“What’s your plan?” I’m not giving an inch. Not even to a prince.
“I’m going to use the captives as shields.” He strides away.
“Tovian!” I dart after him. “You can’t do that!”
“Name one reason why not.” He doesn’t turn around. The others are scrambling to unhitch the horses from the wagons. They’re on board with his plan, clearly.
“They’ll kill their own without hesitation. They’repirates. Skía.” Disloyal traitors and brutal killers, but humans nonetheless.
“That sounds like a pirate problem, not ours.”
“Tovian. Stop.” I hate seeing this coldness in him. It reminds me too much of Lorcan.
I grab his arm. He whirls. “Do you have another idea, Sunshine?”
“Yes. Turn the wagons sideways to prevent the pirates from getting through easily. They’ll be forced to stop. Then our riders can sweep in and take them captive. We have guns. We can match them if we have the element of surprise. But we have to get our riders into place for it to work. Right now. Would you lead them?”
I’m not in any condition to ride in an attack.
Slowly, he nods. “Not bad, Sunshine. Not bad at all.”
If Lorcan had said it, a small part of me would’ve felt like a dog getting a pat from her master. Coming from Tovian, it feels like he was trying to protect me while I’m wounded by stepping in, but stepped aside when I asserted myself.
Refreshing as fuck, I must say. I’m weirdly flattered.
Minutes later, I’m tying strips of cloth around the mouths of our prisoners. Not one of them likes being handled that way, so I take care to pull extra tight while they hurled insults and try to bite me or kick. Only one doesn’t resist. The pool of blood beneath his prone body explains why. I leave him for last.
“Not so nice being on the receiving end, is it?” I asked, in English.
“Fuck you, stupid whore,” a man sneers. I stuff a wad of cotton between his teeth and yank hard on the knot. I can still make out the gist of his insults, though.
“Yeah, well, I can tell you’ve never pleased a woman,” I shoot back, feeling no remorse.
Tovian chuckles. He’s guarding me until I secure the prisoners.
“Not a problem I’ve ever had,” he brags, also in English.
I laugh, startled that he’s picked up that much English. The man I’d just gagged turned red with fury.
Then his compatriots were upon us. The first of three dirt bikes slid to a halt, sideways across the path, followed by his two companions.
“Wait.” Tovian holds up one hand. Once the three intruders are off their bikes and inspecting the wagons, our group crept down from their hiding places. I caught sight of Luza signaling the others—right as the man I’d insulted spat out his gag and called out a warning.
“You loud-mouthedasshole,” I hiss, and in a fit of impulsivity, I kick him in the face, hard. Blood sprays. I close my eyes, feeling sick. Everything Lorcan taught me about fighting was supposed to remain theoretical. My people value fighting skills. Most of our traditions involve some kind of ceremonial violence—but that didn’t mean I was meant to actually engage.
I could have avoided all of this if I listened to my father and stayed at River Bend. Yet here I am.
There’s no more time for recriminations.
Gunfire pops. Shouts. I dive to the floor of the wagon.
Outside, the scuffle is over within minutes. Two men dead, one wounded. Four captured. I have no idea what we’ll do with them, other than try to get information.
Luza bleeds freely from a bullet wound to her thigh.
“Get the horses hitched back up,” I order. “I’ll treat her in the wagon.”
One precious shot of morphine, a gruesome bullet extraction, and six stitches later, she was passed out on a thin blanket. I slather the wound with a honey and sap mixture we use to prevent wounds from turning septic and bandage it. The shuddering ride made my task harder, and the gunfire did nothing for my concussion, either.
