Page 103 of Shadow Queen
Adrian gritted his teeth through the pain as he rose and bowed as well. “My lord,” he said, grimacing.
The lord commander looked at the young woman. “See her home,” he said to Adrian.
Adrian felt a wave of appreciation—whether for being saved from losing an eye or for the opportunity to walk the woman home, he wasn’t sure. “Yes, my lord.”
The woman gave a small bow of her head. “Thank you, Lord Commander.” She stepped forward, waiting for Adrian to reach her side, then started down the cobbled street.
Adrian looked back over his shoulder as they walked away, but the lord commander stood watching him, presumably waiting until they left to deal with the others. He wondered what the commander might do.
They reached a corner street, and the woman turned and started across the burial grounds.
“This is the way to your home?” he asked.
“It’s shorter than going through the city. And generally safer.”
He eyed the burial grounds. “You call this safe?”
She shrugged. “Dead people are safer than live ones.”
Very true. But he paused at the ground’s edge. He’d heard about how the Shadowmen buried their dead, chaining their spirits to this world. The grounds lay covered in marked stones—hundreds of bodies were buried here. Hundreds of souls. What would they think about being walked on? Did they haunt those who disturbed them?
Her brows drew together. “Are you scared?”
He snorted. “Of course I’m not.” Still, he lingered.
Her eyes narrowed. “You’ll provoke three men and almost get yourself killed, but you won’t walk across burial grounds?”
“To be fair, I did see that going differently back there.”
She frowned a smile. “How so?”
He didn’t want to brag, but… “I’m actually pretty good, I just, uh… I didn’t have my sword.”
“Oh, I see.” She nodded slowly. “Right.”
“No, really, I am.”
Her smile widened. “Okay.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. Blood trickled from his eye and down his cheek, and he wiped it away.
“Let me see,” she said, and stepped to him.
He dropped his head lower as she examined him with a grimace.
“You’ve got a pretty nasty gash there.” She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it against his brow. He winced.
“Sorry,” she said, her voice soft.
“What’s your name?” he asked as they awkwardly stood and waited for the pressure to stop the bleeding.
“Sevina.”
“Sevina,” he repeated as he looked at her.
She had large, expressive eyes, but they weren’t dark like the eyes of the Shadowmen. They shined of burnt umber, like Mercian summer fields, and light danced in them like each was its own world, with its own sun. She had dark, short-cut locks that fell over her forehead, and longer hair swept back and up, with a few strands loose on the sides. The round of her face curved down to the small point of her chin, and her full lips parted slightly as she held the handkerchief to his head.
“Yours?” she asked.
