9. NINE

nine

I'VE GOT MY MONEY ON THE BIG GUY

Present day.

I dug a shallow grave with the rebel’s sword and buried the little girl’s doll near the river. Daeja helped me find two branches, and I cut the strap from my father’s journal to tie it into a cross. I must have gotten lost because the river is northwest of Hornwood, which means I turned back. I should be more upset, but a dark cloud of numbness dulls every hint of emotion.

I trace the grip of the rebel’s sword, my fingers brushing the swirls engraved into the hilt.

I’ll kill every last one of them. The thought is a whisper in the dark recesses of my mind, the severity of it startling me. It’s the only thing that makes me feel anything—aside from the relief Daeja sustained no major injuries.

My thoughts linger on my father. Had he been alive, would he have made the same decision? Could he have trapped and slaughtered hundreds of innocent lives?

The questions and fear of discovering more than I’m prepared for keeps me from opening the journal again.

As the days drag on, my disorientation grows. I’m not sure how much time has passed or even what day it is. I avoid sleeping at night. If I’m honest, I’m scared other terrors lie in the shadows, waiting for me to falter before they strike.

The sky melts from midnight black to sunrise. My eyelids drag closed, and I fall forward, catching myself on my hands and knees. I sink my fingers into the grass, lifting my brows to keep my eyes open. My arms tremble from pure exhaustion as I stare at the ground.

Daeja slides off my shoulders, and pokes her head into my vision, staring up at me with her unblinking white eyes.

“I’m okay,” I croak.

Gods...is that my voice?

She chitters, bumping her scaly cool nose to mine.

I nod and flop to my back. “I suppose I can rest...just for a bit though.” My muscles twitch at the sudden inactivity. I close a hand over the hilt of my sword and turn my head to call Daeja to rest with me. But she’s missing from the spot she was moments earlier.

“Daeja?” I push up to my elbows to scan the forest around me. My gaze bounces from tree to tree, bush to bush. But she’s nowhere. I hold a breath, waiting for a flicker of movement. “Daeja!”

I must be out of my godsdamned mind—the same spot where she sat earlier, and the spot that was empty milliseconds before, is where she sits once again. She tilts her small head to the side as though confused.

I rub the heel of my hand over one eye and watch her figure blink out of existence before me. What the fuck, am I hallucinating?

I scramble forward, patting the area where she had sat.

My fingertips jab something scaly. Double tapping the invisible mass with two fingers, and Daeja’s body flashes into view again.

“Did you just...did you just do that on your own?”

She stretches her neck and flares her nostrils. Then, squeezing her eyes shut, she disappears again. Seconds later, she reappears.

I race for my father’s journal, flipping back to the pages detailing his dragon research. I scan the passages, but nothing mentions disappearing dragons. Daeja’s round black muzzle rests on the spine between the pages, her big eyes staring up at me.

“What are you?” I ask.

Dark clouds clog the sky through the ridges of the leaves above me. A deep thunder rumbles. In the distance between the gaps of trees, an orange light glows against the dreary blue mist. My hope flickers. It has to be Blackfell.

It has to be.

A drop of rain splatters against the ground. Daeja flinches against me. Another falls, hitting her in the head, and she hisses. Her eyes scan our surroundings, waiting for the next attack. As more drops fall, she snaps at them. It drags a chuckle out of me.

By the time we near the town, the rain picks up to a drizzle. I turn to look at Daeja on my shoulder as I pull my hood up and double tap two fingers against her scaly side. She disappears, as if she were swept away by the wind. We’ve come to discover she can only disappear for short spurts at a time. And even that is a monumental effort for her. But it’s one I hope we can use to our advantage.

The black roofs of the town confirm it’s Blackfell. I follow a crowd through the puddled streets and into a building full of laughter and roaring conversation. Overhead chandeliers and torches lining the walls illuminate the great room. People flock toward the center of the building, where clangs of metal ring out. Between the gaps of the massive audience, two men swirl and strike.

I slide through the crowd to make my way to the bar, thinking and hoping I might be able to find out information about Cole. Drunk people are always good at talking.

“I’ve got my money on the big guy. He’s second best in the kingdom to Darian Raventhorn,” a man I try to skirt around tells his companion.

His companion scoffs. “Darian isn’t as good as everyone makes him out to be.”

“You’re saying that because you’ve never seen him fight. He was trained by Jurrock himself,” the first one counters.

“Do you want to bet money on that? He got passed up to captain a squad. Can’t be all that good.”

The first one’s voice drops low, “Really? Who beat him?”

“Some fiery red-head from Padmoor. The man is brutal. He single-handedly took down a group of rebels and killed the lead with his bare hands—”

I freeze. It can’t be…can it? Cole wouldn’t be able to kill someone—let alone with his bare hands. The clamor of the fight melts away as I stop. I stare at the two people fighting in the ring, but I strain to listen to the men’s conversation.

“—and left the bloody redhead on a spike near the border to scare off the rest of the rebels.”

The first man shakes his head. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“You callin’ me a liar? Go look at it yourself. Up north about thirty miles from here.”

“I’m not daring north of Blackfell.”

“Well, then, maybe you can go ask him yourself. Their squad is over there.” The second man jabs a finger over his shoulder.

My heart tumbles and races as I follow his direction toward the back left of the building. I push up onto my toes, trying to peer over the shifting bodies of the crowd.

Red hair gleams against the grey-washed stone walls. Cole’s hair sweeps down toward a soft beard brushing his jawline. He’s different from the man I remember. He’s no longer the clean-shaven man with a shorter haircut who left home.

His jaw is set in a hard line, and his forehead creases in concentration as he stares down at paper strewn on the table. Someone from his group points at a spot on the page. He nods thoughtfully and tips back his mug to swallow its contents. Standing and gathering the pages, he sets down the mug before turning to talk to the men around him. A waitress struts over to him and motions toward his mug. Cole shakes his head with his signature glowing smile. It softens the rest of his rugged, dangerous features. Popping her hip, the waitress tilts her head back and bats her lashes.

I’m not the only one who thinks he’s gorgeous.

Cole hands the woman a small pouch before he and his group slip out of a back door and disappear. When the door shuts, I snake my way through the crowd.

A loud clash of swords splits the air, and the crowd erupts into a frenzy. The jostle falters my step, and Daeja’s claws sink into me for grip. I grit my teeth to avoid shouting. By the time I reach where Cole sat, it’s been a few minutes.

I burst out of the back door, the cold air whipping me in the face. Each direction the road splits into is void of any hint of Cole.

He’s gone.

Rain blurs my vision as I break into a sprint down the main road. Daeja bounces with each fall of my step. My hopes sink at every empty alley and vacant road.

Each passerby I ask if they’ve seen a military group walk through. The fourth person I ask mentions a military outpost northwest of Blackfell near a lake. By the time I leave Blackfell and reenter the forest, the rain ceases, and the cloud cover lightens. The sounds of the forest are broken by the unmistakable clashing of metal against metal.

My hand wraps tighter around the sword at my side. I slow my pace and stick to the cover of shrubs and trees, slinking closer to the sound until the trees break into a clearing. I crouch behind a shrub and peer over the ragged top. Sparse bits of green grass sprinkle the ground, surrounded by trampled earth and... drag marks?

My observation is interrupted by two men fighting with swords, one of whom is far outmatched by the other. Taller than me by an inch or two, his sandy blonde hair whips through the air each time he dodges his opponent’s sword.

His towering, brown-haired opponent ruthlessly hacks cut after cut, handling his sword with such ease his long chestnut hair dances around his face.

Men and women circle them, shouting encouragements.

The dark-haired male advances, flicks his wrist, and effortlessly disarms his opponent.

The onlookers fall silent as the sword flies several feet away.

Looming toward the unarmed, golden-haired man, the victor swings his sword once more. His opponent falls onto his back, narrowly dodging a slice to his chest, and the crowd breaks out into shouts of disgust.

A voice cuts above the rest and everyone falls silent. “Darian, that’s enough.”

The golden-haired one shuffles backward and fumbles for his sword on the ground, grabbing it just in time to block the next swing.

The brown-haired male, Darian, snorts. “The rules in war are that the weakest links die.

This mop will either be killed or get us killed. No use in giving the kid any hope.” He takes another step forward, his sword raised in preparation to swing again.

The other male rolls out of the way.

From the sidelines, a man in a white shirt and dark pants jumps to his feet, his red hair vibrant against the light of the moon. Cole.

“Darian, you ruthless fuck. That’s an order.” Cole plucks a fistful of Darian’s shirt, ripping him back before he can strike again.

Darian spins, but Cole twists the sword out of his grasp and glares at him. Darian swings his fist, the punch connecting with Cole’s cheek and spinning his face in my direction.

I flinch at the hit.

The muscles of Cole’s back and arms ripple under his tight shirt. He whips back around and cuffs Darian on the jaw. They quickly turn into a mash of fists and fury: spinning, dodging, and whaling until Cole sweeps a leg to the back of Darian’s knees and he drops to the ground.

Pinning him, Cole grips Darian’s shirt in one hand, the fist of the other clenched and ready to deliver the next blow.

“Are you done?” Cole roars.

Darian mutters something under his breath then spits in Cole’s face.

Cole raises his fist but pauses. Hovering over Darian, he bares his teeth and glares.

Waiting.

Tense moments pass, and nobody dares breathe.

Leaning away, Cole finally shoves up to his feet. His chest rises with each heavy breath, his eyes narrowed and watching Darian. The clear victor, he extends a hand to help Darian up.

Darian scoffs and ignores Cole’s offer, standing on his own and cupping a hand to his nose gushing with blood.

With an exasperated sigh, Cole removes his shirt and throws it at Darian. “Go see Marge. Or go get a drink. I don’t care what you do, just get the fuck out of my sight.”

Without his shirt, the sunlight glints off the sweat-slickened crevices of Cole’s chiseled torso. His muscles dance under his skin with each stride, a newly discovered authority and confidence exuded by the way he walks toward the golden-haired male. I would have never imagined the boy I met ten years ago having such raw power and ferocity. But I can’t mistake his red hair, nor the deep gruffness of his voice.

“Are you okay, Archie?” Cole pulls the blond man to his feet.

“Oh, yeah, I’m good. I almost had him. I was taking it easy on him.” Archie brushes off his chest.

Cole’s lips quirk up into a slight smile before he clasps him on the shoulder. “You did good. With your tenacity, we are a force to be reckoned with.”

Daeja’s breath huffs into my ear, pulling me back to the spot where I crouch. I’ll have to wait until tonight, and grab Cole without attracting anyone else’s attention.

A flutter of nervousness tickles my stomach as thoughts pour into me. Is he still angry with me? Will he even help me? And if he doesn’t help me, what will I do?

Because he’s the only one who can help me free Daeja.

And he’s the only one I can trust.