I choke out a strained sob, holding my stomach as I try to lessen the pain my trembling brings. “I thought I could…” I trail off, not sure how to explain why I deviated from the mission. I shake my head against Fireblood.
Devlan’s hand cups my face, and he turns me toward him. His thumbs caress my chin, my cheeks, as he looks me over. “She has fire in her blood,” he says, his pale blue eyes glimmering in the moonlight. “And she’s stubborn as hell.”
I sniff back my tears, and force strength into my eyes for him. “Then, is Fireblood to be my new name? Or is there one especially for those who mess up this royally?”
His lips curl into a smile as he touches them softly to mine. He nods, and whispers, “Mine.”
As we near the Rebel camp, Fireblood comes to a sudden stop when Devlan tightens her reins.
I glance around. “What’s wrong?”
His form goes rigid in my arms. He leans back and silently cues his horse to back away. Twigs snap under Fireblood’s hooves as she retraces her steps. I can feel her hesitancy beneath me. Cautiously, I angle my head around Devlan, and freeze.
Large indigo eyes, reflecting the moon so brightly that they glow, stare back at me. A low growl rumbles from the beast. My arms hug Devlan tighter. “What—”
“Shh,” he says. Fireblood snorts.
The hair of the monster’s dark-gray coat stands up as it lowers itself to the ground, readying for an attack. It’s close to the size of Fireblood, and its legs bulge with muscles under its matted fur.
Dread creeps over me as I stare into its wild eyes, but it’s the mutated wolf’s face that scares me the most. Its long muzzle and pointed ears have no fur. Black skin stretches over its face. Thin lips pull back to reveal razor-sharp teeth tinged with blood.
“Hold on.” Devlan kicks his heels and leans forward, urging Fireblood to charge past the monster.
Fireblood gathers herself, and the beast lunges. I latch my arms around Devlan, holding on as Fireblood gallops off.
As we near the twinkling lights of camp, Devlan shouts, “Arms!”
A barricade of large cemented blocks, bags of grain and sand, and logs surrounds the Rebel camp. Rebels spring up from the other side of the makeshift wall, wielding bows. Their arrows whiz past us as we head for the barricade’s opening.
Once we clear the barricade, Devlan pulls his horse to a stop. The guy behind us slams the gate. Devlan dismounts. “Don’t move until I get back,” he says before running toward the wall. Grabbing up a bow, he shoots arrows at the monster.
Shakily, I nudge Fireblood to turn and face the fight. It’s chaos. The wolf hurdles back and forth, higher than any animal I’ve ever seen jump, dodging arrows. The arrows that do connect glance off its hide. Finally, one hits its mark—the beast’s soft underbelly. It howls, the sound sending a tremor down my spine.
As the beast tries to retreat back into the woods, the Rebels take up their swords and climb the wall, going after it. The Rebels surround the mutated wolf, their weapons raised, and attack.
The giant jaws of the monster snap at them. Then someone slices its jowl, while another strikes a tendon above one massive paw. Its mouth hangs loosely, and the monster limps away before it falls to the earth.
Devlan stands over it and sinks his sword into its chest. The beast releases one last distorted howl, gurgling out its death rattle.
I’ve been locked away for only a day, and the world has gone mad.
Once Devlan reaches me, he tosses his blood-coated sword to the ground. “Zara,” he says, worry lacing his voice. But he says nothing else, and I know there’s nothing he can say. He wraps his arms around me, and I cling to him as he lowers me off the horse.
As we make our way toward a tent, I glance around at the changed camp. It’s become a battlefield headquarters. Weapons and tables with maps and gear are set up all over, fires burning to light the darkness as Rebels plan tactics and strategies.
Devlan holds back a flap, and I enter the dark tent. He helps me to the cot before striking a match to light a candle and setting it on a small desk. “I need to tend to your wounds.”
He walks over to a canvas bag and takes out a gray tunic. I reach behind my back to unlace the backing of my mangled wedding dress and wince at the pain that small action causes. His hands clasp mine, and he lowers them to my thighs, wrapping his arms around me.
His arms linger, holding me for a moment before he begins to loosen the backing. Pulling the still-intact shoulder of my dress down, he slides the top to my waist. Then he carefully lifts my arms and slips the tunic over my head.
“Lie down.” He gently guides me to recline on the soft blanket, then pulls my dress past my hips and casts it to the corner. “You have no idea how badly I wanted that dress off of you.”
A small frown tugs at my lips. When he’s done mending me, I’m going to toss it into one of the fires.
Lifting the front of the tunic, his eyes roam over my stomach. “Bastard.” He releases a heavy breath, then says, “If you hadn’t ended him, I would have.”
My eyebrows knit together, and I stare at his pained face, the candlelight flickering in his eyes. “How did you hear?” How is it he seems to know all that’s happened to me, yet I’ve heard nothing of him since the night we said our goodbye in the tunnel?
He gets to his feet and gathers supplies from his desk. He sets everything near the cot—a rag, a bottle of alcohol, a bowl of water, bandages, and adhesive. Then he kneels down beside me. “First drink some water.” He grabs a canteen and places it to my mouth.
When the water hits my mouth, my body remembers how thirsty I am, and I can’t get enough. I guzzle, not caring how desperate I look.
“Slowly,” he says, lowering it from my lips. “You’ll get sick if you take in too much.” He sighs before answering my question. “Fallon had her transmission person hack into the court feed. They were able to view everything that happened in Court.”
“You watched me kill Larkin.”
“I saw a replay.”
My face burns, shame flowing through me that I can’t bury at that moment.
“You should’ve heard the cheers go up in camp. I think there were bets on who would be the one to take him out.”
I know he’s trying to make me feel better about my actions, so I give him a small, reassuring smile, though my chest aches. I never want to kill another person if I can avoid it.
He leans closer to me. “I was at the meadow during it all, setting up last-minute communications for reinforcements if we needed them.” His eyes close. “If I’d have known—”
“No, Devlan.” I run my hand along his tense arm. “I made the decision. Nothing that happened was anyone’s fault but my own.”
He opens his eyes, and his features relax. “You made the right call, Zara.” He smoothes my hair away from my face. “Sebastian fooled me, too. He never would’ve joined with the Rebels, no matter how you tried to sway him. It was a lost cause.” He reaches for the rag. “Before the tournament match, I was on the cusp of trusting him, but those days between us are long gone.”
“So, I’m not a failure?”
The rag hovers just above my skin, and his eyes hold mine. “Hardly a failure. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d lost you.” His eyes flick down my body, then back to my face. Warmth rushes through me. “All that matters is you’re safe, and you’re still the willful girl I trained.” He tilts his head. “Though, that’s easier to admit when you’re half-naked in my tent.”
I bat his arm and wince. “I think I trained you some,” I say. “Now, fix me up so I can train you some more.”
A half-grin creeps up the side of his face, and he winks.