Heavy boots tromped into the kitchen, and men's voices murmured.
Rona wrenched herself free to dash toward the open door of the shrine. "Pim!"
I lurched to my feet. "Rona, wait, that's not —"
Izra slammed the door shut and shifted to block Rona's path. One hand clasping her sword and the other clenching the doorknob, she shook her head at Rona.
Rona skittered to a halt and blinked up at her. "But I want to see —"
I slapped a palm over Rona's mouth from behind and dragged her back a step. "You need to hide again, Rona," I whispered, locking her squirming form against my chest. "Just for a few more minutes, and then I promise I'll come back for you. Can you do that?"
When her furry face brushed my palm in a nod, I released my hand over her mouth and guided her toward the dugout. The moment she huddled back into the blankets, I shoved the floorboards back over the top. Darkness settled over her, and then she winked out of sight, swallowed by the floor. How long had she sat alone in that darkness, waiting and wondering?
I prayed I could keep my promise.
Izra pressed her ear against the door, eyes distant. I pushed to my feet and then held my breath, listening.
"...don't know why we are entering. The King ordered us just to burn the home down."
"What are you scared of? It's just two women."
"I heard a child."
"Two women and a child. Rashika, have mercy on us!"
Laughter rumbled through the door, and I tried to differentiate the individual huffs and chuckles. Three men? Four?
When the laughter quieted, the first man spoke again. "But what child would sneak into a traitor's home?"
"We can find out." The second guard again. "Who wants to break down the door?"
A new voice. "Sh, I think they are listening!"
A silence followed, and Izra's gaze flicked to me. Her hand left the doorknob to slip beneath her cloak, and slowly, quietly, she drew out a second sword. I recognized the blade from the night we had fought. Her eyes dropped to the blade, and she went very still, a question flickering across her eyes.
Then she flipped the sword around to offer me the hilt.
While the thought of King Makapu's death flooded me with hot anticipation, I had not fully considered the necessity that others would die along the way... loyal guards who mindlessly obeyed orders the same way I had. Conflicted feelings warred in my gut, trapping me in place. But then I remembered Rona's giggle and Izra's helpless smile, and a clear answer emerged.
I would do whatever it took to see them both happy again.
I rolled forward a step to accept the blade. As I fixed my grip and stance, footsteps approached. Outside the door, the feet rocked back and forth twice. Then the man sucked in a breath.
And Izra shoved the door open.
The door smacked flesh, and the man grunted as he dropped his sword and tumbled to his backside. He snatched up his blade and jerked up a knee, but before he could retaliate, Izra's blade sang out, slicing clean through his neck. His headless body locked rigid for a moment as blood stained his tunic and puddled on the floor in front of him. Then his shoulders toppled forward to smack the ground beside his head in a crimson spray.
I tore my gaze away from the gory spectacle and counted four more men crowding the tiny kitchen. Royal Guard badges shone gold against dark tunics, and swords hovered in front of chests as they approached us.
They displayed no recognition.
I refused to check whether I recognized them.
Izra hopped over the corpse in front of her and lashed out at the nearest man, who staggered back a step as he met her blow. The largest guard spun toward Izra and stabbed toward her back. A bout of panic snapped my feet into motion. I leaped forward and swung to meet the blow, knocking his sword aside with a clang.
The massive guard whirled around to face me, as tall as Pim and even more heavily muscled. He flipped his blade around at the same time that the third guard darted toward me. I jumped back to evade one blade and parried the other.
One more parry and backstep, and the backs of my knees collided with a wooden chair, almost knocking me back to sitting. My training prepared me to duck, to dodge, to parry, and to attack, but the chair and table prevented any of these movements.
I needed to improvise.
I hooked a boot around one leg of the chair and kicked forward. The wooden frame clattered across the floor, plowing into the larger man. As the smaller guard lunged toward me, I bounded up onto the table. The table rocked to two legs, and I swayed back before adjusting my stance.
The larger man cleared the chair and slapped an arm over his face to wipe away sweat. Between heaving breaths, he hollered at the other man.
"Fucking kill her already!"
The smaller man's blade seared toward my knees, but I whipped my blade around in time to knock his away. I lashed out at the smaller man again, and this time, my blade met flesh. He roared out a cry and stumbled backward. His sword sagged in one hand while his other hand gripped his shoulder, blood spilling over his fingers.
The larger man slashed at my legs. I thrust the blade around so his glanced off of mine and smacked the table.
The table cracked.
The creaking split cut through the clang of swords across the room. As the table caved in the middle, I stepped onto the last remaining solid edge. Then I sprang onto the countertop, landing with a clatter of pans.
I twisted around just in time to block an attack from the injured man. Our swords clashed, and his wounded shoulder collapsed under the pressure. He careened to the side, and I plunged my blade down through his neck. As I pulled back my blade and he flumped to the ground, words I had no time to process ricocheted through my brain.
I just killed a Royal Guard.
I chanced a glance across the room. Silver flashed, metal clanged, and Izra's hair and cloak swooped and rippled.
I readied my blade and turned toward the huge guard.
He lifted one of the chairs overhead and hurled it at me.
The top rail smashed into my ribcage, driving the breath from my lungs. I keeled forward, grasping the handle of a cupboard to my right to avoid pitching off the countertop. The cupboard flapped open, and the sword slipped from my fingers, smacking the countertop before skittering to the floor.
The giant man drew his sword once more and strutted toward me, a grin stretching his face. I fumbled around in the cupboard and seized a ceramic plate. Then I chucked the plate toward his face with a snap of my wrist.
The ceramic shattered on impact, jagged pieces showering the bloody floor. I hopped down from the counter and squatted to lift my sword, but he recovered quickly and sprang toward me. His boots crunched ceramic shards, skidded through the blood, and shot out from under him. As his tailbone punched the ground, I dove toward him and rammed my sword up under his ribcage.
He spasmed, and his Royal Guard badge glinted in the sunlight, somehow shiny-clean despite the blood soaking his shirt.
Then silence.
I shoved to my feet and pivoted toward Izra, slapping a hand on the counter to maintain my balance. She leaned against the wall, hair clinging to her face in a sweaty black mess, cloak shredded, and entire body inflating with each rasping breath. Izra's eyes locked on mine, expression dazed. Before her, the bodies of the two guards slumped on the ground.
I edged one step toward her, scanning her body. Blood spattered her from head to toe, but I did not see any wounds.
"You alright?"
She jerked her head in a nod. "I'm fine. You?"
My eyes flicked down to the Royal Guard badge still gleaming on the chest of the man nearest me, and I thought of my own badge on my bedside table back in the palace. I blinked and pulled my gaze back to Izra.
"I'm fine."
Izra's eyes darted to the badge and back up to my face. Her mouth opened to say something, but then she froze and turned toward the shrine door.
A tiny figure stood motionless in the open doorway, staring at the carnage around the room.
I took two steps toward her, boots squeaking on the wet floor. "Rona, I told you to stay hidden."
"I wanted to help. Pim said I will be a great warrior."
"You will be, but not yet." Ceramic splinters crackled beneath my feet as I approached her. I extended a palm. "Come with me. We need to get out of here."
Rona bit her lip and released it slowly, teeth splaying the fur just below her lip. "Shouldn't we wait here in case Pim comes back?"
A distant memory rang in my mind so sharply I flinched. Your mommy is very, very tired. She needs to sleep for a long time. For years, I had waited for her to come, but apart from my one fever-induced hallucination, I had never seen her again. And twenty years after her death, I still balked at the sight of fire and the smell of cinnamon cake crisps.
I swallowed and sank to a crouch in front of her. "Pim is never coming back, Rona. His spirit is with Goddess Rashika now." I glanced over her shoulder to the silver statue devouring the back wall of the shrine. "Or maybe with Lord Acrador."
Rona scrunched her nose. "Who are they? Are they like the Paksha Sea Monster?"
I pulled in a breath and released it with a nod. "Yes. Just the same."
She spoke in a small, hesitant voice. "I don't think I like any of them very much. I wish they would stop taking people from me."
Her words coaxed a smile from my lips and tears from my eyes. "I know, Rona. Me, too."
* * *
At the rebel base, Izra passed off Rona to the care of a woman named Alira. Though I could not see her through the blindfold I had insisted on wearing, Alira assured her safety in a warm voice with gentle lilt that reminded me of my mother.
Izra led me back to the cell and carried in a bucket of water and a fresh tunic and trousers. As I bathed, aches protested each twist of my torso, bruises pulsed beneath the slide of the washcloth, and a pang jolted through me when I touched the bandage on my back. Worse, the fading adrenaline left me shaky and confused. I had found Rona and perhaps proven myself to Izra, but the part of me that still clung to the shreds of my former loyalties shuddered under the gravity of what I had done.
I had just slipped the tunic over my head when knuckles rapped against the door.
"Come in," I said.
The door slid open, and Izra entered with two steaming bowls. She shifted, her gaze meeting mine only briefly before flicking to the mattress behind me. Her bandaged hand clenched the bowls a little too tightly, and an edge roughened her usually smooth voice.
"Is it alright if I eat with you?"
"Of course," I said without moving, still analyzing the change in her body language.
She jerked forward and offered me the bowl. My hand grazed hers as I accepted it, soft bandage hiding the sharp knuckles beneath. She flinched back, and a little broth slopped over the side of the remaining bowl.
Though our hands no longer touched, I retreated a step further. "Your knuckles still hurt."
Izra's eyes met mine with a half-smile. "Denavin carved into your back like meat, and you're worried about my knuckles?"
I shrugged, an action that sent another stab of pain through my back. Though I tried to hide my reaction, her smile fell and gaze averted once more.
Izra sank down onto my mattress, her movements jerkier than usual. When she cocked her head at the space beside her, I eased down to join her. She lifted a spoon to her mouth to blow on the hot soup, and I started on my own.
The salty broth mostly concealed the bitter tang of the soggy vegetables, and my stomach rumbled an enthusiastic response. Only a few small chunks of tough meat floated in the broth.
When my spoon clinked the bottom of the bowl, I set the bowl down and sideglanced Izra, who finished her soup more slowly. Her wet hair draped loose down her back, and her damp tunic clung to the perfect lines of her waist. She sat close enough I could brush her fingers or trace that lean thigh as I had once done in her tent.
I pinched my own thigh and focused on a beetle digging in the corner.
"Why do you do that?"
Starled, I dragged my gaze up to meet Izra's. "Do what?"
"Pinch yourself."
I released my thigh and blinked at her. No one had ever asked me or even seemed to notice before. "To... to stay strong, I guess. To keep myself under control."
"Hmm." She gave a slow nod and dipped her gaze to the empty bowl in her hands. "Was today the first time you killed someone?"
"No, I killed a couple of Trogolese warriors the day Pim and I found Rona. But I didn't... I didn't really count them as people at the time."
"Then why did you spare Rona?"
My own answer knotted my throat. In my home, you can have cinnamon crisps every day. "I guess she reminded me of someone else." Then I pushed out a question. "Why did you save the bread peddler boy?"
Her gaze grew distant. "I guess he reminded me of someone else, too." She hesitated for a moment before dancing over her next words like bare feet on hot sand. "You are good with children. I didn't expect that from... from a warrior."
The cautious admiration in her tone lit an equally cautious warmth in my core. I liked the sound of that word on her lips. Not a wild boar, and not a Royal Guard. A warrior.
"I have taken care of Prince Makari many times," I said.
"Interesting. Sounds like you are more than just a guard for that family."
"I moved to the palace when I was four years old, after King Makapu saved me from the Trogolese attack."
Izra fiddled with the spoon, clinking the empty bowl. "The King saved you? Why?"
"I don't know, but I lived most of my life trying to repay the debt."
"And now?"
I shot her a sardonic smile. "Now I want him dead."
Her own gaze remained contemplative. "But what about the family? If you thought Najila would be better off, would you kill Prince Makari?"
The prospect had never occurred to me before. I imagined his head of dark curls digging in my collarbone, and my mouth suddenly felt too dry.
"Do you want me to say yes?"
"No. I want you to be honest." She pulled in a breath. "What you did today should have earned the trust of the Resistance. But I have to consider that the King might order someone to kill his own guards if it furthered his goals."
With more resignation than disappointment, I said, "So you still don't trust me."
"I don't know." For a moment, she looked utterly lost. Confused. Then she said, "I guess I trust you to be loyal to whatever you believe in, no matter the cost to yourself. But I think you've done that all along."
"My loyalties have changed now. I promise I won't hurt you again, Izra."
She shook her head. "Don't promise that. Just promise you will never again pretend to want me."
My traitorous mind conjured the night at the cave, when Izra had looked at me with sheer freedom in her smile and rapture in her gaze. And against my better judgment, a hoarse question escaped me.
"And if I'm not pretending?"
Silence. Only the tension in her shoulders and her steel grip on the bowl showed she had even heard my question. Then she stacked my empty bowl in hers, swayed to her feet, and left the room.