Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Seeking comfort, heat and refuge, Sana’a found a small cafe with a lively fire.

She took to its smiling host and delicious aromas from an unseen kitchen.

Sliding onto a table tucked away in a corner beside the roaring fireplace, she commandeered an armchair.

When the server came around, she ordered what was standard fare in most Kos.

Fresh river fish, wheat, and toasted bulgur grains served with smoked trout, radishes, and green apple.

She also asked for a tall, cold, frothy beer to accompany it.

Slumping back in her recliner, she stared into the fire that licked and danced at the logs.

The flames cast shadows that seemed to reach out and grab hold of the surrounding darkness.

The air, too, was filled with the crackle and pop of the burning wood, a symphony of warmth and light that mesmerised and comforted.

She inhaled. Kos was beginning to grow on her.

The jet onyx and aureate metropolis had its charms.

Its streets were always alive and echoing with the sounds of life, from merchants’ chatter to children’s laughter.

When she walked them, she enjoyed trailing her hands along its black marble and gold walls that glistened no matter if the sun, moon or stars were beaming down.

Each building was adorned with intricate carvings and shimmering inlays, crafted into evocative frescoes, giving the city an opulent and mysterious appearance.

She’d also become intoxicated by the mix of fragrances that filled the air. The scents of rich spices and the perfume of íkan mingled with the metallic tang and earthiness of the mountain looming above it.

In the cosy warmth of the cafe, she unwound, muscle by muscle, easing her legs out after the bout.

She rolled her neck and massaged her thighs, hoping for a good night’s sleep and healing after her meal.

When the food arrived, she set on it with hunger, needing to re-energise her body.

It helped that each mouthful was a fusion of seasoning. It was a decadent and mouth-watering experience with bursts of spice and richness that kept her craving more.

She took her time chewing and sipping between every single bite, savouring the flavours as her body aches relaxed.

Finally sated, she leaned back, grateful for the small things, and ruminated on the shift in her life.

While her existence was brutal and her oath yet unfulfilled, she’d made friends in the íkhara.

She’d found a kinship she’d not experienced with a group other than close family. It was a welcome sensation, and she noticed herself wanting to linger on Katánē to indulge in it further.

Only as she stood to pay did she catch the whisper of footsteps.

Almost silent but light as they moved through the darkened restaurant.

She whipped around, realising the place was empty of punters.

Everyone had left except for two hooded figures who guarded the now-shut entrance.

She shook her head in frustration as the cafe owner disappeared into the kitchen with haste after flicking a nervous glance at her.

Raising her hands, she summoned her blades into her grasp.

They materialised, and she shifted her stance, ready to take on any attack.

Then she sensed him, scented him, yearned for him.

Her body locked in reaction to his presence behind her, his unseen hulking form simmering with potency.

Sana’a divined his eyes on her, the heat of his presence almost perceptible on her skin.

She swivelled to face him, meeting his silver, glowing, intense stare.

He looked down on her from his impossible height, his gaze penetrating and calculating. He emanated an aura of concealed power.

It rankled her that his aura was palpable, a tangible force that radiated from him.

It was a subtle electric charge, a buzz that sent shivers down her spine.

He sliced his yes to her blades. ‘You can put them away, Shotelai. I mean you no harm.’

Her eyes glittered with suspicion as she let her weapons slip away into their holster against her vertebrae.

Still, she stood, body taut, ready for battle. ‘Fancy seeing you here. Are you following me, Kíríga?’

‘I just want to talk,’ he said, his rumble deep and commanding. ‘I’d like to do so while still preserving my innards. The question is, will you still lunge at me if I sit with you?’

She eyed him for a long moment. ‘I might. If you play dirty games with me.’

‘I have no such plans.’

‘So what do you want?’

‘Let’s start with the niceties. Congratulations on your victory,’ he murmured. ‘You fight with a rare skill and finesse.’

‘Sante,’ Sana’a replied, trying to keep her voice even.

He pulled up a chair and sunk into it with a sigh, crossing one thick thigh over his muscled knee.

He beckoned at her to sit, and she shifted back to her table, wary still of his presence.

She studied his posture, which was solid and imposing, and his movements controlled yet purposeful.

He leaned in, pushing his cowl from his head to reveal his smouldering eyes, silver locks and glowing lodestone.

The latter flashed, and Sana’a again experienced a hit of energy. Fokkinhellrain, why did he have this effect on her?

‘You could be anywhere in Pegasi, shikari. If I remember well, the fighting halls of East Iccythria offer much more pay than we do in Katánē. So I’ll ask you again, what is keeping you here?’

She sat on the edge of her chair, buying time to think. She could only put him off for so long, so she shared some of the truth. ‘Not you, that’s for certain. My interest in blading you is long past. I seek someone else.’

‘Who?’ he pressed.

A scent emanated from him, a musky tang around him, like spice and adrenaline. It hinted at the potential for violence and the physical strength he possessed.

She gave him a lengthy look. ‘Your aunt.’

‘Which one?’

‘Kalila.’

This time, he cocked his head, studying her for a beat. ‘She betrayed someone close to you.’

‘Her greed thrust an entire people into damnation.’

His brow rose as his lodestone flashed. ‘Your people?’

Sana’a hissed under her breath, then surprised herself by speaking more truth. ‘Naam. We are the Shotelai, one of the first peoples of the Rimlands. Our world, The Seven Wonders of Shotel, existed on the edge of the Omegaverse and Pegasi galaxies. Famed for its pale rocky surfaces and covered in ivory, crystalline vegetation. It was paradise until a few years ago, when our King, my father, was tortured and murdered, sending the empire into a tailspin. It’s men, women, children and warriors scattered. The mighty Shotelai city, made of glass, steel and white stone, is now a rubble of broken and twisted SHärds and metal pinions. Scarred by fire and torn apart by giant talons.’

‘Why?’

She snarled. The air hummed with her energy, a low rumble of thunder beneath a stormy sky.

‘Because Ga’wa Isato, the Drákon Queen of Isato, Tsu Zatan, monarch over the Amlak Moon Kingdom, and the Kíríga and Kíntí of the Katánian Empire willed it.’

She didn’t offer any further context. Instead, she turned her face from his, unable to handle any more agonising memories and the softened concern that appeared on his rugged face.

Damn him and his bearded, long-haired, wild, fokk-able presence.

‘I have deepest sympathies for the evil they wrought on your world,’ he rasped. ‘I’m aware of how terrible that tragedy was. I also had no idea Kalila was involved.’

His rich voice jolted her, sending her senses into overdrive.

She met his eyes, and their sincerity radiated outwards, vibrating to her seat. The space around him crackled with energy, carrying the scent of ozone and power.

Still, she refused to be seduced by it. ‘I met your aunt. Diabolical doesn’t even begin to describe the essence she discharged. Do people sin on purpose so that they can go to hell and escape her?’

‘Perhaps the only way to break free of her is to throw your blades at her.’

‘Not perhaps. It’s more than certain I will do so. I’ve an oath to fulfil, and I will complete it.’

He twisted his lips. ‘Have at it.’

Sana’a’s brow rose. ‘You approve?’

He gave her a sharp, piercing look.

It cut through her, hinting something more dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

‘At the right moment,’ he rasped, ‘you may do me a favour by keeping her out of my way. But I urge discretion.’

‘It’s the only way I know,’ she said.

‘You’ll let me know before you blade her.’ His rumble of a growl was a demand, not even a question.

She bristled. ‘If I were doing your bidding, perhaps I’d get your approval first. However, in case you didn’t realise, I am an independent operative,’ she interjected to his annoyance, which flashed in those silver eyes.

She ignored it and went on. ‘Meanwhile, I’ll avoid all other trouble by keeping busy in the arena.’

Killen studied Sana’a for a beat and nodded as if coming to an internal decision.

‘Do that.’

She narrowed her eyes, glanced at his pulsing hawkstone, and twisted her lips. ‘A man used to getting his way. Not with me, though. I bite. But for now, I’ll let this sābər rattling between us play out.’

He huffed and jerked his chin at her. ‘You’d know. I enjoyed watching you fight. You have a rare sort of talent.’

‘Oh?’ she asked, intrigued by his sustained interest in her craft.

‘You and your blades are one. You move them with a natural grace and flow. I’ve never seen anything like it.’

‘Like I said before, it seems you haven’t gone out much,’ Sana’a said with a small smile.

‘Still think of me as country bumpkin?’

He said with a low growl, like thunder raking over a flaming desert. It was as if a fierce and consuming blaze lay dormant within him, waiting to be unleashed. ‘I call it as I see it.’

‘I can tell I’m not included in your good books, my lady.’

‘Nada. If you were even attempting to do so, I’d burn down my library.’

He sat back in his chair with an enigmatic smile. ‘Why is it Sana’a, that every time we speak, there’s always a battle of wits?’

‘Because there’s so much enjoyment to be gained from such conflict. In our last encounter, all your wits but one went limping off.’

‘I’d say you were the one that limped away without your prize.’

She looked away, biting her tongue, her eyes dancing. ‘I’m surprised that you’re still talking, sire. Your beak keeps flapping, but no one is listening.’

‘Oh, you’re all ears, alright. Especially when I tell you what I want from you.’

She surpassed another smile. ‘Are you sure? Even after my attempt on you?’

Killen continued to stare at Sana’a, his eyes dark as he weighed her. ‘Nada, for I recognise that you are a force to be reckoned with.’

‘Is that so?’ Sana’a turned to face him, challenging him.

‘Naam,’ he said, tapping the glowing lodestone on his forehead. ‘My trusty hawkstone has convinced me to ask you for one favour.’

‘You do not approve of its wisdom?’

‘I have doubts, given you are formidable and will carry an oath to its conclusion, so I dare say I never want to be in your crosshairs. Also, you’re the kind of woman who can speak in daggers and every word stabs.’

‘Didn’t think you were a man mired in fear.’

‘I’m not, for my lodestone tells me if I’m in mortal danger.’

‘What does it say about me now?’

‘It isn’t sending alarms out, so that’s something. Here’s my proposition.’

‘Go on, but keep in mind people don’t just come into my life and stay. They need to earn their slot,’ Sana’a sniped, keen to maintain the ruse that she’d no agenda to snare him.

He leaned in closer, his silver eyes fixed on her face.

A palpable energy charged the air between them with electricity. It was cogent and added to the deep rumble of his words. ‘I would like you to become my kísímí.’

Killen cocked his head as he waited for Sana’a’s reaction.

The Switchblade didn’t give much away.

Her remarkable eyes sliced away from him, lingering on the flames in the hearth.

Giving him license to study her, eyes flicking over her thick, lush hair, which she’d let down since her fight. His fingers thrummed with the need to run his hands through its dark waves shot with streaks of gold.

The fire next to her flared, illuminating her vapour-like tattoos.

The ink was etched into ancient Shotelai words that transformed into blades, swords, and daggers. They flowed up her arms and under her collar, appearing and disappearing like a living artwork on her skin.

He stared at them, at her and dragged in a breath filled with her fierce essence. A metallic tang was in the air, as if she had been breathing flames and steel. Adding to the rage underlying the intensity of her lifeblood.

His cock hardened.

Fokk Kione was right. Shining through her features was an otherworldly beauty—so visceral that it seared.

‘Nada.’

She’d swivelled her head, and her eyes blazed, unwavering in their fierceness.

The rejection hit to the core, and Killen shifted in discomfort. ‘Why?’

‘You’re complicated.’

‘How so?’

‘Feudalism, dynastic threats, family discord. In a cutthroat empire of ruthless marauders, whose rulers were the demise of my people. Nothing I want to come close to. All I want is to win schills and get near to your great-aunt. Once I’m rid of her, I’ll leave Katánē. But why me? I’m still that bitch who wanted you dead.’

Her essence was of iron and steel and the unexpected scent of a desert peony blooming early in the morning. It gave off an evocative tang that he laced his tongue around.

Her leaned in even more, his expression a smoulder of will. ‘You’re not Katánian. You’re not set and narrow-minded in your ways. Your combat method is unconventional. If I work with a local fight master, I’ll set myself up to fail. To win in sābər koya bouts and prove myself as a distinct type of Kíríga, I need an unseen type of fighting style. You have the added advantage of objectivity and external perception. You perceive an unconventional battleground. You use techniques we can’t fathom, and your galaxy-wide knowledge means you discern strengths and weaknesses where we Katánians cannot. You can disorient and rout the enemy by blending in and taking him by surprise with tactics honed from your vast experience.’

She pushed her head back, wariness flitting across her face. ‘I still don’t understand what’s in it for me. Like I said, I’ve no issue with you, Sire, so I don’t need to be in your presence longer than I have already. My vexation is only with Kalila and possibly her son.’

Killen leaned in. ‘Maybe I can find ways of bringing you two close. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.’

‘A quid pro quo.’

‘I’ll pay you well for it.’

‘How much?’

He sat back in thought before speaking with caution. ‘Name your price.’

She dragged her eyes from his and gazed into the distance. When she spoke, it was slow, as if she was forming her words from cautious thought. ‘A quiet, uninterrupted place to train. A shipload of gold and jewels to help my people find a world to settle in. A seat at your System-wide trade bargaining table for our people, for all the resources we lost. Last but not least, your great-aunt’s head and all her koyas against the flat of my shotel.’

He reared his back, his eyes glittering. ‘Woman, you are savage.’

‘I just happen to know my worth. Plus tax.’

He let out a laugh as her lips twitched. ‘I like your attitude. And you drive a hard bargain. Some of that is reparation, which is fair. I’ll discuss that aspect with my advisors,’ he said, flicking an eye to the shadows of Kaxim and Kione in the doorway. ‘But the rest is certain, and my word is bond.’

She gave him a long, considered look. ‘You’d better schill up. Know this: Kalila’s demise at my blades will be slow, protracted, and extensive. She will feel every nick and slice of my SHärds, and I will flay in so many ways that she will scream for mercy for hours before I let her go into the merciful embrace of Kehenna’s abyss. Will you stand in my way?’

He flicked his eyes over her face, meeting her steely gaze with amusement. ‘Not unless it disrupts my purpose, and to be honest, I wouldn’t dare. Sana’a of the Shotelai, if I meet all your terms, what shall it be?’

She extended out her hand and clasped his larger hand with conviction. ‘We’ll have freakin’ deal.’

Killen squeezed her smaller palm, which led to an intuitive leap in his desire. He let go, working his klaw to hide his mixed feelings.

A wave of triumph passed through him at having clinched the Sana’a as his kísímí. At the same time, he felt some trepidation at being in her presence for the next few weeks.

He numbed his emotions as he reached out a hand to gesture to Kaxim, an invitation to draw close.

The imperial Krypós hulk prowled toward the pair.

Killen served his King’s Armourer with a chin jerk. ‘The Switchblade has agreed to my madcap idea,’ he said.

Kaxim lifted a brow, and after a beat, Killen swung his gaze to Sana’a, giving her a keen look. ‘You’re not planning to blade him, are you?’

‘Not anytime soon,’ she said with a sweet smile.

His eyes flickered. ‘Sawa, keep it that way, and we’ll be all good.’

‘Where can we find a quiet venue?’ Killen asked.

‘There’s a place that’s yours by decree, Kíríga,’ his First Armourer murmured. ‘It’s hidden away from prying eyes, the perfect spot for our training. It’s on the outskirts of Kos, high above its firmament. We’ll need to fly to it at night, as the city is filled with spies and informants, always watching and listening. If anyone discovered our intentions, it could mean dire consequences for us all. Better still, it’s secluded enough that we won’t draw unwanted attention.’

Sana’a pursed her lips for a moment in thought. ‘Sounds feasible.’

‘I’ll arrange for us to get access,’ Kaxim added. ‘Give me a few days. Until then, it’ll be bizna will be as usual with you, Switchblade, gathering more freakin’ koya at the arena. We’ll return to the army camp and send word to you at the íkhara when ready.’