The Cursed Heir

Chapter One

Maskire flipped his sword around and advanced on Cassie with a black-toothed grin.

That was enough time given to assessment. Fair to say, they meant to do her harm. And Cassie would be remiss if she did not return the favor.

With fingers weaker than she liked, Cassie whipped her own blade from its scabbard and held it out to defend herself.

Maskire paused, surprise lighting in his eyes. "You steal that from a soldier?" he asked, looking uncertain for the first time.

The other bandit snorted. "This far west?" he said. "We're a long way from the camps, and she's fresh to the woods. It's pretty, though." He studied it. "Must have cost something."

Cassie lifted her chin. "Maybe Marius banished me for it," she said, forcing steel into her voice. "Maybe I'm a harder catch than you want to risk."

The man behind Maskire raised his eyebrows skeptically. "And maybe you have a friend in the Guard," he replied, sounding uncowed by the possibility. "Put the sword down, lady. Wouldn't want to dirty your cloth of gold."

"And if I do?" she challenged him. "What then?"

He shrugged. "It's your first offense, so maybe...we take an ear. Maybe both, since you're apparently hard of hearing already. Drop the sword."

She would not. What was the point of all the training, what was the point of her having to flee for it, if she surrendered at the first chance she had of testing her skills?

A thin whistle, followed by a hoarse grunt of pain, distracted them all. Maskire was suddenly clutching at the skin between his neck and shoulder, a red stain slowly seeping up between his fingers. And behind him, wedged in a tree with such force that it still quivered, was the arrow that had struck him.

A woman hardly older than Cassie, dressed entirely in deer hide, bow in one hand and fresh arrow in the other, appeared a few paces to her left. Was she here to attack Cassie or the bandits? She gave little indication of help or menace, focused on getting her next arrow on the string. Her movements were economical, precise. The first shot had been no accident.

Cassie did not care why the interruption had happened. She could use the distraction to her advantage. To survive.

Avery's voice echoed in her head, insistent and loud: Fight!

But fight who? Maskire was the easiest target, but he was not the biggest threat. The other bandit could kill her in the time it would take to dispatch Maskire. But if she attacked the other bandit—or the archer—

The other bandit slapped the knife from Cassie's hand faster than she could decide. It flew into the undergrowth, and then the bandit was driving his own blade at her with a smile, while Maskire groaned in pain somewhere in the distance.

The one talent Cassie had perfected in the earliest days of her training was ducking in fear, and she dove out of the way, hoping to evade the bandit's sword long enough to find her own in the deep fallen leaves. The deep bruise she rediscovered along her ribs as she leapt had her wincing, slowed her down.

Strong fingers clutched at her ankle, and she kicked wildly, desperate to get away as she scrabbled in the leaves in the direction she had seen her knife fly. Her heel connected with something hard, something that made the punishing grip release her. There was no telling how long she would have before it grabbed her again. She would have to make it count.

Find it! Find it before he comes back! Find it find it find—ah ha!

Cassie's searching fingers brushed, recognized, grabbed the hilt of her knife and pulled it forth triumphantly. She flipped over, fully expecting to find the bandit ready to deliver her killing blow, only to spot him—also on the forest floor. He sat, blinking dazedly, starting to think of rising.