A Breath of Sunlight Page 16

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Who are you? Where did you come from? How did you find us? If you hurt Calle, I will kill you.”

  Joel’s eyebrows lifted high into his wavy brown hair. “I thought you released her from the oath.”

  “I did,” Calle said, though she didn’t miss the twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. He gave her a reassuring look. “He’s my good childhood friend. We can trust him. In fact, he came to escort us to Heulwen. When we’re ready.”

  Which meant when she was ready. But she wasn’t sure if she wanted to accompany him. Then again, she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave him either.

  Joel left the cottage, and a few moments later, a jaunty tune followed on his flute. The sound became increasingly quiet as if he traveled in the opposite direction.

  Slowly, the sun sank below the distant mountains, and the sunshine in the window faded. The golden magic that connected their wrists like a binding unity rope flickered out and died, and at last, Calle’s shoulders drooped with exhaustion. “May I lie down next to you?”

  A couple weeks ago, she might have hesitated at his question. But she nodded all too quickly, desperate for his comfort.

  The bed dipped as he climbed up and settled beside her. The slight jostle caused another wave of burning fire through her back.

  “My wings really hurt,” she whimpered. She tried to shift them, but they refused to move more than a couple inches. “Will I never fly again?”

  He draped an arm around her waist and scooted closer, so they were nearly nose to nose. “I can’t pretend I know all too much about how wings work. They were...very damaged. Joel and I set the bones and I’ve been healing them the best I can. I don’t know, Skaja. But I’m trying so very hard to make sure that’s not the case.”

  “Thank you.”

  She reached for him and mimicked the way he held her, with fingers lightly brushing against his back. Being near him like this...it wasn’t uncomfortable or terrifying. Rather, she found it pleasant and easy. And for one vulnerable moment, she wasn’t a tough valkyrie, but a woman who needed her friend. Or perhaps, more than a friend. She wasn’t sure.

  “You haven’t tried to slap me yet,” Calle chuckled.

  “I don’t have it in me. Otherwise, there would be plenty of slapping.”

  “Oh? And here I was starting to think you actually liked me.”

  When her whole body ached, she only managed a smile before she shifted enough to rest her head against his chest. His scent wrapped her in a comforting embrace, further securing her within his arms.

  Violent images flashed across her mind, effectively killing her smile. Bodies vacant of life. Blood coating every inch of her daggers. The instinct to kill and protect.

  “Do you think I’m a horrible person?” she mumbled miserably. The bridge of her nose puckered in pain. It had been a while since she’d felt so awful. Years, even. “Am I the blackest of black?”

  “You’re really worried about that?” he murmured against her hair.

  She nodded. “I thought I was a good person. I don’t know anymore.”

  His fingertips skimmed her shoulder. “If your intentions were good, then yes, you are a good person.”

  She nodded again, this time gratefully, and closed her eyes as a couple of tears leaked out. Exhaustion prevented her from wiping them away, but only moments later, warm, gentle fingers caught them on her cheeks.

  “I don’t feel so good.”

  The caress against her shoulder stopped, and he lifted his head. “Is it your wings?”

  Yes, but... “In here.” She placed her palm against her heart. “I don’t quite feel like myself.”

  His hand moved to cover hers, providing her with a comforting warmth. “A lot of changes at once can do that. Maybe it all finally caught up.”

  A comfortable silence fell between them as she pondered his words. So much had changed in such a short time. She’d befriended a man. She’d learned of the lies in her past. She’d left the only home she’d ever known. She’d sacrificed herself for someone she cared about. She’d been released from a blood oath. And now she wasn’t sure if she’d ever fly again.

  It was too much to take in.

  “Do I want to ask why I’m wearing your shirt?” She desperately needed the distraction of humor and was rewarded with Calle’s dashing grin.

  “Your outfit was bloody. I don’t know how you make all your clothing work with your wings. We had to cut holes in the shirt to accommodate them.”

  “Most of my clothing is bare on my upper back. Makes it easier.”

  The pain in her wings and back was enough to bring a valkyrie to tears. Her weak hands clutched Calle’s shirt, and he responded by moving even closer, so not a single inch remained between them. His arms tightened around her, slowly shifting her until her head rested on his shoulder.

  She breathed in slowly, and when she let it out, exhaustion pulled her deeper into its waters.

  “Just wait until morning when the sun rises,” he said, his voice cutting through the fog of sleep. “You’ll feel a bit better. I promise.”

  She already felt a bit better now in his arms, but before she managed to tell him, her exhaustion won out and she was powerless against sleep’s influence.

  Calle woke to the feeling of energy both entering him and leaving him. He found himself nicely snuggled against Skaja, his hand resting on the wound on her stomach. Sunlight streamed in from the window and caressed his face. Golden magic exited his fingers and threaded through her, and to his relief, her expression looked much more relaxed than it had the night before.

  As he watched her sleeping face, he could deny it no longer. He really was in love with her. The emotion frightened him. Love had the power to hurt. Fiercely.

  And with the future so uncertain...

  She shifted slightly and murmured, “Calle.”

  “I love when you call me that,” he whispered, as she had usually only called him fae slave or fae prince up to this point. He nuzzled his nose against hers, earning him a flicker of a smile, but otherwise she remained asleep.

  His lips curved into a soft smile. He wanted to wake up like this every morning. Beside Skaja. Smiles and sunlight and happiness. Minus her injuries, of course.

  Noticing her still-fragile wings, new fears swirled like dense black fog in his head. The fear of losing her. The fear of never reaching his end goal. The fear of never gaining her affection.

  His gaze darted to her dagger harness that lay on the table. Her daggers hadn’t been in there when he’d carried her back to the cottage. That must mean...

  The last place he wanted to venture was to the cliffs where she must have lost them. But he knew how much she loved her weapons. It was worth the risk just to witness her smile when she woke up.

  “I’ll be right back,” he whispered. Her eyebrows crinkled when he stopped the flow of healing magic, but she continued to breathe deeply in sleep.

  He padded across the wooden floor of the cottage, pulled on his boots and cloak, but then he hesitated at the door. Uncertainty pulled his mouth downward as he glanced at his sword leaning against the wall. Did he need it anymore when he had his magic?

  Skaja’s voice echoed in his memories. Always, always have a weapon.

  At the moment, he had his magic. She had nothing.

  Not wanting to leave her without a means of protecting herself, he leaned the sword against the side of the bed and quietly slipped out the door.

  The early morning sunshine greeted him like a friend he hadn’t seen in years. His skin absorbed its power like a man desperate for a drink of water. It fueled his magic, flowing through every vein and every pore. Nothing blocked it anymore. He was blessedly free.

  He lifted his face toward the rising sun and breathed in the fresh, woodsy air. Birdsong twittered in the boughs. Dewdrops glistened on fat green leaves. Small, woodland creatures scampered across his path. Despite the horror from a couple of nights ago, a few moments of peace reigned in the heavens.

  At least until the overpowering stench of death and decay smashed into him.

  Calle lifted his cloak to his nose in an attempt to block out the foul odor. His eyes watered and his stomach heaved. Streaks of blood littered the forest floor. A trail of bloodied weapons followed. And then bodies.

  In the night, the bodies had been large lumps in the darkness. But in the daylight, they were bloodied people with reeking flesh.

  A wave of nausea gripped his stomach as he scanned the damage from the night before. Dozens of bodies littered the cliffside, eyes staring vacantly in their twisted positions as flies feasted on their remains. He knew for a fact he’d only killed a few men.

  The rest must have been Skaja.

  His eyes widened at what a valkyrie was capable of. And with only two daggers. Not to mention she’d protected him at the same time. If he hadn’t been with her, how many more people would she have killed? How much more blood would be on her hands?

  Am I the blackest of black? she’d asked the night before.

  Now he understood why the topic concerned her.

  He wasn’t entirely sure what to think, only that they’d been cornered by the enemy. Neither of them had had much choice but to fight.

  A low growl sounded on his left, and he spun around with a start, only to find a pack of wolves scavenging for a meal. He backed away slowly. The wolf lowered its head, but it kept its eyes on him.

  Wary of the wolves, he gingerly stepped across the mounds of bodies, searching for a pair of familiar daggers. He kicked a couple knives out of his way. He sifted through a pile of swords and spears.

  But then the glint of familiar metal caught his eye.

  Skaja’s dagger lay beneath a man, nearly every inch of the weapon coated in
blood. The sticky substance stuck to the handle, and as he stooped to pick it up, he wondered how many lives had been taken by the blade.

  A faint power pulsed through the dagger. Reaching. Calling. Summoning. A desperate need to reunite with its other pair.

  He allowed the power to guide him. But he stopped short at the edge of the cliff. Waves crashed below him, tearing and clawing at the sharp rocks below. More bodies remained stuck between the unforgiving depths of the ocean and the jutting rocks. Dark red slicked the very bottom.

  His stomach heaved again.

  Wherever the dagger lay, it was likely long gone by now. Skaja would be disappointed.

  However, the magic inside the dagger continued to call out. He hesitantly pulled on the tiny thread. Without warning, the second dagger shot out of the depths below, hurtling his way, and he barely managed to duck in time to avoid the slicing blade.

  The tip of the dagger embedded itself in a nearby tree with a thunk.

  “All this time and I didn’t even know,” he chuckled to himself as he braced his foot against the tree and yanked the dagger out. “Where did you get this, I wonder?”

  When one of the wolves growled again, he turned around and left the cliffside at as quick of a pace as he dared. The creatures didn’t follow. The further he traveled, the fresher the air. His stomach settled into a calm relief.

  A burbling stream caught his attention as he stepped within earshot. Soft forest foliage carpeted each of his footfalls. Birds continued to sing in the boughs above him. Sunshine broke through the trees overhead in lovely spurts. The promise of a new, happy day smiled down from the skies.

  And his mind filled entirely of Skaja.

  Her laugh. Her smile. Her dedication. Even her occasional awkwardness. He loved it all.

  He crouched beside the small river and dipped the daggers into the water to clean them. Tendrils of red billowed off the blades, disappearing with each dunk and each splash. Giddiness rose within his chest as a blanket of warmth when Skaja’s possible reaction entered his mind. She would be happy to see these. He knew it.

  A small, reflective circle shone on the tree in front of him, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It reminded him of his younger years when he and Joel had used knives to reflect light into the faces of nobles during a feast.

  The back of his neck prickled with awareness, and with a start, he realized someone stood behind him.

  His magic reacted on instinct, forming a long, sturdy rod between his fingers. He spun around just fast enough to block the stabbing movement of a dagger aimed for his back.

  The blood in his body turned to ice. Cold, despairing fear crawled into his trembling fingertips. Dark brown eyes, almost black, stared back at him. In the darkness of the Pits, she had been weaponless and far less terrifying. But seeing her now in her fierce valkyrie leathers right after witnessing what Skaja was capable of...

  Inari’s eyes widened in recognition the moment her gaze landed on his hair. “You!” she gasped. Slowly, a grin spread across her face. Evil. Excited. Triumphant. “You.”

  “Bloody daggers,” he groaned moments before she delivered a lightning fast, expert kick to his stomach. He stumbled backward and barely managed to catch himself against a tree before she attacked again.

  She swiped her dagger at his neck, and he dodged out of the way only for the tree to receive the slice.

  In his awkward, unprepared stumbling, he struggled to recall the things Skaja had taught him. Anticipate where I’ll be before I get there. Move quicker when on the offensive and widen your stance when on the defensive.

  He ducked beneath her next attack before squaring his shoulders and planting his feet. Inari moved wildly in a dance of silver and feathers. He blocked one attack. Then the next. And when she spun, the feathers in her hair fluttering from the movement, he sidestepped with fancy footwork he’d learned from Skaja and struck Inari in the side.

  She gasped and stumbled several feet before spinning back around with one hand clutched to her side. “I know that move. What have you done with Skaja?”

  Before he answered, a feral screech escaped her mouth as she produced the staff strapped to her back, swung it with impossible speed, and smashed it against the side of his skull.

  Dizziness spun with the shadows in his head, but he didn’t dare give into its tempting pull. He caught himself on the ground and rolled out of the way of her staff as the wood scattered the dirt where his face had been moments before.

  He scrambled to his feet and allowed his magic to flow through his fingertips. The transparent golden rod in his hand elongated and sharpened into something deadly. If he didn’t kill Inari first, his hair would hang from her staff like the dozens of others swaying with each of her swings.

  Fear pulsed in his veins as he desperately tried to keep himself alive. He’d seen what Skaja was capable of. If Inari wanted to finish him quickly, she would have done it already.

  They met each other blow for blow, his golden sword against her dagger. Pain hissed through his arm when he left himself open on his left side. Warmth trickled down his skin. He didn’t dare take his eyes off Inari to look.

  Calle ducked behind a tree to put an object between them. But it was as if she moved through the shadows because one moment, she ran toward him, and the next, she trapped him against the trunk.

  Swipe. Swipe. Swipe.

  One swing he managed to block. Another hacked the tip of his hair. And the next sliced his cheek.

  Stinging pain briefly clouded his mind. One moment his back dug into the rough bark of the tree, and the next, he found himself on the ground with Inari poised with her dagger above him.

  His magic rushed to protect him, and instead of holding a sword, he carried a golden shield. Her image shimmered like a mirage as she stabbed downward. The shield held.

  She stabbed again. The shield cracked.

  After one more stab, the magical shield shattered like fragile glass. His heart thundered in his chest as he willed his magic to pool to his fingers, but it wasn’t rushing to him fast enough. He’d already used too much.

  Inari lifted her hands and was about to stab downward when a blade pressed against her throat. The valkyrie froze.

  “Kill him, and consider our friendship over,” Skaja said in a deadly calm manner, but the dark intensity in her eyes betrayed her fury.

  And her fear.

  He scrambled for the knife in his boot and pointed it at Inari’s stomach. Even then, he felt far too defenseless, as he doubted even a simple knife could stop her.

  “Skaja?” Inari gasped as she slowly climbed to her feet. “You’ve been gone for weeks! Paula sent me to find you. I thought...I thought this man might have hurt you. He had your daggers.”

  Skaja never lowered her weapon, though she stepped between them as if to act as a protective barrier. Her wings drooped considerably. Dirt coated the tips of her feathers from dragging on the ground. Although she wore one of her own outfits, she wore no shoes, which revealed the ribbons of scars on her legs.

  Her knees trembled, whether from weakness, fear, or something else, he didn’t know.

  His own hands shook with the realization that he’d almost died. So quickly, a radiant morning had turned to bloodshed.

  He swiped at his cheek, only for a smear of blood to come back on his hand.

  “Why are you protecting him?” Inari asked, peering over her shoulder where Calle attempted to pick himself off the ground. He found it difficult between all the cuts he sustained, his spinning head, and ringing ears. “He’s a man. The very one I have been looking for. You already know that.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Inari’s eyes widened. “What have you done, Skaja? Did you...? You rescued him from the Pits! And you lied to me about it. You said you never saw him.”

  “Yes, I lied. But so did Paula.” Skaja glanced over her shoulder at him. Fear still remained in the depths of her eyes. “By valkyrie code, I lay claim to this man. You cannot harm him unless you want to face me in a duel to the death.”

  Claim...

  A duel to the death...

  Heat scorched his neck at the lengths Skaja was willing to go to protect him. He knew for certain he had released her from her blood oath. Something other than duty spurred her actions.