Sara Larson - Defy

There had been a moment when I’d first met him when I wished I didn’t have to hide that I was a girl. But then he’d opened his mouth to speak, and it didn’t take long for me to come to dislike him.

Realizing I was staring at the prince, I squared my shoulders and scowled at myself. The heat was getting to me. That was all. I nodded at another guard, one of the king’s men, as I continued forward. Echoes of laughter and voices slurred by drink were clearly audible as I crossed in front of the open windows, scanning the courtyard.

I’d nearly passed the length of the dining hall when I heard the thud of a body. Instinct took over, and I dropped to the ground, whirling at the same time. An arrow pinged as it hit the wall, right where my head had been moments before. One of the king’s guard lay on the ground across from me, an arrow protruding from his eye socket.

Sliding my sword from its scabbard, I turned my back to the wall, and spun to face the unknown enemy. My heart beat erratically. How many were there? At least one of them was obviously an excellent shot. If they had breached the outer wall without a racket, there couldn’t be too many of them. No, this was a small group — possibly even a single assassin.

Straining my ears, I barely heard the whistle of another arrow before I spun again, raising my sword up to the level of my face. It bounced off the wall inches from my cheek.

I was blind, sitting like a target in the spilling light of the party, staring out into the black night. Raising the whistle to my lips and simultaneously leaping through the open window, I blew on it hard, three times. It was a special whistle that emitted an earsplitting sound, so loud, not only would Marcel hear it and repeat the call, but so would the rest of the guard who were above us in their beds or on duty in the hallways.

The people nearest me gasped and screamed in horror when I vaulted through the window, the echo of my whistle blows still ringing in my ears. I got a glimpse of the king sitting on his throne, watching the party with his pale, cold eyes, before a servant bearing a tray of wine collided with me, dumping the tray on the floor with a crash as flutes filled with the scarlet liquid shattered.

“Attack! Guards, clear the room!” I shouted into the sudden silence as the music stumbled to a halt.

Immediately, those of the outer guard, the king’s guard, and Rylan — who was guarding Prince Damian at the party — jumped into action, herding the royals and their court out of the room. Prince Damian glanced at me, his expression inscrutable before turning and guiding his companion, resplendent in diamonds and silk, out the door in front of him. Iker ushered the king behind the throne to a special passage hidden there.

“Rylan, come with me!” I shouted before turning away from the flashing jewels and bright silks to plunge back outside into the darkness and the aim of the unknown shooter.

Marcel was already there, holding his bow. “I shot down the one who killed the king’s man.” He nodded behind him, where the guard’s body lay prone, a puddle of blood surrounding his head. “But there was someone else. He scaled the wall before I could get off another shot.”

“There could be more outside the walls as well. Let’s go.” I took off at a run, sheathing my sword and pulling my bow over my head, drawing an arrow from the quiver on my back. The outer squadron for the west gate was nowhere to be seen. Most likely shot as well. We had to waste precious seconds locating the key ring hidden behind a loose stone and heaving the door open. By the time the jungle was in full view, the rest of the prince’s guard had arrived.

“Not a single king’s man showed up to help, huh?” Asher noted, glancing behind us.

“Typical,” muttered Jerrod, his extremely pale blue eyes ghostlike in the darkness. “They’re probably all too busy waiting in line for their turns at the breeding house.”

“Fan out,” Deron whispered harshly, ignoring them and pointing into the jungle. “They won’t have gone into the city; they must be out there. If they’re assassins from Blevon, they won’t be comfortable in the jungle. Use your senses, track them.”

The men nodded and we began to slip away silently in pairs. Shouldering the bow so I could move more easily through the trees, I headed straight forward, straining for any sign of the men who attacked the palace. The leaves and vines of the jungle were still coated with drops of moisture, and the ground sucked at my feet as I moved ahead without a sound. My heart thudded in my chest, but I gritted my teeth and kept going. There was no time to waste on being afraid of the jungle.

I motioned at the ground, and Marcel nodded. His hairline was damp and his eyes bright with pain, but he gamely followed me into the jungle without a word of complaint. Directly ahead of us were a broken leaf and a fresh boot print. We were on someone’s trail.

The darkness was so complete, the shadows seemed to take form around me as we plunged deeper into the belly of the rain forest. My mind made enemies from the mist. As I stalked through the jungle, stealthy as a predator, I had to sort what was real from what was imagined. Trees, vines, rocks — all were menacing in the steamy night. But my prey was cunning and far more intelligent than any jaguar’s quarry — and a better shot. The pungent scent of moist soil filled my nose. Heavily laden leaves, swollen with water, brushed against my face. A hanging mist coated the air. Not true rain, but enough to make my skin wet.

I caught sight of a shadow ahead of me. Not one of our own. He tried to blend in, but he wasn’t at home here. Not like we were. Though I was afraid of the jungle, I understood it — I knew it, and how to blend into it. I halted, lifting a fist silently. My eyes narrowed, and I squinted to make out the details as the assassin melted from tree to tree, trying to conceal himself. I silently lifted the arrow I’d been holding the whole time, felt the smooth wood, the tickle of feathers against my fingers.

He froze. Possibly felt the weight of my stare. Time was short now before he realized he’d been caught. Would he turn to fight or try to flee?

In one smooth movement, so fast there were few, if any, who could match me for speed, I swung the bow off my shoulder, notched the arrow, and let it fly. Only the smallest twang from the string sounded as the arrow whistled through the damp air toward the enemy.

There was a cry of pain and the shadow dropped to the ground. My arrow hit true. I never missed.

Someone drew up next to me on my right. Without looking, I could sense my brother. Marcel was always close by — always trying to protect me.

“Is there only —?”

I jerked my head to silence him, but it was too late. I heard the returning whistle right before the arrow embedded with a wet thunk in Marcel’s chest. He cried out, sucked in a shocked gasp of air. Just as before, the aim was perfect. Marcel fell to his knees, his eyes wide as he stared up at me. I could see my name form on his lips, my true name.

Alexa .

But the word was nothing more than a gurgle as his mouth filled with blood and he collapsed to the ground.

The blackness of night was like a living thing, breathing in hope and expelling terror. As I stood next to his body, the darkness took the shape of death, reaching, grasping for him. I was helpless to stop him from leaving me.

The night was painted red now, red with my fury, red with his blood. There was a small snap from a twig, near the first assassin I shot down. I grabbed an arrow and let it fly, barely even looking. The second attacker — the one Marcel didn’t see, the one who killed him — dropped next to my first victim. But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t fast enough.