On the ride to the Coupling, disparate images and words crashed over me like waves at sea. With each inhale, I clawed toward the shoreline. With each exhale, the undertow dragged me back in.
Honey's tear-streaked smile. I couldn't be happier.
The King's dimpled cheek. I got a bit carried away in celebrating.
Izra's dark, mysterious gaze. We just killed two wild boars.
Rona's fluttering fingers. Down, down, down.
And the ominous orders the King had given me just before I left: If Izra suspects you, capture her. And if she attacks you, kill her.
Fighting against another tidal wave of panic and confusion, I remembered how the King's eyes had crinkled with concern, and his warm hand had squeezed my shoulder. This was the man who had saved me. The man who had bought me a toy on each holiday, who had chuckled with delight the first time I beat Makandi in a wrestling match, who had fulfilled my dream of joining the Royal Guard.
This man cared about his people and about me. The monster who lurked in the back of my mind was only a figment of my imagination.
By the time I reached the Coupling, I clung to this conclusion like a piece of shoreline, a respite from the battering waves. I dismounted, straightened the fabric of my tunic and trousers, and scanned the crowd with slow, steady breaths.
But then Izra's gaze met mine.
And the sea swallowed me whole.
A navy tunic draped over her slender frame, her raven hair swept into a tight knot at the nape of her neck, and a sword hung from her belt at both hips. Simple, yet breathtaking — brushstrokes of whimsical brilliance set against a mundane backdrop.
She smiled and curled a finger to beckon me. With each step toward her, I sank deeper into the sea. As tons of water pressed down on my chest and filled my lungs, one thought gripped me with surprising ferocity.
I can't do this.
I can't lie to her again.
Izra folded her arms across her chest, but her smile remained fixed. The curve of her lips and her thickly lashed eyes held no trace of wariness. So why did I feel that something had changed since our kiss the week before? Was I only reading a reflection of my own guilt?
She spoke in a polite, measured tone. "Good evening, Epsa."
"Good evening, Izra." My eyes dipped to the two swords strapped to her hips, one thin and the other broader. I drew my gaze back up to her face. "Can you wield two swords at the same time?"
She shook her head. "No... one of them is for someone else."
I furrowed my brow and opened my mouth to ask more, but she spoke again before I had the chance.
"If you'd like to spend the night with me once more, follow me."
Then without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and trotted away from the crowd off into the woods.
I swung a glance around me to see if anyone watched us — perhaps someone who could wield the second sword strapped to Izra's hip — but everyone appeared absorbed in their own conversations or drinks. My hands smoothed the sides of my unequipped tunic. Even unarmed, I figured I stood a fair chance against Izra. I knew how to duck and dodge, and I knew where to grab to force an opponent to drop their weapon.
But if more Resistance members awaited me wherever she led, they would slaughter a wild boar tonight.
I pulled in a deep breath and jogged after the disappearing silhouette. By the time I reached Izra's side, the lights winked out of sight behind me. As we walked, the din of inebriated voices faded to an occasional splitting laugh, and then to only the crackle of brittle leaves and sticks under our feet. I studied the sharp, unforgiving profile beside me.
Were her strides jerkier than usual?
I cleared my throat. "Where are we going?"
She stared at the ground ahead of her for a couple seconds before turning her head to smile at me. "Does it matter?"
Had her gaze become sharper, or had my own skin grown fragile?
"I don't suppose it matters, as long as I'm with you," I said, while my eyes asked something entirely different.
Do you intend to kill me?
"I am happy to hear it," she said, but she averted her eyes, and I thought her footsteps grew heavier.
Right then, I knew the attack was coming.
But I didn't anticipate how fast.
Izra yanked the thin sword from its sheath at the same time she spun toward me. I jumped back, and my shoulder blades smacked a tree trunk. Within half a second, the edge of her blade pressed against my neck.
I darted a glance to each side and saw only trees and underbrush. No one to help me, but also no one to assist her. Not that she needed backup; with my back against a tree and a blade to my throat, none of my defensive maneuvers would succeed.
I released a slow breath and closed my eyes, awaiting the fatal slice. A perplexing mixture of fear and relief waged a war in my gut. The King would be disappointed in me, Pim would be sad, and I would never get to kill Snuggles, but at least I would escape all of this guilt and confusion.
However, the end did not come. Instead, Izra spoke in a soft alto not unlike the day she had rubbed my back as I fought for air.
"You told the King where to find the temple."
Eyes still shut, a breathless admission passed through my lips. "Yes."
A few seconds passed in silence before she spoke again.
"Why?"
The single syllable might have passed as curious — casual, even — if not for the way her voice broke at the end, ground into rubble.
This was my chance to offer some excuse or at least a bargain, but I found myself unable to force either from my lips. Only the cold truth surfaced.
"I work for the Royal Guard. The King suspects you are leading Rashika's Resistance, so he asked me to seduce you... to gain your trust and uncover the rebellion's secrets."
She huffed a humorless laugh, her hot breath puffing over my skin. When I forced my eyes open, her own eyes were swept skyward.
"So you never farmed potatoes."
A phantom smile and voice drifted through my mind like a distant dream. Who knows... maybe I could even farm potatoes.
Fighting back a burn under my eyelids, I whispered, "Never."
"And you never c-c-c..." Her lips trembled in a mockery of a smile. "You never cared for me."
Now the tears did prick my eyes, a cool trickle that failed to quell the burn. I peeled my tongue from the roof of my mouth with a dry click, but no words followed. What could I say in my defense? I would not insult her with the inane, desperate protest that fought to claw free from my chest.
I do care for you.
Izra adjusted the hilt of the sword in her hand, but the pressure remained steady. "I can't believe I actually fell for it. I wanted it to be true so badly that I actually let myself believe —" She cut off with a snort. "So fucking pathetic."
I knew what it was to crave something so badly I allowed myself to believe it — I had done the same with Queen Romalda. But unlike my delusions with the Queen, Izra was wrong only about trusting me, not about my feelings. What if I had never become a guard and Izra had never headed a rebellion? Would I still have had the courage to approach her? Would I have won her attention and desire?
Could she have been mine?
I swallowed, a movement that caused the blade to prick my throat. "Izra, I... I didn't..."
I didn't want this.
I didn't want to hurt you.
The blade slipped away from my throat, and Izra jerked back several steps as though burned. I raised my palms before me as I peeled my back from the tree, wary eyes still fastened to the blade in her right hand.
She wrenched the second blade from her belt with her left hand and threw it to me.
On a reflex, I snagged the hilt from the air. Then I stilled, eyes darting between the sword now in my hand and the one still raised in her own. "What are you —"
"Fight me!"
And she lunged toward me and swung her sword.
My instincts took over, drawing the blade up just in time to meet hers. The clash inches from my face reverberated in my ears. She swung again, and again I countered.
Parry, parry, dodge. Parry, backstep, parry.
But while my body responded with effortless precision, my mind reeled in turmoil. Why in the seven hells had she given me a blade? I had just told her I served the Royal Guard, and she had seen my calluses and muscles. Was she really so confident she could beat me that she would give away her every advantage? She attacked with impressive speed and tenacity, but she lacked my strength and skills. With a single thrust, I could bury my blade in her chest. Again and again, I spotted openings to end the fight... to end Izra.
Again and again, I parried and inched back.
In my peripheral, a tree loomed. As my back approached the tree, I leaped to the side and whirled around to face Izra once more. She spun to face me, loose hairs now framing her face, chest heaving with breaths, and eyes feral.
"Fight back!" She lashed out again, her blade striking mine with unyielding ferocity but decreasing finesse. "You do know how to fight, don't you? Or are you only trained as a whore?"
Perhaps the words should have sparked some anger in me, but I felt only cold confusion. The insult rang false — a flimsy pretense. Though I had not known Izra long, I could not imagine she would judge a whore for their choice of profession. And I also believed Izra had to see the only possible outcome of our fight. She might have been an even match against Pamil, and she could give even Pim some challenge.
But she stood no chance against me.
I whipped my blade around to meet her attack head-on, forcing her sword to the side. For a full second, she stood completely defenseless, chest and neck completely unprotected.
My sword sagged to hip-level.
She swung again.
"Put down the sword, Izra," I panted as I parried once more. "You can't beat me."
Her laugh twisted into something more like a snarl as she struck out once more. "So I should just lie down and accept my fate?"
"I won't kill you." My sword met hers once more with a brief screech before her blade flipped to the side. "Please, just put down your sword."
Her muscles trembled as she redirected the blade to continue the fight. "Why wouldn't you kill me? Does the King so desperately want me to join his collection of tortured prisoners that he values my life over yours?"
I parried twice before responding, breaths still slow and steady despite my racing heart. "King Makapu treats prisoners fairly."
She shook her head as she flipped the blade around. "Torturing me might be fair. But the Lesser God worshippers he'll soon kill? They know none of the rebellion's secrets."
Her half-hearted attack required no force to parry, a lucky happenstance since my own focus now tracked her words rather than her blade.
"Izra, listen to me." My voice sounded strange to my own ears — muted and muddy. "The King is not the monster you think he is. He would not kill innocents. If the captives truly know nothing, they will be released."
Her brow furrowed as she twisted the blade back around. "You really believe that, don't you?"
Those disbelieving words bothered me far more than her feeble whore insinuation, and I met her blow with enough force to send her stumbling backward. Before she could recover, I dropped my sword and snatched her wrist, pinching hard enough that her blade slipped from her grip and skittered across the dry ground.
Izra straightened, I lurched back one step, and our gazes locked in a moment of complete silence. When her eyes fell to the sword she had dropped, I stepped forward to stand between her and the blade. Adrenaline scorched my veins, hot and strong enough to embolden my withering conviction.
"I don't just believe it," I said. "I know it."
"You know nothing," Izra said. Then she socked me in the gut.
I reeled back, doubling over as I sucked in a ragged, lopsided breath. My arms lifted to protect my face from the anticipated follow-up, but none came. When I lowered my arms to look at her, she watched me motionessly, jaw and fists clenched.
"Izra —"
Her fist flashed in front of my face, but this time I reacted in time to swipe her arm aside. I blocked her left fist and dodged her right once more. On her next swing, I caught her left fist in my right hand. My right arm compressed a few inches to absorb the blow, and then I used my grip on her fist to thrust back.
Her right arm flailed in a brief attempt to maintain balance, and then she tumbled over backward, shoulders thumping the ground. Hand still grasping hers, I followed her down. Before my mind could fully process what was happening, I had straddled her hips and snagged her other wrist, pinning both hands above her head.
She squirmed and thrashed beneath me, hips bucking against mine. I transferred both of her wrists to one hand and twisted to grab the sword nearest us. My blade grazed her neck... and stopped. My muscles shuddered with the isometric effort of holding the blade stock-still.
"Do it!" Wild fervor supported her panting rasp. "Don't be a coward. Finish this!"
I suddenly became aware of her defined hip bones between my thighs, her heaving chest beneath my own, the sweat glimmering along her hairline, her delicate wrists trapped in my grasp. Dirt dusted her cheekbones and knotted her hair, adding a wildness to her beauty. Her eyes flashed with rage, confusion, and...
Pain?
My voice left in a breathless whisper. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? This is what you hoped for when you attacked me."
Her body stilled beneath mine, and her gaze flitted to the ground beside us.
I swallowed hard. "Izra... why? Why do you want me to kill you?"
Without lifting her gaze, she spoke in a monotone. "If King Makapu knows I am the leader of Rashika's Resistance, the movement is better off without me. "
I shook my head. "Then leave. Go up north to the mountains and start a new life."
"And do what? Farm fucking potatoes?" Her voice broke, a ragged distortion halfway between a laugh and a sob. "No, that dream is gone. If I am only a liability to my movement, I have nothing to live for now."
Sharp regret twisted in my chest like a dagger, and an aching lump clogged my throat. When I spoke, my voice was rough and low.
"I'm not going to kill you, Izra."
"If you don't kill me, the King will have me captured, and he will make me beg for death." Her eyes lifted to meet mine again, and I caught a glimmer at the edges. "Is that what you want, Epsa?"
"No. The King won't —" I stopped as the King's voice filled my mind. Anyone can be made to do anything, given the correct motivation. "I won't let that happen."
A tiny, ironic smile flitted across her face. "And how would you stop him?"
"I won't tell him you attacked me. I'll... I'll tell him you don't suspect anything."
She raised an eyebrow, but her face otherwise carved a perfect mask. "You would really lie to the King?"
"If you promise Rashika's Resistance will stop killing guards."
"My followers will not stand by while guards mutilate innocent civilians."
She launched her words like punches, and this time, I didn't know how to parry. I blinked at her for three seconds before I regained command of my tongue.
"The Royal Guard only does what is necessary to protect our nation."
"By killing Lesser God worshippers and chopping off the hands of petty thieves? How noble."
Her words injected my veins with a cold stream like poison. She's wrong, I told myself. She is so completely wrong.
Yet I remembered how Pim had slumped over the courtyard table one evening, stared into his mug, and refused to tell me what had happened during his duty that day. Pamil had attempted to reassure him, slapping his shoulder and refilling his mug. It had to be done, Pamil had told Pim. It's the best way to prevent a recurrence.
I shifted slightly, rocking my weight back to Izra's thighs and relaxing my hold on her wrists. Her head cocked slightly as she studied me, but she made no move to escape.
I swallowed, averting my gaze. "You really think the captives will be killed?"
She hummed a bemused reaction, but I kept my eyes pinned to the leaves several feet to my left. Slowly, hesitantly, she said, "They'll be tortured first, and some will renounce their faith in the hopes of saving themselves, but they won't be able to give the King the information he really wants. So in the end, yes — they will all be killed."
"How soon?" I barely recognized my own voice, hoarse and strangled. "How soon will they be killed?"
I felt her gaze pierce my skin, sharper than ever, but I still refused to meet her eyes.
"I imagine it will be another week before the guards give up on getting information." Her voice was flat, almost impassive, but the edges tightened as if in a concerted effort not to hope. Not to feel.
I drew the blade away from her neck and released her wrists, but she remained motionless beneath me. When I forced myself to meet her gaze, her black eyes held mine with a kind of weary surrender, all of her fight sucked away.
I imagined pulling her into my lap, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and then covering her mouth with mine until I kissed away the pain and reawakened her spirit. Desires I could not admit and promises I could not keep danced along my tongue like acid rain.
But though none of that was possible, perhaps there was one thing I could do — one wrong I could right.
"Then we still have time to save them," I said.