“Don’t worry about that, runt.” Tedric’s voice was almost bored. “You won’t live long enough to remember.”
Conrad struck again. “What do you want with her?”
“Today?” Tedric’s wrist snapped. “Her attention.”
JingYi stepped forward again, hands raised. “Please?—”
Tedric’s free hand shot out, gripping her shoulder and shoving her hard to the ground. She landed on her bad leg and gasped, the old injury screaming.
“Last warning,” he said without looking at her. “Watch, or I’ll gut him now.”
Conrad overextended. From where she knelt in the dirt, JingYi saw the opening—the unprotected line from shoulder to hip. The rapier’s strike was too fast to follow, but not its consequence: a dark, sudden bloom high on Conrad’s chest, just below the collarbone.
“No!” she cried.
He staggered back, his sword arm going slack. Tedric was on him before the pained gasp could fully leave his lips—torquing, driving a hammer-fist into Conrad’s side. The sound churned her stomach. A dull, wet crack. Conrad’s cry shattered into a strangled, wheezing gag. His face, already pale from the puncture, turned the colour of chalk.
His knees folded. His sword fell.
Tedric stepped over the blade, his own rapier levelled at the kneeling boy’s heart. Conrad’s hands clawed—one at the bleeding stain on his chest, the other pressed flat and desperate against his ribs, as if trying to hold the broken pieces inside.
A punctured wound. Broken ribs. Shock. The diagnoses flashed through her mind. If he couldn’t draw a full breath?—
She was moving before she knew it. Her balance meant nothing. The distance was everything.
“Stop!”
She threw herself between them, Tedric’s point halting a hair’s breadth from her ribs. His eyes cut to her, amused and assessing. Behind her, Conrad tried to rise. She pressed a hand to his shoulder, holding him down. Her palm came away slick with blood.
“You can’t win this,” she said, eyes fixed on Tedric. Behind her, Conrad’s breathing came shallow and wet, hitching with every attempt.
“Go,” she told him. “Find Lord Wulfbane. Tell him what you saw.”
“Highness—he’ll take you?—”
“If you stay, we both die.” Her voice hardened. “This is not a fight you can finish today.”
Tedric watched them as one might watch two sparrows arguing over a crumb.
“Icouldlet him leave,” he said, voice almost playful. “He hasn’t Awakened, after all. But—” A smile curved on those lips. “His mother is known to be prolific at whelping Alphas. I shouldn’t take a chance.”
She heard a ragged breath behind her. Then the scrape of boots, the creak of leather as Conrad hauled himself into the saddle. A choked cry of effort. Then hoofbeats, lurching and uneven, fading into the trees.
She didn’t turn to watch him go. She couldn’t afford to.
Tedric didn’t follow. He stooped, retrieving a fallen bow from one of the dead soldiers, nocking an arrow with casual grace. He drew, sighting down the shaft.
“Don’t,” JingYi said sharply.
He ignored her.
Her hand went to her hair, yanking free the pin LinXin had gifted her. In one smooth motion, she pressed the sharp end to her throat, her flesh dimpling under the point.
“You said I’m an investment.” Her voice was steady despite the hammering of her pulse. “How much am I worth when I’m dead?”
The string creaked as he held the draw, his gaze sliding from her eyes to the pin at her neck. For a long, taut moment,nothing moved—just the whisper of leaves overhead and the far-off pounding of Conrad’s retreat.
Tedric’s mouth curved, the expression unreadable. The bowstring slackened with a soft sigh, the arrow dropping onto the ground. He tossed the weapon aside and closed the distance between them. JingYi kept the hairpin pressed to her throat until his shadow fell over her.