Kingston had made me First Ward of the ranger company, which meant I oversaw all scouting and raiding parties. It was the rank I wore on the dark green tunic of my rebel uniform, on the opposite arm as the Vigilant symbol. A uniform that matched the one all my rangers were wearing under our hardened leather armor. I didn’t necessarily need to go on raids like this—in fact, I think Mother would have preferred if I didn’t—but it gave me something to do.
Because it kept me busy; which is why I suspected Kingston made me First Ward to begin with. Over the last six months, he’d graciously given me as many tasks as he could fill my time with—leading the rangers was an important one. Another of his favorites was sending me to swords practice, to be taught by a mysterious warrior that I only ever saw during my lessons, and who stressed its importance as heartily as Kingston did. Apparently Hazlitt was an excellent swordsman, and they thought I should have at least some training with the weapon before we went into battle. While I saw the importance of the skill, I hated it. I was horrible, and I had so little patience anymore to begin with, and on the worst days all it did was remind me of Ava. I avoided it as often as I could get away with.
Nira cocked her head, brown eyes taking me in with concern as she said, “You dreamt again.” I nodded. “You should tell your mother, and Kingston.”
“I’m not telling them,” I whispered, glancing around to make sure nobody else had heard. “Nor will you.” I’d been doing my best to keep up the appearance that I was healing, that I was sleeping at night and focused, and that the simple act of smiling wasn’t an emotionally tolling struggle. No matter how hard I tried, I was never successful.
“They worry about you,” she said, though the tone of her voice let me know that she was worried too. “The least you could do is take something to get a full night’s rest.”
It was a feat to keep from glaring at her with frustration. “We’re not having this conversation again.”
“Kiena,” she sighed, “it’s—”
“If you say it’s been six months, Nira,” I interrupted, “so help me.” She took in a breath to continue her argument, but I growled, “Not now,” because this was the wrong time and place, and I was tired of hearing it.
I was tired of everyone telling me to make an effort to move on. Tired of everyone telling me that I had to forgive myself. Tired of everyone using time against me, and telling me it had been long enough now that I needed to give up for my own good. I knew exactly how long it had been. Six months. Twenty-five weeks. One hundred and seventy-three days. I knew better than they did. I knew every hour, minute, and second intimately because of the pain they caused, because I was never without the reminder that I was a traitor. I knew.
Before Nira could try and come up with anything else to hound me about, that one-eyed, one-eared she-wolf crept out of the woods. I could control her with my magic, as I’d learned to control any animal, but I didn’t need to. She was wild and kept to the woods a majority of the time, but she followed me. Surely she’d decided I was her pack, and it helped that the magic allowed some communication—I couldn’t understand her by any means, but she always seemed to understand me. Nor had I named her, not being ready yet to attach myself to another creature, but Nira had taken to calling her Haunt.
“You hear something coming?” I asked the wolf, and at the question, all the rebels around us quieted. I nodded toward the road, down the small hill of which we’d camped atop. “Go on and check, then. You know the signal.”
The wolf padded off, keeping hidden from view of the winding road below us by creeping through the bushes. It wasn’t long until I lost sight of her too, and we all waited tensely for the signal to alert us that the supply caravan was nearing. There was another group farther down the road, ready to flank the caravan at the same time we cut it off from the front. It got so still as we all waited, and each of us crept to the edge of the hill after a minute to peer over it and down to the road. Nira posted herself at my side, bow in hand and ready to attack.
I glanced sideways at her, whispering, “Make sure you keep your elbow up.”
No matter how many times I told her, she always had the habit of relaxing her form. Still, my advice was met with a narrow scowl, which would have been followed by a snarky comment if the sounds of the caravan didn’t come within range. There was the soft murmur of conversation, hoof beats against the dirt, and the rolling of carriage wheels. I pulled my dagger from the belt at my waist just as a deafening howl pierced the air.
Nira sprang to her feet at the signal, taking aim and firing her first shot as the others and I dashed down the hill. The lightly armored soldiers escorting the caravan pulled their weapons immediately, taking position to defend their supplies as we reached the road. I materialized a ball of sparks in my right hand and ran at the nearest soldier. He had a broadsword in his grip, and he swung hard as I neared him, but I had so much speed that I dropped to my knees, sliding across the dirt road toward him while the sword flew over my head. Before he even realized he’d missed, I’d struck him in an exposed leg with my spark hand. He fell to his knees in convulsions as I rose, eyes locked on my second target.
I dashed toward the next soldier, easily ducking the swing of his heavy weapon and pushing him into the momentum. It spun him around so he was facing the wolf, and she didn’t even give him a chance to scream before snapping her jaws around his throat. The caravan was well guarded, and with enough men that two more were already coming at me. The first one to reach me was equipped with two light war axes, a set of weapons as hard to dodge as they would be to counter, but the man hesitated when I created a strong current in my hand.
In the split moment he hesitated, I heard the second one’s light armor at my back, and there was no time to do anything but react. I twisted toward the second soldier, and because I knew I wouldn’t be able to finish him by the time the first one attacked, I twirled my spark-wielding wrist. It sent the current wrapping around him, the static freezing him in place just as the first man wound up. He swung at me with both axes at once, arms arcing outward so that when I leapt back and he missed, it left his chest exposed.
There was no way I could plunge the dagger through his metal chest plate, and I’d learned from experience that the armor didn’t sit close enough to their bodies for my sparks to penetrate. At best it would leave burns, but it wasn’t fatal, and therefore not a good tactic. Leading with my shoulder, I threw myself forward and into him. He was already off balance from his swing, and his armor was heavy enough that when I bashed him, it knocked him backward. As he hit the ground, I shot a fatal orb of current toward his thigh, and turned back to the man I’d trapped. I could have easily finished him off like this, but I wouldn’t. No matter how simple it was to kill a man that I’d frozen, it wasn’t honorable. It wasn’t right.
I released him from the static with another twirl of my wrist, and he stared at me for a moment, wide-eyed. It only took a second for him to recover. He came at me sword first, and in order to avoid the point of his weapon I moved myself on a shot of sparks, jumping directly behind him. He stopped charging, but knowing where I’d landed, he swung around with his sword. I leaned backward, barely managing to avoid being skimmed with the sharp edge, and my left arm pitched upward as the heavy swing turned him away from me, swiping my dagger across his forearm. It cut him so deep he dropped his weapon, and I rolled forward to get behind him before he could pick it up again, grabbing the back of his head at the same time I created a powerful current of sparks.