Defend the Dawn (Defy the Night #2)(105)

I cry out in surprise, then throw up a hand when she swings a fist at my face. Pain explodes behind my eyes, then in my forearm. I fall back involuntarily. Too much is happening all at once. It doesn’t help that she’s pummeling me like she wants to break every bone in my body. I’m lucky that she hits like a child, all weak strikes with bony knuckles.

“Stop!” I cry. She might be weak, but she’s quick, and I can’t seem to catch her wrists or hold her off. I’m thinking of the number of times Corrick said I should take some lessons from the weapons master, and the equal number of times I told him it could wait. “Stop—stop it!”

Finally, my thoughts catch up, and I swing a punch at her midsection. She’s practically weightless, and I feel ribs when my fist connects. She grunts in pain, then slips to the side.

I all but throw myself to my feet in the shadowed hallway.

Again, she’s quick. She leaps off the floor and tackles my back. Her fingernails dig into my arms, and I struggle to take a step forward.

“Corrick!” I shout, just as I feel her break the skin. “Guards! Help!”

The girl on my back hisses into my ear. “I’m going to kill you all.”

Well, now I know why he kept that door locked.

I throw an elbow back and hear her grunt. It hardly dislodges her. I stagger forward, bearing her weight.

A light flares to life in front of me, and I gasp. A lantern.

I gasp in relief.

But it’s not Corrick. It’s not the guards.

It’s Marchon, with Gwyn at his back. The flickering candlelight turns their faces into nightmarish caricatures.

Especially when Marchon plucks the girl off me, twisting her arms behind her back until she squeals in pain. Gwyn points a crossbow at me.

I’m frozen in place. I don’t know what’s happening.

I raise my hands. “Please,” I gasp. My arms are stinging from where the girl clawed at me. “Please. I don’t know—”

“How did she get out?” Gwyn demands.

Before I can even answer, Marchon swings the lantern. The padlock is visible on the ground.

Both their eyes shift back to me.

“She picked the lock,” Marchon says. “Sablo!” he shouts.

The young woman—because it is a young woman, I can see now, rail thin in clothes that all but hang from her frame—tries to kick at Marchon, squirming in his grasp. “I’m going to kill all of you,” she snaps. “Oren will set fire to this ship and then you’ll—” She breaks off with a gasp when Marchon tightens his grip.

Oren. Oren Crane? I swallow and look at Gwyn. “What’s going on?” I say. “Who is she?”

Her expression is full of sorrow and also resignation. She sighs, then gestures with the crossbow. “Walk, Tessa. Rian’s going to have to decide what to do. Bring her along, Marchon.”

The young woman grunts and struggles. “I’m going to slit Rian’s throat with a—”

“Enough.” Marchon clamps a hand over her mouth—then lets go with a yelp. “She bit me!”

The woman does one better. She punches him right in the throat.

Marchon chokes and drops her. She sprints away.

I want to do the same, but Gwyn steps closer with the crossbow. “Don’t, Tessa.”

“Who is she?” I say again. “Gwyn, who is she?”

The girl disappears into the darkness—but a moment later, there’s a thump. The girl lets out a brief shriek, followed by a low sob of pain. Figures slide out of the shadows, and I recognize Sablo’s large form, pinning her more effectively than Marchon did.

She’s cursing a blue streak, and she spits at Gwyn when they come near.

Then she starts coughing. Her breathing turns to a wheeze, and her struggles against Sablo’s grip seem to turn more panicked.

“Let her go!” I cry. “She can’t breathe.”

He glances at Gwyn, who shrugs, and he loosens his grip fractionally.

The girl catches her breath, then swings her head back like she wants to crack him in the face with her skull. Sablo jerks back, then tightens his grip.

“My father should have cut off more than your tongue,” she says roughly. “I know what I’ll start with when I get the chance.”

My father. I can’t put this together fast enough. “Your father is Oren Crane,” I say.

“He is.” She bares her teeth. “I hope he hangs Rian from the bow of his ship until the gulls peck every bit of flesh from his bones.”

I look from her to Gwyn and back to Sablo and Marchon. “Rian is keeping Oren Crane’s daughter prisoner?”

“You don’t understand,” says Gwyn. “Walk, Tessa.”

I don’t know if I can. I’m still too stunned. This is so much bigger than hidden weapons or secret letters or anything Corrick might have imagined. I just don’t know why. It’s so counter to everything I’ve learned about Rian in the last few days that I simply can’t make any of it seem reasonable in my mind.

My thoughts aren’t getting any clearer with that crossbow pointed at my chest.

Another voice speaks from the darkness. “Lower that weapon, Gwyn. We have your captain.”

Corrick. I almost sag with relief.

Gwyn doesn’t lower the weapon. If anything, she pulls closer to me, until I feel the point of the arrow against my skin. I feel every beat of my heart.