I found him, holding his ground as he cleaved his sword through the air, slicing off the head of a Craven as another launched itself at him. He spun, narrowly avoiding a swipe that would have torn through his breastplate.
There was no time for relief. My gaze shifted as an archer’s bloodstone arrow slammed into the head of a Craven, knocking it backward. Dark, inky blood spewed out the back of its skull. I focused on another Craven, calming my breath until it was deep and slow like Vikter had taught me. Years of training steadied my hand, but so did experience. This wasn’t the first time I had aided the guards on the Rise.
“Once your fingers take hold of the string, the world around you must cease to exist.” Vikter’s instructions echoed in my mind. “It’s just you, the pull of the string, and your aim. Nothing else matters.”
And that was all it could be.
Trusting my aim, I released an arrow. It flew through the air, striking a Craven in the heart. I nocked another before what was once someone’s child or parent even hit the ground. I found another, a Craven who had a guard on its back, tearing at its armor. I let the bow string go, smiling when the projectile burst through the Craven’s head. Loading the next arrow, I caught sight of Vikter, his sword slick with dark blood as he shoved it deep into a Craven’s stomach and then drew it upward with a shout—
A Craven rushed Vikter from behind as he yanked the sword out. I pulled back the string. The bolt sliced through the air, catching the creature in the back of its patchy-haired skull. The thing fell forward, dead before it even hit the ground.
Vikter’s head whipped around, and I swore he looked straight at me—knew who had sent down that arrow. And although I couldn’t see his face, I knew he wore the expression he always did when he was proud yet irritated.
Grinning, I readied another arrow and…and for what felt like a small eternity, I lost myself to the killing, taking down one Craven after another. I went through two quivers before one of the Craven broke through the line of guards. Hitting the wall, its clawed hands dug into the stone, gaining purchase.
For the briefest heartbeat, I stood transfixed as it tore its hand free and then slammed it down again, higher, pulling itself up the wall.
“My gods,” I whispered.
The Craven let out a screeching wail, tearing me out of my stupor. I took aim, firing the arrow directly down into its skull. The impact knocked it off the wall—
A shout to my right jerked my head around. An archer fell forward, bow slipping from his hands as a Craven gripped him by the shoulders, sinking its jagged teeth into the guard’s neck.
Good gods, they had reached the top.
Spinning around, I nocked an arrow and quickly let it go. The arrow didn’t deliver a fatal blow, but the impact knocked the Craven free from the guard, sending it back to the ground below. It wasn’t the only one that fell. The guard tumbled backward into nothing but air. I swallowed a cry, telling myself that the man was already dead before the loud, fleshy smack caused me to briefly squeeze my eyes shut.
The Craven’s minds may be rotted, but they had enough sense to go for the archers. Vikter had once said that the only thing that rivaled their thirst for blood was their survival instincts.
A high-pitched scream jolted me into action. To my right, another Craven had reached the edge of the Rise, seizing an archer. The guard dropped his bow and embraced the Craven, pushing forward.
He fell to the ground outside the Rise, taking the Craven with him.
A round of fiery arrows lifted once more into the air, reaching high above the wall. They came down, striking mortal and monster alike. Over the sound of unearthly howls and screams, hooves pounded off cobblestone and dirt, but I still stared at where the archer had fallen, his body swarmed by Craven.
The guard had sacrificed himself. This unnamed, unknown man had chosen death over allowing the Craven to reach the other side of the Rise.
Blinking back sudden tears, I gave a wordless shake of my head as battle cries erupted, forcing me into motion. Rising just enough to see over the ledge, I looked over my shoulder as more guards on horseback spilled out from the gate, brandishing sickle blades. They split into two directions, attempting to seal off access to the Rise. As soon as they cleared the entrance, the gates closed behind them.
A Craven launched itself at a guard, powering through the air like a large jungle cat would. It slammed into the guard, throwing him from his horse. They hit the ground.
“Dammit,” I hissed, taking aim at the Craven, who was now halfway up the Rise.
I caught him at the top of his patchy-haired skull, knocking him from the wall. I quickly nocked another arrow, searching out the Craven who were at the Rise. They were the clear threat.
It quickly became obvious that these Craven were different. They looked less…monstrous. Still, their appearance was nothing short of nightmare fodder, but their faces were less hollow, their bodies less shriveled. Were they newly turned? Possible.
The battle below was lessening, bodies falling on top of one another. Catching sight of Vikter as he thrust his sword through the head of a fallen Craven, I dropped down to one knee so I could peer over the wall. The cloak parted, exposing nearly the entire length of my leg from my calf to my thigh to the chilled air.
There was only a handful of Craven remaining, half of them feeding on and tearing into wounded guards, unaware of anything around them. I could see no more near the Rise. Setting an arrow against the bow, I took aim at one who had torn through armor and into the cavity of a stomach, exposing thick, ropey innards. Bile clogged my throat. The guard was already dead, but I couldn’t let the Craven continue desecrating the fallen man.
Focusing on the blood-and-gore-smeared mouth, I sent the arrow flying straight into it. The contact snapped the Craven back. Whatever satisfaction I felt was tempered by sorrow. The mist had begun to dissipate, revealing the carnage left behind. So many had fallen tonight. Too many.
The stone cold under my bare knee, I reached for another arrow as I searched—
“You must be the goddess Bele or Lailah given mortal form,” a deep voice said from behind me.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I spun around on my knee, the cape and gown whirling around my legs. My arrow locked and ready, I aimed at—
Hawke.
Oh, gods…
My stomach tumbled with relief and dismay as I stared down. He stood under a beam of moonlight as if the gods themselves had blessed him with eternal light. Inky blood dotted his broad, high cheekbones and the straight line of his jaw. His wide, expressive lips were parted as if he were only able to take the thinnest breath, and those strange, beautiful eyes seemed to almost glow in the moonlight.
He held his blood-soaked sword at his side. His leather had been clawed, showing how close he’d come to falling.
Hawke had been beyond the Rise, and like Vikter, as a Royal Guard, that wasn’t required. But he went out there, nonetheless. Respect blossomed in my chest, warming me, and I reacted without thought, reaching out with my senses to see if he was injured.
I felt the barest hint of the anguish that lingered in him. The battle had eased it, giving him an outlet in the same way my touch would. Temporary, but still effective. He wasn’t injured.
“You are…” His stare was intense and unblinking as he sheathed his sword at his side. “You’re absolutely magnificent. Beautiful.”
I jolted, shocked. He’d said that I was beautiful before once he saw my face, and he sounded like he’d meant it then. But now? He’d spoken words which too often meant nothing and too rarely meant everything. And he said them in such a manner that there was a tight, tense curling sensation low in my stomach even though he had no idea who he spoke to. My heavy hood remained in place.
I needed to get away.
I glanced behind him, searching for the easiest path to escape. I swallowed hard. Hawke may not have realized yet that I was the girl who’d been at the Red Pearl, but there was no way I could let him know it was me up here now. I had no idea what he would do if he realized I was the one on the Rise.
“The last thing I expected was to find a hooded lady with a talent for archery manning one of the battlements.” The dimple made an appearance in his right cheek, and I felt the tug low in my stomach.
Why did he have to have such a…charming grin? It was the kind I knew numerous others had fallen prey to.
I doubted any of them regretted that fall.
I knew I didn’t.
He extended his gloved hand. “May I be of assistance?”
Swallowing a snort, I lowered the bow, shifting it to one hand. I stayed silent in case he recognized my voice, motioning for him to back up. With an arch of one dark brow, he placed the offered hand over his heart and took a step back.
Hawke bowed.
He actually bowed, with such elaborate flourish that a laugh crept up my throat. I managed to squelch it as I placed the bow down on the lower ledge, propping it against the wall. Keeping my gaze on him, I scooted to the ladder and slowly climbed down, not giving him my back.
The sounds of fighting had all but ceased down below. I needed to get back to my room, but there was no way I could enter the castle the way I’d come out, not with Hawke here. That would rouse suspicion. I slipped the bow under my cloak, hooking it to my back. I flinched as it rested against the still-healing welts.
“You’re a…” He trailed off, an odd look settling into his features. I couldn’t decipher what it was. Suspicion? Bemusement? Something entirely different? His eyes narrowed.