Coreene Callahan - Knight Avenged

Gods, she needed to pull herself together. Right now. This instant. Before she gave herself away. If that happened, she wouldn’t last long inside White Temple.

Not now that the Druinguari stood inside the gates.

Fear tightened its grip, squeezing around her rib cage. She fought the lockdown and forced her lungs open, refusing to let terror win. No matter how afraid, she needed to go on. Her mission left no room for hesitation. One way or another, she must find the others—intercept the Blessed, secret each one to safety, and ensure all arrived home in one piece. ’Twas a lofty task and a terrible undertaking, but she could do it. The goddess had chosen her for a reason, trusted her to be strong, well able to navigate peril and city streets crawling with enemy soldiers. Gritting her teeth, Cosmina stifled a huff. All right. So crawling might be overstating it a bit. She hadn’t, after all, encountered one yet, but . . .

She knew the blackguards were out there. Somewhere. Surveying the whole city. Lying in wait. Preparing to kill her along with her sisters in the Order of Orm.

Panic threatened again. Cosmina shoved it aside.

A clear mind, not one clouded by dread, was an absolute must. The Druinguari weren’t stupid. Master assassins with more skill in their little fingers than she possessed in her entire throwing arm, the group epitomized smart. The infernal beasts had spread out. One stood on the battlements along the east wall. Another atop the west and . . . well, she didn’t know about the south. Hadn’t seen one when she’d slipped through the postern gate to the north earlier. But that didn’t mean an enemy assassin wasn’t out there now. Concealed in shadow. Ready to sound the alarm the moment she came into view. Which meant she needed to find better cover before her luck ran out.

The realization made her stomach ache.

Ignoring the discomfort, balanced on the balls of her feet, Cosmina adjusted her shoulder strap instead. Her satchel obeyed with a persistent tug, settling against her hip as she contemplated her next move. A map of the city morphed in her mind’s eye. She searched for the best way through the maze of streets, back alleys, and main thoroughfares. Her target? The rose garden abutting the south parapet. ’Twas a bold maneuver, a strategy that would put her under the enemy’s nose . . . and the Druinguari keeping watch at that end of White Temple. But few other options existed. The wall at the rear of the garden—beyond the old oak—was the best alternative. She knew the terrain well and . . .

The door concealed within the wall even better.

A few clicks of her key, and she would be through, stepping out of danger and into the secret passageway. Deep inside the complex warren of underground tunnels beneath the holy city. Able to access every part of it without detection. An undeniable advantage. Particularly since it would allow her to intercept her sisters. Pull each one inside the underground labyrinth before the Druinguari registered their presence. An excellent strategy, but for one thing. She must save herself first and reach a secret door hidden in plain sight. Which meant . . .

She needed to move.

Remaining in one spot for too long wasn’t smart.

Inhaling through her nose, Cosmina exhaled through her mouth. Frigid air picked up the current, turning each breath into a white puff. In. Out. Catch and release. The breathing method worked. Her heart slowed beat by beat, allowing her to hear again. Tilting her head, she listened hard. No scrape of footfalls. No murmur of deep voices. Naught but the whistle of wind through narrow alleys and empty thoroughfares.

Preparing to shift positions, she pressed her hand flat against the wall. Dirty snow pushed between her fingers as Cosmina peeked around the cornerstone. Main Street sliced between buildings, racing past stone facades with shuttered windows. She released a pent-up breath. No movement on the thoroughfare. Or in the large market square beyond it. Just trim houses set in row upon neat row. All shared the same look—whitewashed on the outside, thatched roofs overhead—every one of them abandoned, awaiting the day the residents returned and White Temple thrived once more.

Too much to hope for? A last-ditch effort in a losing game of chance? Probably. And yet, despite everything, Cosmina wanted to believe . . . so many things. That she could find a true home with others of her kind. That the new High Priestess would be nothing like the last. That the Goddess of All Things knew what she was doing—had a plan, one that included Cosmina living long enough to see it succeed.

“You listening?” she asked as she glanced skyward. Gods, she hoped the goddess heard her. Life with the Blessed, after all, was a whole lot better than death by Druinguari. Reaching for courage, Cosmina dragged her gaze from the heavens, and her mind from the Goddess of All Things. “All right now . . . enough stalling. Move it.”

Blowing out a breath, Cosmina inched forward. Her fingers flexed around the dagger. The solid feel of it dragged unwanted memories to the surface as she scanned the street again. Henrik. His knife in her hand. His face in her head. Words written in a wretched note. I love you. Blast and damn him. Her gaze strayed to the wicked six-inch blade—sharp edge, beautiful lines, perfectly balanced, and . . . made for Henrik’s hand. Carried in a sheath over his heart. Given to her with love . . . in a moment he would no doubt call weakness. It didn’t matter. Whatever he chose to label it, Cosmina clung to the connection anyway . . . desperate to be more like him—strong, brave, and unafraid—while she remembered everything about him.

So many things. Too many things.

His kindness. The gentleness of his touch when he made love to her. The way he listened when she talked, as though she were the only woman in his world. The sound of his voice. ’Twas absurd, really. She was well past the point of redemption. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Cosmina shook her head. She must stop thinking about him. Henrik had chosen to leave her. Sad, but true. So enough with the heartbreak. She needed to face facts. She was on her own. Once again alone in the world. Free to make her own decisions. Unencumbered by another’s opinions and . . .

Drat it all. She didn’t need him.

Didn’t want him either.

Her motto now. Words to live by. Now if only she could make herself believe it.

Her brow furrowed, Cosmina rechecked her position. Now or never. Do or die. A new mantra, and one much more pressing than the last. Pushing from her crouch, she stayed low and sprinted across Main Street. Boots scuffing against the stone pavers underfoot, she skidded in tight against the next building and listened. All quiet. No flash of movement along the battlements overlooking the city streets. Both things to be thankful for, particularly since the Druinguari assassin atop the east parapet held a distinct advantage. Dressed to blend in, his back flat against the tower wall, he crouched atop the high wall. The perfect vantage point for him. Not so great for her. One wrong turn. Too much noise. The slightest mistake, and his gaze would snap in her direction. Which would lead to all sorts of nasty things . . .

One of the beasts raising the alarm. Druinguari mobilization. Her capture by the enemy.

The thought prompted her to get up and go. Knifepoint leading the way, the midday sun upon her shoulders, Cosmina ran, slinking between stone facades and into back alleyways. Mind working triple time, she scanned each street, every deserted storefront, and all the rooftops while moving with stealth between abandoned wagons and overturned barrels. Almost there. A few more turns. Five, mayhap six, more street corners to negotiate. One last door to find her way through, and she’d be home free. Deep inside the underground passageway and headed for—