Cinda Chima - The Exiled Queen

When Sloat’s smug face appeared at eye level, Raisa stiffened her fingers and stabbed them into his eyes, a technique Amon had shown her all those many years ago. Sloat howled, backhanding her across the face with such force that she landed on the ground, the breath exploding from her lungs.

Raisa spat out blood from a split lip. The mounted corporal loomed high over her, rubbing his streaming eyes, his face purple with rage. Then he stiffened, eyes bulging, rage dissolving into surprise. He groped behind his back, flinched again, then toppled off his horse, narrowly missing Raisa. He ended with his head and shoulders on the ground, one foot caught in his stirrup. Two black- fletched arrows bristled his back.

Demonai arrows.

Bedlam ensued. Guards dove for cover, including Amon’s captors, who abandoned him at the center of the field. Horses ripped free of their tethers and plunged into the woods. Spooked by the body dragging at its stirrup, Sloat’s horse screamed and kicked, and Raisa had to roll one way, and then another, to avoid its flying hooves.

Running a zigzag course, Amon charged across the field and shouldered Sloat’s horse so it wouldn’t trample Raisa. “Go!” he shouted, jerking his head toward the trees. “Get under cover!”

He made too good a target standing there holding back the horse with his body. Raisa rolled to her feet and ran in a half-crouch to Amon. Pulling free her belt knife, she cut the cords binding Amon’s hands.

“They’re Demonai,” Raisa gasped into Amon’s ear. “The archers. On our side.”

More Demonai arrows arced over the meadow, and two more guards fell, one with an arrow sticking out of his throat. The attack was all the more frightening because the archers were silent, apparently invisible.

Amon pulled Raisa into the edge of the forest, shoving her up against a tree.

“Stay here,” he growled. Snatching up his quarterstaff, he waded into the meadow, swinging it at the renegades fleeing in all directions.

“Amon!” Raisa called. “Be careful.” She wasn’t at all sure the Demonai would distinguish between Amon and the rest of the guards.

It was all over in a matter of minutes. Amon stood alone in the clearing, breathing hard. All of the guards were down, four felled by Amon and his wicked staff.

Raisa quieted Sloat’s panicked horse and yanked the dead guardsman’s boot free of the stirrup. Shadows in the fringes of the woods coalesced and came forward, some dragging the bodies of the guards who’d fled into the trees. All at once there were a half dozen Demonai in the meadow, clad in their nearly invisible traveling cloaks.

Two of them walked toward Raisa. One, tall and raptor-eyed, she recognized as the warrior Reid Demonai, called Nightwalker. His shoulder- length hair was sectioned off into multiple plaits wrapped in colorful thread. Raisa had met him at Demonai, though he wasn’t in camp much. Only two years older than Raisa, he was already a legend, hotheaded and deadly, the object of much speculation by the girls in the camps.

In fact, he and Raisa had shared a brief romance during her time at Demonai Camp. But she’d found that a romance with Reid was like fighting a series of daily skirmishes in an ongoing war of egos.

The girl beside him looked to be about Raisa’s age, and she moved with an easy, long- legged grace that Raisa envied. Her head of dark curls hung free from thread wrappings. Though dressed in Demonai colors and fully armed, she did not wear the Demonai warrior amulet around her neck.

“Find out if any of them still live,” Reid said to the girl, who broke away to kneel beside the nearest fallen guardsman.

“Princess Raisa, how goes it with you?” Reid asked calmly, as if they were meeting at a harvest feast.

But his eyes gave him away. They glittered with excitement and feral joy. His face and clothing splattered with blue-jacket blood, the Demonai warrior looked elated, exhilarated by the recent battle. Nightwalker was much too fond of bloodshed.

“Did the Vale- dwellers harm you?” he asked, looking her up and down, taking in her cadet uniform. “I saw the guardsman strike you.” He reached out and ran his thumb along the corner of Raisa’s mouth, then wiped her blood on his leggings.

“I am well, Nightwalker,” Raisa said, licking her finger and rubbing her face. “Please accept my thanks for your service to the line.”

Reid inclined his head, accepting his due, his dark eyes riveted on her in a way that most girls found irresistible.

Raisa felt Amon’s presence beside her, and turned. He’d found his shirt and sword belt, and slid them on. Blood already soaked through from his wounded shoulder.

“Corporal Byrne, this is Reid Demonai, called Nightwalker,” Raisa said. “Corporal Byrne is a member of my personal guard,” she said to Reid.

“Son of Edon Byrne?” Reid asked. When Amon nodded, Reid said, “I know your father. An honest Valesman,” he said, as if that were a rare find.

“Do you have a healer with you?” Raisa asked. “Corporal Byrne is wounded.”

“There’s no need, Your Highness,” Amon said, expressionless. “It’s not serious.”

Reid’s gaze flickered from Raisa to Amon. “You fought well, Corporal,” Reid conceded. “Once you were— ah— free.”

The young warrior returned, having finished her survey. “All dead,” she said.

“Too bad,” Reid said. “I would have liked to have saved at least one for questioning.” He tilted his head toward the girl next to him. “This is Digging Bird of Marisa Pines Camp, a warrior apprentice. Her arrows took three of the enemy today.”

The girl bowed her head, her cheeks coloring.

Digging Bird has a bad case of Reid Demonitis, Raisa thought. “You fought very well,” she said, smiling at the warrior. “I’m sure it won’t be long before you carry the Demonai name and amulet.”

“Thank you for coming to our aid,” Amon said, the words propelled by his relentless honesty. “If not for you, I would be dead, and the princess heir a captive.”

Reid shrugged as if to say, it was nothing.

“Which raises a question,” Amon went on. “How did you happen to be here?”

“We often patrol this area,” Reid said. “Watching for jinxflingers and trespassers. The Guard presence in these parts has been rather thin.”

“Then you weren’t following us?” Amon asked.

Reid’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at Digging Bird, then back at Amon. “Well, yes. We were.” Raisa suspected he might have lied had the girl not been there as witness.

“We would have welcomed you to our fire,” Amon went on.

“We were watching over the princess heir,” Reid admitted without apology.

“Well then,” Amon said. “Good you were here.” He did not smile. “We should get back to camp,” he said, looking at Raisa. “Hallie may have missed you by now, and we’d better move on. Lieutenant Gillen may be nearby.”

“You would be welcome to be our guest at Demonai Camp, Briar Rose,” Reid said, using Raisa’s clan name. “We would be glad to offer escort.”

“We just came from there,” Raisa said. “We’re heading for Westgate. I’m leaving the Fells for now, until I can get things . . . sorted out with the queen.”

“Are you sure that’s wise? To leave the Spirits?” Reid raised an eyebrow.

Raisa felt a prickle of unease, the return of her earlier forebodings. “It’s not that I want to leave,” she said. “It’s just that right now it doesn’t seem wise to stay.”

“We can protect you, Your Highness. No one will touch you at Demonai.” He smiled and touched the longbow that slanted across his back. “No one should force you from your birthright. I urge you to seek the protection of the clans.”