Page 163 of A Touch of Poison
It didn’t seem real that a lucky shot from one of these could kill me. And yet…
I tried to swallow down my fear, but it had already clawed its way into my throat and latched on. I could only work around the thick mass.
Bastian was a dark shape on the edge of the forest, void-black blade sweeping through our enemy. Darker today than at Innesol—odd, but I had no time to wonder about that.
Thank every god I’d practiced so hard with Faolán, even when I’d hated him for adding to my hangover headaches. Readying a fresh arrow was easy, something ingrained in my muscles, and it let me convince myself that this was just a training exercise.
Almost.
Because there were never screams when we practised.
They rose from left and right. Bastian’s first kills must’ve been caught by surprise, but now our enemies knew he was amongst them.
Near one of my early shots someone groaned in pain.
The arrows clacking against rock slowed. How many had we killed? Enough to make them retreat?
I used the lull to gather a handful of arrows from the floor, but when I looked up, that fear in my throat seized me entirely.
On silent feet, fae slipped from the trees.
It was worse than if I heard the pound of their footsteps—that would’ve been a warning.
For long and stupid seconds, all I could do was stare.
Move. Fucking move.
I had no idea if Bastian shouted it or some part of me thought it or if I said it out loud. But the words reached me, a slap around the face.
I scrambled for cover.
We’re going to die.
I grabbed my bow.
Maybe, but let’s try not to, eh?
I fired faster than I ever had before. I had a wealth of targets, after all.
My arms should’ve been aching by now, even with my bow’s lightness, but if anything I felt stronger.
Shadows spilled from the forest, tugging on ankles, as two Bastians broke from the trees. He sliced and parried, rolled under someone’s guard, clipping the back of their knees so they dropped with a shriek before he rose, sword thrusting through another fae’s gut.
Blood. Shadows. Screams. The thrum of my bowstring.
But it wasn’t enough.
Breaths heaving, I fired and fired, trying to keep them back from me, back from both Bastians.
But we were only three and they were still dozens and dozens.
I didn’t want to die today. This wasn’t a day when I had to weigh the safety of thousands against my own life. I didn’t choose this.
But sometimes it didn’t matter what you chose. Sometimes death chose you.
I reached for the next arrow. And found nothing.
Before I could break cover and gather more, a louder, harsher cry rose above all others.
