different realm. Smoke burns my eyes and soot smears my skin. A sky filled with flames and homes incinerated to ash. Fallen swords and thousands of glazed eyes. The scent of blood, sweat, and decaying bodies is so overpowering, I feel like I’ve never left that blood, muddied battleground. Feeling an agonizing pain pierce into my abdomen, I slowly drop my chin and press my hands against my stomach, watching as my own life source slips between my fingers.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
