All the Stars and Teeth(49)

“Okay, now I really think we should go,” Ferrick urges under his breath. This time, I agree.

Beads of sweat dot Bastian’s brow, but he’s yet to reach for his sword. I catch another metallic whiff of blood beneath the false, soft spices, and pray it’s not the smell of our future.

The roulette wheels cease their clacking and go silent.

“I’m afraid I’ve no time to trade,” Bastian says, keeping his voice firm. “And it seems as though I’ve wasted yours.”

Blarthe snorts. It’s a deep, guttural sound that’s strange on his rosy lips. The lips of a man who has stolen his youth. Then his scarred face contorts, and I anticipate the first sign of danger.

“Perhaps you don’t have any time,” he says, “but the princess might.”

I unsheathe my dagger. Magic flares within me, white-hot and ready.

“Stars, Princess,” Bastian grumbles under his breath. “Does everyone in this blasted kingdom know your face?”

Several patrons rise to their feet as Blarthe chokes on a throaty laugh. From beneath the bar, he draws two wrinkled posters, one with Ferrick’s illustrated face and the other with mine. WANTED ALIVE is written in thick letters across the top of each. And though Ferrick gulps, my lips tighten as I look at the image of me—they’ve drawn me too thin, and my nose too sharp. And I certainly don’t scowl as deeply as the depiction staring back at me.

“Arida’s High Animancer sent an entire fleet this morning,” Blarthe says. “They scoured the whole town, looking for a little lost princess and her fiancé. Said they were fugitives. They’re probably in Enuda by now.” He motions to the several men who surround us. No longer needing to be concealed, I toss back the hood of my cape to look directly into the eyes of the man whose soul my magic craves.

“How much does this say they’re offering for information on the princess?” Blarthe peers down at the poster. “Ah, yes. Twenty gold pieces, just for information.” His attention turns to the men who now surround him. “Give it a season, and the price will triple. And I’m sure we can find a way for the princess to earn her keep in the meantime.”

I spit at Blarthe’s feet.

“Run, Amora.” Ferrick’s hand is on my back. “We’ll hold them off.”

But I won’t flee. Bastian’s scanning the room, most likely in search of a clever way out of this mess, and the increasing layer of sweat on his face and neck tells me he’s drawn the same conclusion I have. We’re going to have to fight.

And if there’s one thing I learned in my years of training with Casem and his father, it’s to never let your opponent strike first.

I tighten my grip around my dagger’s hilt and throw myself onto the counter.

The quiet whooshing of hastily drawn blades rings in my ears, following the clashing of metal as Bastian parries a quick blow. Most patrons bolt at the first sign of violence, leaving only a handful of men inside.

“Anyone who brings me the girl can consider their debt paid!” Blarthe’s yell bleeds into the walls and fills the room.

I ram my blade into his shoulder and he snarls. He manages to snag a fistful of my hair and drag me down; if I weren’t so vain, I might consider slicing it away. Instead, I dig my fingernails into his forearm hard enough to draw his blood. I free one hand, grip my dagger, then wrench the blade from his shoulder as uncleanly as I can manage. Blood pools through his shirt, and my blade bathes in it.

“Damned whore!” Blarthe lashes out at my face, and I barely dodge the blow. He rears back to kick my stomach so hard that I slam into the stone counter, the breath stolen from my lungs. For a moment, I see stars. Magic is what draws me back into reality, lulling me with sweet promises.

It’s as though it whispers to me: We can get out of here. All we have to do is kill him. Aren’t you hungry, Amora?

And gods, I’m starving.

Ferrick’s on the other side of the counter. He leans in and offers me his left hand. Because I don’t have time to dig through my satchel to find the bones I need, I wipe my blade on the back of my hand, saving Blarthe’s blood, and quickly reach over and slice off two of Ferrick’s fingers. He barely winces before I snarl at him to go help Bastian, who’s in the middle of sparring with three men at once.

There’s a small fire in the back of the shop, and now I have all the supplies I need.

I sheathe my blade and dive over the countertop. Blarthe catches my foot at the last second and yanks me back. My face hits the stone and my mouth fills with blood. I can’t choke on it or spit it up; I can’t mix my blood with Blarthe’s. So instead, I swallow it back down.

Mindful of Ferrick’s severed fingers, I grip the opposite edge of the counter and pull myself forward to kick Blarthe’s face. My heel catches his nose and I tumble to the floor, stirring up dust around me.

“Whatever you’re doing, do you mind doing it a little quicker?” Bastian lifts his sword in front of him in time to knock another one back. One man lies bleeding and choking beside him while Ferrick stands on top of a fallen roulette wheel, dealing with two more. He wields his rapier with skill, though it’s nothing compared to the sharp swords and daggers the others use with murderous intent.

One of us will die if I don’t move quickly.

I’m faster on my feet than Blarthe, who struggles to pull himself over the counter. Magic rattles my bones and pulses through my veins. It fills every inch of me with shadows that whisper sweet promises, telling me I can do anything I dream.