Chapter 23

Chapter 23

‘It got out of control.’

‘You had no right. I had her.’

The kíota’s garden was deserted, shrouded in an inky blackness, the shadows playing tricks, rendering the energy in the air even more heavy and oppressive.

Killen’s eyes followed Sana’a as she paced the stone flag tiles, her metsai boots grinding and leaving marks from her heated pace.

Her face flushed with rage as she whipped around to face him, pointing a finger into his chest. ‘I had her!’

He sucked his teeth and gave her an imperceptible shake of his head. ‘Nada,khany’s, you did not. The kíma coated íkan sword K’grona was wielding, the same one Kalila commanded into her hands, was beyond lethal. A swipe from that would have turned you into black dust. It already seared you millimetres from your skin.’

Sana’a touched the wound on her shoulder and winced, still quivering with resentment.

Her eyes narrowed into angry slits. ‘You interfered even after I’d expressly asked you not to. She was in my sights. My blades would have cut through her before she struck.’

Her face contorted with rage, her eyebrows furrowed, and her lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes burned with anger, and she stared daggers at the man before her.

‘Then what? The koyas from the guards and kəthi would have cleaved you into pieces. I wasn’t going to let that happen. Besides, I still need Kalila alive. I need to uncover more about the dark íkan manipulation she’s been playing with and how it could potentially harm Katánē.’

Sana’a stopped cold. ‘What happened to our agreement? That you’d allow me to blade her at will?’

He sighed, his voice a rasp of weariness. ‘Naam, you will have your chance, just not now, until I know more about what I’m up against.’

‘So your needs superseded mine.’

‘It’s not like that, Sana’a.’

‘Sure sounds like it.’ Her hoarse murmur reverberated through the willow trees of the kíota.

The Kíríga sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, letting out an exasperated sigh. ‘Once we get what we need from her you can go to town on her. But for now, we need patience; we must first discern her game. She’s the lynchpin in all of this.’

‘Fokk off! I’d rather do a lot less sitting around playing with my thumbs and a lot more blading back.’

Killen jolted at her rage. The pressure and emotion she was placing on herself to fulfil her oath was showing.

This added to his dread as he considered why he couldn’t let her make a move based on desperation, not until he had what he required.

He shut his eyes and opened them to face her fury. ‘Can we sleep on this? Before we say more that we’ll regret?’ he rasped.

Her eyes narrowed into sharp slits, her face contorted with anger and resentment. Every muscle in her body tensed, ready to lash out at the source of her fury.

Sana’a glared at Killen, then, with a shaky breath, stalked away.

He felt the lurch in his soul and the pall of unwanted remorse.

With a growl, he let her go, knowing she needed time to process.

The following days of training were chilly, to say the least.

It didn’t help Killen had no sidekicks to turn to for relief.

Kaxim and Kione had left him with his two trainers and returned to the Sābər Hawks’ kambí to ensure the army was ready, awaiting signs of the inevitable battle.

Sana’a would not look him in the eye.

She avoided looking directly at Killen, her gaze fixed on the ground or at a point beyond his shoulders as if she refused to acknowledge his presence.

When she glanced his way, her expression was filled with anger and ice, cold and unyielding.

Her vocal instructions were sharp, icicles dripping from each word, every movement calculated and frigid.

It cut to his core, but he endured it and accepted the punishment she doled out, hoping she’d thaw in time.

One morning, Killen strode into the dining area of the kíota.

He stopped at the sight of Sana’a standing over a bowl of food, stirring it with vigour and staring into it as if willing it to implode.

‘Seems like you want to pulverise the lot,’ he rasped.

She paused and glanced up at him, her expression closed off. ‘Is this your attempt at small talk?’

‘At anything,’ he grated. ‘Whatever it’ll take to break this impasse.’

She ignored him for a beat before lifting her weary eyes to his. ‘Thing is, small talk kills me. I don’t do the insincere and forced variety.’

He jolted with emotion and the wild desire to rock her in his arms but tamped it down.

Raising a brow, he crossed his hands over his chest, leaning a hip on a counter. ‘So talk to me, real talk. What has caused your eyes to cloud over like a storm and made you treat me like shit on your shoe? I have a clue, but I’d like to hear it in your words.’

She sighed for a long moment, looking out of the expansive windows to the dawn sky above Kos.

‘Do you know what it’s like to live like a shikari with a blood oath? One that has to be fulfilled no matter the cost?’

Her voice was almost a whisper, but she continued, oblivious to how he jolted at her words. ‘Do you understand the loneliness of the life I endure? Do you have any idea of what it’s like to lie with the worst dogs in this universe? To seek the company of your fellow predators, to stalk close to them over weeks and months so you can blade them? Do you know what it’s like to survive unexpected attacks in the shadows, running from enemies and beasts hell-bent on killing you? Have you tasted the sting of hunger and the bite of cold during an endless stakeout? How about hunting your quarry for months by stealth to ambush your prey? Always living on the edge and never resting? Or watching all the freakin’ time lest your enemy sink their teeth into it?’

Their eyes met and clashed.

She continued in a monotone voice. ‘And after all that, have you come so close to your mark and had your chance to end them be snatched away?’

Killen tracked forward and, after a beat, shook his head. ‘Nada, I do not know any of those things. I meant well and pulled you out of a situation where the odds were against you.’

‘That was not your call to make.’

‘What if it was?’

His headstone blazed, and she glanced at it. ‘More insight from the hereafter?’

‘Naam, plus intel from good sources. Perhaps fate has a different journey for how your oath is to be outworked. Kalila’s demise is not nigh. Trust me, I know this. You’d have lost against the black íkan koya if you had attempted to blade her. Until we know what we’re up against, I advise you not to attempt her execution yet. However, the Hawkstone tells me your chance will come soon. So many ways to cook this goose, khany’s.’

She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment, mulling his words. Then, at the corner, the hint of a simper appeared on her lips. ‘Kalila? A goose?’

‘She’s more of a grim gorgon, complete with a serpent heart, sharp fangs, ferocious wings, and a petrifying gaze.’

Sana’a fought a smile. ‘You’re so wrong. Now I can’t unsee that.’

‘Don’t,’ he murmured. ‘We good now?’

She took her time looking into his eyes. ‘Maybe. I just need to see that the end of this fokkin’ oath is in sight.’

‘The right time is yet to come.’

She sucked her teeth and shook her head in exasperation. ‘Damn Kíríga, you speak fluent shit. Before you share more effluence, get your ass into the íkhara. I’ve got a consecutive five-strike move I’d like you to master.’

He chuckled, the sound reverberating in the room as he strolled from the room.

His eyes tracked her exit. Caught between relief that her ice wall had come down and the realisation that Sana’a was growing on him. Damn, he had no way of countering her heart strikes.

He sighed, then uttered an ancient prosaic poem to control his ratcheting emotions.

‘For the sword outwears its sheath,

And the soul wears out the breast,

And the heart must pause for breath,

For love itself to have rest.’

Killen spent the next few days alternating between the backbreaking blade sessions Sana’a put him through and nights studying the old tomes Kultur had given him.

He consulted the books, discovering íkantations that conjured new concepts on new pages unfurled by the gold tendrils, trying to figure out how to use the ancient power to solve the looming civil war.

‘I’ve just realised that as well as mastering the three types of íkan, there are levels to its prowess. Khiron’s trio of mystery koyas are the keys to unlocking them all,’ he told Sana’a one evening. ‘But making sense of how to find them and what to do with them gives me a non-stop headache.’

The pair sat at the dining table, wolfing down a meal they’d both prepped after a particularly exhausting sparring day.

Sana’a spooned more farro salad sprinkled with blue cheese, pine nuts, and wild tomatoes onto his plate, topping her plate as well. ‘’Tis natural to feel that way. But over time, scarred but wiser, you’ll stumble through. You’re not quite a master, but you have enough mastery to ensure the job is done. Something about you that tells me you’ll prevail.’

‘Will I?’

‘Your powers are growing,’ Sana’a murmured. ‘ You’re a quick learner, but the hawkstone is even faster.’

‘True. It’s freakin’ enhancing the skills you’re teaching me to counter, deflect and manipulate. But I need the axillae to better command my kätu and combine it with speed to draw away the dark íkan. So where the hell is this wise man we’re meant to be waiting for?’

‘When the student is -’ she quipped in a dry tone.

He gave her a lazy, slow smile. ‘Drop it, khany’s. I’ve heard it before.’

‘Patience Kíríga. He will not tarry. He will be right on time.

‘He’d better be, for I sense the tide is rising against us, against me. This is a war of mystical ideologies, a battle for the soul of this world.’

Her eyes met his in a quizzical glance. ‘Us?’

He gave her a long look. ‘Why not us?’

She blinked and looked away, and he sensed her doubts about him and her zeal for her mission creep in once more.

Killen’s eyes lingered on the Sana’a as she moved around the tidy kitchen.

Despite their divergent goals, she’d become his sounding board these past few weeks.

She had a quiet innate ability to cut through bullshit and give him the exact words he needed to keep his spirits buoyed up.

Over time, he was amazed and in awe, even in some fear of her.

For she was a soul of caged fury.

Yet, under her sometimes icy, badass facade was a warm, kind, intelligent woman. Her beauty aside, she had a sense of humour and the most snide of tongues.

While beautiful, she was not flirtatious; she didn’t initiate conversations, and apart from their initial meet, she’d never unleashed any signs of seduction or a desire to lead him on.

She’d made it evident she was not in need of male attention, not from him or any other man around her.

Instead, she shared with him a wealth of blade insight from her heart, without holds barred, which only added to his esteem for her.

‘Sounds like you need a break.’

Her voice broke through his reverie.

He sliced her eyes to her. ‘Maybe I do. And so do you.’

During training, it’d become clear Sana’a was trying to hide the apparent pain plaguing her more and more each day.

By the end of their sessions, her body was strained, with a furrowed brow and tight lips.

At times, she let out soft grunts of effort, the small whimpers of discomfort she tried to stifle.

When she spoke, her voice was taut as if holding back a cry of agony.

Yet she carried herself with a careful grace as if she were balancing a secret burden on her shoulders that threatened to topple her at any moment.

But her eyes remained implacable, refusing to betray even a hint of the suffering that coursed through her body.

‘Shall we sneak out and explore Katánē?’ she asked, half smiling. ‘This place is getting claustrophobic.’

Killen was hit with a surge of pleasure. ‘Lets. Kultur is probably deep asleep by now.’

They hastened the rest of their meal and worked fast to clear the table.

Before tracking to their separate chambers to change from their training clothes into clean gear suitable for their rare outing.

Sana’a emerged from her room in a silver-sheathed tunic with leggings and knee-high boots, accented with a belt and metallic shoulder detail.

In the corridor, Killen eyes heated as they flicked over her curves. ‘I like,’ he rasped.

‘Not so bad yourself,’ she commented on his thick crushers, fitted pants, and close-fit tee, which emphasised his colossal physique.

Their gazes clashed again before they stealthed themselves in their cloaks, Killen in a kätu infused hood and Sana’a wrapping her metsai cape around her.

Striding through the abandoned kíota, they soon were outside and launched into the skies, powering towards the glittering marble city below.