Scalechaser wish wielder.., p.11
Scalechaser (Wish Wielder Bonds), page 11
“Hey, gorgeous. If I’d known you were coming by, I would have asked Ian to at least give me a fighting chance. The man’s practically a beast.”
Whitetail quirked her lips and couldn’t keep from speaking up before Hayden had the chance to. “Aren’t you a slayer? You fight beasts for a living.”
“Yeah, but I’m never dumb enough to do it alone.” He walked over to a rack and placed the sword next to some others, then found a towel and dabbed the sweat off his face. “What brings you two here this morning? Shouldn’t you be off chasing ruks or something?”
“Whitetail decided that instead of hiking, she wanted to come and admire the view,” Hayden stated, letting her eyes linger on multiple men.
“Oh yeah? See anything you like?”
Whitetail’s grin grew. “Perhaps I do. I wish to watch a few more spars before I make any final decisions, though.”
“Well, I certainly see something I want,” Hayden said, biting her lip as she eyed Jaxlin longingly.
Jaxlin’s eyes grew wide, accompanied by a playful smile. “You don’t eye me like that in public very often. Let me guess: It’s because I lost, isn’t it? You find my utter lack of skill completely irresistible.”
“Completely,” Hayden said, stepping forward to kiss him on the cheek. “Any brute can win at swordplay, but only a real man accepts his defeat.”
Jaxlin grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close. “Is that the only kiss I get?”
He leaned down to kiss her on the lips once, twice, then pulled back and nuzzled his sweaty hair against her cheek. She squealed, pushing him away, but he just laughed and kissed her again.
“You two are disturbingly beautiful,” Whitetail said, then took a step away from them. “You should go enjoy the day together.”
Hayden broke from Jaxlin’s kiss. “Whitetail, I’m not leaving you today. You need me.”
“You know, surprisingly, I’ve lasted nineteen years without needing to rely on anyone to keep my emotions in check. I believe I can survive a day.” Whitetail winked and turned her back on them.
Hayden tried to follow, but Jaxlin stopped her. “You heard the boss. I get you to myself today.”
Whitetail lost herself in the crowd of training guards. A few men and women sparred with swords but she found it more interesting when they used other weapons. Apart from the swords, the other training weapons seemed to be made of wood or carved from some sort of animal bone. They were durable and could cause a bruise but were not easily used as something deadly.
One man wielded a crafted halberd while another used a simple wooden club. She even saw a couple women shooting slingshots at a target, but instead of throwing rocks, they launched what looked like small brown balls covered in spikes. Whitetail was fascinated by those because she recognized the balls as the shells of a creature called a graklon.
The variety of equipment provided to Swiftden’s city guard amazed her. She supposed in a world full of strange beasts, they needed to know how to defend against anything.
She wandered aimlessly around the training field. In the center of the grassy expanse, small white flags outlined the edges of numerous sparring rings. A dirt track wove around the field with wooden posts marking intervals for various races. Straw dummies were propped near the edge of the forest with red targets painted on their heads and chests while archers, spear throwers, and other ranged fighters practiced their aim.
“Elandavina,” she said in wonder.
She stopped to watch a group of guards sprinting down the track trying to match pace with a bodoberon, a large canine roughly the size of Caizer when it rose onto its hind legs. Bodoberons were the fastest land creatures in Leidona and were often used as racing companions as a result.
“Min cinra,” a deep voice said, agreeing with her awe.
Whitetail turned toward the man beside her. He wore a guard’s uniform: a chainmail tunic beneath a black leather jerkin with a heraldry of blue and yellow swords stitched near the shoulders. He had brown hair and a friendly face. She recognized him as the man Jaxlin had been sparring.
“You’re Rizahdie’s friend, aren’t you?” he asked.
She tilted her head at the unfamiliar title. “Rizahdie?”
“Jaxlin Rizahdie?”
“Oh, yes. And Jaxlin said your name was Ian?” she asked. “Sorry, he didn’t mention a surname.”
“That’s okay. Ian’s fine,” he confirmed with a slight bow of his head. “And you are?”
“Whitetail.”
“Felavin, Verelle Whitetail,” he said, giving her the formal greeting used among the clans in Solenvale.
She blinked in surprise. Other than Hayden, she had never known anyone from Leidona who could speak her native tongue. “Are you Solenvian?”
“No,” he said with a polite smile. “But my grandmother was. I don’t have enough of Jacovan’s blood in me to be considered one of his Heirs.”
She met his gaze and knew it was the truth: his pupils were circular.
Stories claimed that in the past, anyone with a blood relation to Jacovan within three generations had the potential to be born with the eyes of a beast. Now, however, a child would only carry the curse if both their parents had it as well. Preserving Jacovan’s bloodline had been one of the main reasons Bane’s Barrier was built along the country’s border. Not only did it protect Solenvians from accidentally straying away from their homeland without a bondmate, but it also prevented outsiders from entering and further polluting the population.
Whitetail nodded slowly. “Ah, that explains it. I wondered how the Swiftden guards justified letting an unstable monster into their ranks. I suppose they didn’t.”
Ian frowned. “Not everyone here is biased enough to think all the Solenvians they come across are unstable monsters. Some would gladly be willing to train with your people.”
“It isn’t biased if it’s true,” Whitetail said bleakly.
Ian raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re unstable?”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” she replied without hesitation, then smirked when his mouth twisted warily. “Lighten up, cousin. Instability is a part of life. But don’t worry, I haven’t lost control of my jacobeast yet.”
Ian pursed his lips. “Well, that’s something, I guess.” He blinked, brows drawing together in confusion. “Did you just call me ‘cousin’?”
“Yes.” Her smirk broadened into a grin. “You’re quarter-blood and speak Solenvian, so I figured that’s enough for you to practically be considered a part of the family.”
“But what if my grandmother wasn’t even from your clan?”
Whitetail shrugged. “We’re all part of Jacovan’s bloodline. It doesn’t really matter which of his children we descended from.”
“Then, with that mentality, doesn’t everyone in Solenvale wind up marrying their cousin?”
Whitetail laughed as his eyes widened in mortification. “Very distant cousins. Besides, it’s the only way to keep Jacovan’s bloodline alive. The world forbid it ever dies out. If it did, who would be left to grant everyone’s wishes?”
“All right, you’ve got me there,” Ian said helplessly, “but I’m still not convinced all Solenvians are as precarious as you say. My grandmother never lost more than a fraction of her nerve to the jacobeast, and you don’t seem much different from anyone else around here.”
Whitetail’s lips twitched. “Appearances can be deceiving.”
Ian tilted his head in consideration. He lifted his hand into the air as if requesting to lead her somewhere. “So, don’t let me judge you based on appearances.”
Whitetail eyed his long fingers and calloused palm. When her hands remained at her sides, he explained, “I’m a wish wielder. I can sense threat levels and determine if someone is potentially dangerous to the city.”
With a flick of her eyes, Whitetail spotted a black flask chained against his belt. Of course he was a wish wielder. She should have guessed as much. Most people indebted to the Father’s Council were distributed to random cities across Leidona, ordered to provide protection against the wild beasts plaguing the land. There might on occasion be a wish wielder used as a political asset or put into the personal service of a lord or lady, but the majority of wish wielders were given a guard post.
“That’s a rather unusual gift to wish for, especially considering how steep the cost is.”
Ian’s expression was smooth; he seemed unoffended by her blunt statement. “I’m pretty sure everyone’s wish winds up a little different than they initially intended. I’ve been a soldier all my life and have seen more death than I care to remember. I asked the Father’s Council to provide me a way to warn people before danger struck.” He shrugged. “If they hadn’t granted my request, I was to become a foot soldier in King Roden’s army, where I would be dispatched to various cities to help fight beasts. So, really, the cost was the same for me whether I received my wish or not. Either way, I’d be fighting monsters and protecting people for the rest of my life.”
Whitetail set her palm within his, and a gentle glow rose in his eyes. Nothing else happened as far as she could tell. There was no tingling or electrical charge in the air. No waft of a breeze or buzz in her mind indicating he was using magic. The only reason she knew he’d accomplished anything was from the satisfied grin lifting the corners of his mouth.
“Like I said, you’re no different from anyone around here.”
He released her hand, and a chuckle swelled in her throat as she forced her smile to widen more than necessary.
“Well, that’s a shame. Monotony can grow tiresome.”
“Let me ask you something, cousin,” Ian said slowly, and Whitetail’s eyes crinkled at the concession. “Why is it hard for you to believe the Swiftden guard would accept a Solenvian when you’re off running around with slayers? They kill all manner of creatures for a living, including your kind, yet you’re accepted among them.”
“I would hardly say they accept me, but a few do consider me a friend, so that helps.”
“It also probably helps that you’ve fought with them and still haven’t transitioned,” he added.
Whitetail studied his expression. “How do you know I’ve fought with them?”
“It’s the way you’re watching everything here like you want to join in.” He waved a hand toward the training guards. “And you have this look in your eye that says you’re confident you’d be good at whatever you tried.”
“Good? I would be great at everything I tried. I tend to think of myself as more or less a demigod.”
Ian nodded, not batting an eye at her joke. “That could probably be a legitimate claim. You are a descendant of the man who fathered an entirely new race of people.” He paused and rubbed his chin in consideration. “I’ve never tried sparring against a demigod before. I wonder how I’d do.”
Whitetail continued to grin. “Do you wish to find out?”
Ian led her to the armory and gestured at the array of weapons. “If I’m going to fight someone of your caliber, it needs to be at your best. What are you most comfortable using?”
“A spear.”
“Spear it is.”
He found a long wooden pole and handed it to her. It didn’t have a tip, but the shaft felt familiar enough. Ian grabbed a matching staff, then found an empty plot of land surrounded by little white flags.
“Ready when you are,” he said, standing in position.
Whitetail shifted into a fighting stance. Her hands twisted, tightening around the staff. The long shaft of wood balanced easily in her grip. Its weight reminded her of the last time she had held a spear.
Her thoughts flashed to the Aevelli Mountains, and her heartbeat quickened at the memory. The long shaft in her hands had braced against the ground as it plunged into the beast above her with such force it snapped in two. Sweat formed on her palms as she felt the similar shaft in her hands now.
Ian took her stance as a signal to start. He ran at her with his staff held to the side like a lance. Whitetail saw him coming, but she couldn’t move. She looked at the wood in her hands and saw a spear—the spear—and the memory of what that spear had done turned her to stone.
In her mind, she saw her sister, both as the jacobeast that haunted her nights and the woman whose eyes were always with her. Then she saw a spear covered in their blood.
A sharp jab to the shoulder told her Ian hadn’t noticed her delay. Her whole body jerked with the motion, and Ian spun his staff to come at her again. This time he realized she hadn’t moved, and he lowered the tip in time to prevent it from harming her. The motion caused him to stagger to the side, and he dropped the wooden shaft as he tripped over his own feet.
He righted himself and looked at her, confusion shadowing his features. “You know, sparring works best if you try not to get hit.”
“I can’t do this,” she whispered.
“What happened to being great at everything?” he asked, brushing grass and dirt off his pants.
“I was wrong.”
Her arms grew weak, and her body trembled, not from magic, but nerves. She held the staff out for Ian to take, not wanting to be in contact with the murderous weapon any longer. He walked over and pushed it back toward her.
“I’m not sure you were,” he said. “Your posture looked good. You clearly know how to hold yourself. Just try to move your feet next time.”
Whitetail slammed the staff into his chest. “I said I cannot do this!”
It hit him in the face, causing a bloody crack to form on his lip.
“Ow, hey! What was that for?” He lowered the weapon and dabbed his mouth with a finger.
She blanched with a pang of guilt. “I’m sorry. I-I’m not as strong as I believed.”
Ian licked his lip, then spit out blood. He looked at Whitetail out of the corner of his eye. “Is this what you meant about being unstable?”
“Please don’t say anything to Jaxlin.”
He was still touching his mouth with tender fingers. “Worried the slayers won’t want you if they find out you’re afraid to fight?”
It was more like she didn’t want Hayden to find out she had panicked. She would never live it down.
“Please,” she said firmly.
Ian stared at her long and hard, then sighed reluctantly. “All right, I’ll keep your secret. After all, we’re cousins now, right? What else is family for?”
Whitetail gave him a small appreciative smile.
Her eyes twitched toward the shaft he held. In his hands, it looked like nothing more than a plain wooden rod. It barely even resembled the spear she had used back then.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It felt as if she were walking through life on a lake of splintered ice, and it was only a matter of time before the ground beneath her shattered.
Chapter 8
Wind blew through the window, making Gage wince as it drifted over his chest and back. It burned his skin. Since when did the wind burn? He brought his flask up to his lips, draining the last of his watered-down magic.
He hadn’t expected to go through it so quickly. The diluted rukasai had quelled his need less than he’d anticipated. Even after drinking it, he still felt a hint of the tingling cravings. As a result, he’d accidentally consumed more than he should have in an effort to make them stop. Now he was stuck waiting for Reedwalker to buy more from the supplier in this town before they continued on their journey.
Gage closed the window. The inn room instantly grew muggy, but the burning coursing over his flesh died down to a slight ache. He sat on the floor as Lavi scampered around him.
I need to be more careful. He sighed. When Reedwalker returns with more magic, I should ask him to hold on to it for me. He hated admitting he wasn’t strong enough to restrain himself, but he knew it was true.
Lavi touched his bare arm with her cold wet nose. He flinched away. Since the rukasai had dulled his burning for the moment, she didn’t hurt him as much as the wind had, but anything that came into contact with his skin still felt itchy and unpleasant. Even the sling he continued to wear around his left arm felt more like a frayed rope rubbing against his neck than a smooth cotton cloth.
Lavi whined at his rejection.
“Sorry, girl, I wasn’t trying to be harsh. I just need some space for a little bit.”
As he waited for Reedwalker to arrive, he tried to calculate how much rukasai would be safe to drink every day without drawing the attention of his old companions. It wasn’t much. He shifted his shoulders to readjust his itchy sling. He would need Reedwalker to dish out exactly how much he should drink so his cravings wouldn’t get the best of him again.
Reedwalker returned a few hours later. “Where’s your shirt?” he asked the instant he arrived.
“Hey,” Gage said by way of greeting. “I took it off by the bed.”
Reedwalker stepped toward the bed, then threw the shirt at Gage. “Put it on. We’re leaving.”
Gage grimaced before tugging it over his head. It was a simple tunic, plain cotton with no special stitching or embellishments. It was loose like a night shirt, but the fabric was heavy and weighed uncomfortably against his shoulders.
As he carefully slid his injured arm into the sleeve, he took note of the urgency in Reedwalker’s tone. “Are we in a hurry?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Your wish wielder friends.”
“They’re here?” Gage thought of his empty rukasai flask and wondered if they had been able to track him because of how quickly he’d finished it.
“No.”
An annoyed groan rose up Gage’s throat at having to constantly pry details out of the man. “I don’t understand.”
Reedwalker thrust a thick parchment into his hands. “Your friends decided to gain help from the authorities. That is a bounty post with your face on it.”
“Oh.”
That was fast. Cole must not have picked up on his rukasai trail after all. They had hunted strays for a lot longer without Ravenelle ever calling for aid from the locals.
A thick cloak settled over Gage’s shoulders. His arm jerked as he was yanked across the room, but he pulled himself free before Reedwalker could lead him out the door.
