I shrug. “I didn’t want to drag you into this.”
Essnai frowns, searching me up and down. “We saw the carnage at the Temple.”
“We were worried about you,” Sukar adds, scornful.
The three of us press our foreheads together, our arms draped across each other’s shoulders once more. I let myself forget about Kefu and Efiya and my mother for the briefest moment. My friends are glad I’m okay, but their fear is palpable too. They know what will happen soon. That our time together will not last. I’m going to miss them.
“I can’t believe the so-called great orisha Re’Mec is Tam.” Majka grimaces. “I fought him in the arena many times, you know. He’s awful with shotels and not that much better with knives, either.”
Rudjek glances everywhere to keep from meeting anyone’s eye. He squeezes the handles of his shotels so hard that the blood drains from his knuckles. “He wanted us to think that.”
Kira roams over to the crater in the ground where I landed after falling from the sky. She fingers a blade with an intricate carved handle made of bone. They’re different from her usual daggers. “Well, this is interesting.”
“I see you have new daggers,” I interject so I don’t have to explain the hole.
“Tam—um, Re’Mec—gave us some new toys to stand against the demons.” Sukar holds up a shiny new pair of sickles; the blades catch the moonlight. Even in the dark, the script carved into the weapons glows. “He’s still a lying weasel, though.”
Is that how Rudjek killed all those demons at the Almighty Temple? Did Re’Mec enhance his shotels with magic too? I burn to ask, but rage and hurt still my tongue.
Dozens of shadows suddenly flit in and out of the moonlight, and Rudjek reaches for his shotels. Kira sends a knife sailing into the dark. It goes through a shadow that disappears along with the blade. Kira gasps and I turn to see her staring down at the knife, which has returned to the sheath at her hip. She looks at me, wide-eyed. “Hello, orisha magic.”
There’s no time for a witty retort as a small army marches on our position; no mistaking who they are. Their magic charges the night air, and they move like still wind in plain black uniforms.
“Shotani,” I whisper. If my sister controls the new Almighty One, then she has the Kingdom’s armies at her disposal too. Who better to send after us than the elite Temple-trained soldiers? They could kill a man in a crowd without anyone noticing.
“Form a circle,” Rudjek barks, slipping into the role of leader without pause. A natural fit for a boy groomed to be the next Vizier of the Kingdom. And if I’m being honest, it suits him well. “The shotani’s greatest strength is stealth. They’re good at killing in close quarters, but not in the open like this.”
Rudjek speaks like he’s fought them before. Not for the first time I wonder what he’s gone through since setting off for the Aloo Valley, and notice the change in him. I grip my staff as we follow his orders. He stands to my left and Sukar to my right.
“The weapons Re’Mec gave you will negate the shotani’s magic,” he tells us. “They’ll try to break the circle. Don’t let them.”
“Are you sure about the weapons?” I ask. “Arti and Efiya would’ve anticipated that.”
Rudjek has that twinkle in his eyes again. My chest throbs with longing and a familiar warmth spreads through me. His look reminds me of the almost kiss in the garden when his scent toyed with my senses. Even with so much uncertainty between us and the looming battle, I can’t deny the part of me that still aches for him. “You’re talking to me again,” he observes, his voice low and raspy. “That’s good at least.”
His eyes linger long enough to make me glance away.
“Pine for each other later,” Majka moans. “We’re busy at the moment.”
The shotani slink into the valley as silent as Familiars. There are at least fifty of the elite assassins, and six of us.
“Twenty-gods. I take that back.” Majka rolls his eyes. “Do all the pining you want since we’re screwed anyway.”
Sukar rotates his wrists, his blades ready. “I’m not going down without a fight.”
Half of the shotani charge at once while the others stand back. They dart through the field like gazelles. Kira launches her daggers, and when the shotani drop, the blades reappear at her waist in a shimmer of gold light.
Despite our efforts, they manage to separate us with ease. Essnai and Sukar fight back to back—taking on five shotani who move like slippery snakes. Majka and Rudjek are back to back too, and most of the shotani have come for them. They dance around us like wisps of wind, landing cuts and blows.
Rudjek breaks away from Majka to run down any shotani who come after me, but he can’t stop them all. I bat them back with my staff, landing blows in the soft spots that my father taught me. While I push them back, Essnai takes out eyes and teeth and breaks bones. Her staff is a flash of brilliance that moves in time with her body. Kira runs back and forth through the field, dipping in and out of shadows. Her blades soar through the air, sometimes connecting, sometimes not.
Rudjek plunges his blade into a shotani’s belly and slashes another across her chest. He ducks, but not fast enough. A third shotani’s blade bites into his shoulder. My pulse throbs in my ears as the shotani rips the sword from Rudjek’s shoulder and he yelps in pain.
So much pain.
So much blood.
So much death.
A tang of iron coats my tongue as I block another shotani’s blade with my staff. My arms tremble against his brute strength. Magic flares beneath my skin, but I don’t need it. I duck right and sweep the staff in an arc to cut the shotani’s legs from beneath him. When he hits the ground, I slam the staff into his temple. None of the shotani have tried to kill me. Efiya must want to do the deed herself, so she can take the kas of the chieftains.
While Rudjek holds off two shotani, a third one sneaks up behind him. He pivots right and ducks. Not fast enough. The third shotani rams a sword through Rudjek’s shoulder. The blade shimmers with magic that crawls up his neck and down his back before dissipating into thin air. Rudjek shrieks at the pain and his right shotel crashes to the ground. Like at the Almighty Temple, the magic rebounds off him, even without his craven-bone pendant. Before I can wonder how he’s repelling magic, he spins his remaining shotel across his body and cuts the shotani down. With his attention split, the other two shotani seize their opportunity to strike.
I dart across the space between us and ram my staff into the shotani’s belly, and he goes hurtling backward. No, he flies. The magic did that. I crouch and spin, cracking the second one across the knees. His bones shatter and his screams cut through me. Once he’s on the ground, I deal the killing blow.
“Thank you.” Rudjek winces, reaching for his sword.
His shoulder knits itself back together and I stop, my mouth agape. There’s blood and dirt and smooth skin where the wound had been only moments ago.
The clang of metal against metal echoes in my ears.
Rudjek shrugs. “There might be more to my Dark Forest story.”
“There always is with you,” I say, shaking my head.
He winks at me.
White light flashes among the shotani holding the line and they scatter. They clash swords with newcomers who move as well if not better than the elite assassins. The newcomers cut down the shotani like they’re untrained recruits in the City Guard. I slam my staff into more heads, bellies, and vital organs. My shoulders ache and sweat streaks down my forehead. I’m exhausted. We all are.