The Silver Siren (Iron Butterfly, #3)(48)

I pretended I never saw him.

A few hours later, after I had accidentally eaten most of my day’s rations out of boredom, things changed. I heard something before I saw anything—the echo of horse hooves on rock. Instantly alert, I crouched low and watched with anticipation. Six horses with riders walked single file down the pass below, still a great distance off. Five of them were dressed in metal armor ready for battle. The man in front, the one with a trimmed mustache, wore a brown wool cloak and leather gloves. Very official looking.

Movement across the way distracted me as Fenri raced from his position and down the mountain. He pointed up at me angrily and mouthed the words, Stay there! With his hands, he pointed to me and signaled me to stay put. He slid down a path to his horse tethered at the bottom of the mountain and raced off toward the village.

I watched in interest as the riders passed beneath me. The finely dressed noble rode ahead of the others, while the fighters scanned both sides of the pass. I ducked behind a large rock and waited until I couldn’t hear the sound of their horses’ hooves clapping against the rocky path.

“Hoowah,” someone called just enough to echo across the pass. I peeked over the top of my boulder and saw Gotte standing there. He looked grim and had a bow and arrow nocked, ready to release. I ducked back down as he shot the arrow into the tree closest to my hiding place. It only took a moment to spot the arrow and see the slim parchment tied to the shaft.

I pulled it down and opened up the message.

King Tieren’s men.

Stay hidden.

Of course I couldn’t obey. If someone got hurt, they might need me. I could see Gotte mutter something when he saw me run for Faraway. Like the arrow that had flown toward me, we made it quickly to our destination. At the bottom of the mountain, Faraway took off, sprinting across the field. We were still miles from the village, but I could see that the convoy of Tieren’s men would never make it that far.

My father, Odin, and Fenri were locked in battle with the five armored soldiers. Tieren’s messenger already lay dead on the ground, an arrow through his heart, his quiver of arrows scattered on the ground. The bow just missed being trampled under the horses’ feet. Odin screamed a war cry, ducking under a sword. He used his axe to swing into his opponent’s back and knock him to the ground.

Bearen was dueling with the largest of the men, but the man’s armor protected him from side blows and deflected the smaller swings. My father wasn’t as lucky—his leathers offered little protection. He was faster than the armored knight, but he was also older.

Odin was the first to go down, a sword in his stomach. Fenri let Odin’s cries of pain distract him, and he missed a parry, slipping on the wet grass.

Bearen roared as he continued battling two of the men.

Not again! I refused to lose any more to battle if I could prevent it. I darted in for the bow and picked up a few scattered arrows. I aimed to pick off each of the warriors in succession, one after another. I knew my gifting would very well lead me to lose control, but in that moment, all I cared about was saving those so important to me. I screamed in pain and frustration as I channeled that destructive power into the arrow and aimed for one man’s beating heart. Faster than I have ever done it before, I released the arrow.

Like a snuffed candle, he was gone.

Each arrow exploded with my rage upon contact. I worked my way out, focusing on those closest to me. The one who had his sword raised to stab Odin again was blasted backward as my next arrow exploded into his chest.

I curled my fingers and turned to Bearen’s attackers. One danced an intricate dance of parries and thrusts, leading my father around to expose his unprotected back to his companion. The other man saw his opening and ran forward to thrust his sword into Bearen. With an enormous magical push, I shoved my father out of the way. Unable to stop his momentum, the enemy stabbed his own comrade. Bearen used the opening to kill the other man while he was distracted. He slid his knife into the soldier’s back and held him until he fell forward to the ground dead.

Fenri had regained his footing and run over to Bearen. Only one man remained. glancing around, he ran for his horse to make a hasty escape. I should have been exhausted, falling over faint with the use of expended energy. I should have been on the verge of blacking out.

Instead, I felt alive. Powerful. And it scared me.

Odin pulled himself up and surveyed his wound. It had apparently missed any major organs. He was already ripping his vest and making a bandage. Since he wasn’t worried, I wasn’t worried.

Fenri turned to yell at me, but I was already moving away from them. I had one particular goal in mind. The messenger. The first one killed. I stared, unfeeling, at the body of the stranger. Maybe I should have felt something akin to pity but I didn’t. Instead, I focused on the leather satchel attached to his side. With a quick flick of my knife, I detached the bag and shoved it under my arm as I ran to Faraway and mounted him.

“Thalia, don’t read those,” Bearen warned, running toward me.

“I won’t if you tell me what they say. Why have you been hiding this from me? If this has something to do with the Septori, then I need to know.” I grabbed the bag and shook it in his face.

Bearen reached for the satchel and tugged it gently from me. “Once a year, he sends a messenger with men demanding that you come to Sinnendor. Every year we refuse. When you were younger he didn’t know your name, just demanded that the child of Thelonia be escorted back. A few years later, he demanded the girl child. Now he asks for you by name.”