“You are a strange creature, daughter of the demon,” he said, shaking his head. “I am glad I met you.”
“And I you,” Nico said, walking back up the beach. “Fight well, Tesset.”
Tesset nodded, but his eyes never left the man standing in the boat that cut across the bay on its own power.
Nico sat down on the narrow stair that led up the storm wall, keeping herself well out of the way as Den’s boat hit the surf and beached itself with a terrified squeal. Twenty-six years later, his face still looked exactly like his wanted poster. Den the Warlord, traitor to the Council, the most wanted man on the continent. He was bigger than Nico had expected, taller than Josef by several inches with shoulders to match. He was dressed in the Empress’s black, but he wore no armor, just a long-sleeved sailor’s shirt, heavy woven breeches, and tall boots. His dark hair was cut ragged around his face without a trace of gray. He had no weapons, not even a knife. Instead, his hands were open, hovering ready at his sides. Even so, the sight of him was enough to make Nico cower against the rocks.
Unarmed and alone, Den radiated a killing instinct like nothing she’d ever felt, and worse, nothing she’d ever seen. The glimpse she’d caught on the boat with Josef was nothing compared to seeing him up close. She’d always thought of Tesset as a man who’d made himself iron, but Den was a man who had made himself a fortress. Now that she saw them side by side, she couldn’t help shaking. She had seen many monsters, and been many more, but not even the demon’s predatory hunger matched this man’s pure, undefiled will to kill.
Den stepped onto the surf and stopped, surveying the beach. He dismissed Nico at once, focusing on Tesset with a grin that made her chest close up.
“Tesset, wasn’t it?” Den said, looking the Council man up and down. “I thought I’d find you alive someday. Finally conquered yourself, did you?”
“Yes.” Nico was impressed by the calm determination in Tesset’s voice. “To meet you again, master. And to defeat you.”
“A worthy goal,” Den said. “I can think of none better for a bloody day like this one.” He threw out his arms, fists clenched as he grinned wide. “Come then. I let you live in the hope that one day you could give me a fight worthy of my full attention. Let’s hope you don’t disappoint me.”
Tesset smiled back, a tight, controlled turn of the mouth, and then, without warning, he charged.
Tesset flew at Den faster than wind, faster than sound, focusing all his speed, all his strength into the fist that was already inside the Warlord’s guard. Before Nico’s mind could catch up with what was happening, Tesset’s fist landed on Den’s unguarded jaw. Sand exploded as the force of Tesset’s charge and the blow at the end of it reverberated through the beach.
Nico threw her arms up, her coat swirling over her face just before the sand hit it, but behind the barrier, she was grinning. She’d felt the force of Tesset’s blow in her stomach. Famous as he was, if Den hadn’t even been able to block such a straightforward strike, maybe they weren’t in as much trouble as she’d thought. She knew Tesset’s strength firsthand. He was far stronger than he looked. Strong enough to stop her demonseed barehanded. A clean punch with that kind of strength behind it might be enough to end this fight before it started.
The wave of sand passed, and she lowered her arms, looking down the beach to see where Den had landed. But he wasn’t there. She looked around, confused, and then she saw it. Den was still standing exactly where he had been, leering at Tesset with a horrible, wolfish grin.
Tesset himself was frozen in place. He was still inside Den’s guard, his fist still resting where it had landed on Den’s jaw, but his face had changed from quiet determination to open horror. The moment Nico saw it, she knew why. She could read the thoughts in his wide eyes as clearly as print on a page. Tesset had just hit Den with his best blow. He’d hit him with his full strength, unhampered by tiredness and unspoiled by the need to dodge a defense, and nothing had happened. Den was still standing exactly as he had been before the hit. He hadn’t fallen, hadn’t stumbled, hadn’t been pushed back. He hadn’t even turned his head. He’d simply taken the blow as though it were nothing, a child’s play punch, and that realization had hit Tesset harder than any retaliation.
The seconds dragged on as the men stood there like players in a pantomime fight. Even Nico was frozen. She couldn’t help it. The idea that Tesset’s strength, the strength that had overpowered her so easily, meant nothing to Den had stopped her mind cold. All she could do was watch dumbly until, at last, Tesset stumbled back.