Page 75 of A Thief to Die For

Soren’s face is tight and a little red after our conversation, which is rather satisfying. He takes his place at the starting line, a piece of rope stretched out on the ground.

Like me, he’s working with a long bow, which tells me he’s got some skills. Most of the militia guards are willing to sacrifice power and distance for something smaller and less technical – the short bow.

Soren pulls an arrow from his quiver, nocks it, and aims for nearly ten seconds before he shoots. It hits the target in the middle of the bullseye, or damn close.

A blade of worry digs into me.

The crowd is still celebrating Soren when we swap places. Except Soren remains a few paces away.

I nock an arrow in my bow and attempt to ignore him, then close my eyes and inhale. It’s not until I feel my heart slow that I open one eye. The wind is a slight breeze, blowing in from the west at maybe six or seven knots. I adjust my mark to accommodate for it. Then shoot. Thwunk. It hits the target right beside Soren’s arrow.

The crowd quiets. A guardsman runs to take a look then points at the Commander.

‘Winner of the first round – Lieutenant Collins,’ Silas shouts.

Dread dumps down my back like a bucket of cold water.

Soren bows for the crowd, eating up the attention. ‘One more shot, thief,’ he says to me. ‘Just one and you lose. Then, you lose her too.’

His words burrow under my skin as he intended. But he isn’t wrong. One more win for him and a hell of a lot goes wrong for Marian and me. For Kingsland. And for all the Dresden I thought I could help.

I exhale hard. Wipe my brow. Maybe this was a mistake.

My gaze again seeks out Marian’s. Her face remains vigilantly hopeful. Hands clutched to her chest. She mouths four little words.

I believe in you.

So did I … until a moment ago. The target is dragged back another fifty yards and Soren returns to the starting line. He takes his shot as precisely as the first, but this time his arrow lands a couple of inches to the right of dead centre.

He missed. A surge of energy floods me, as we trade places on the line. The breeze has shifted slightly. That’s probably where he went wrong. I close my eyes and feel the air. Grip my bow and pull back the string. Open only one eye.

‘You know …’ Soren mumbles from behind me. ‘She held in her screams.’

My fingers twitch but don’t release the arrow.

‘She told you what I did to her, right?’

Violent thoughts return to me like an axe in the forehead. I breathe through them, but there’s an unbearable need to send an arrow through his teeth.

‘I thought she would beg me to stop …’

The words are faint, but loud enough for me to hear them. A tremor starts in my bent arm, all anger.

‘But she didn’t –’

I spin and aim at Soren’s chest. The crowd gasps. ‘Back up,’ I snap.

He raises his hands as if he’s innocent. Reluctantly, he takes a step back, then another, but his mouth never stops running. ‘She tried but she couldn’t stop the tears.’ Blood surges in my veins, and my vision turns into a tunnel. There’s only Soren and his laughing, cruel eyes.

‘Ryland,’ the Commander admonishes.

‘He’s trying to intimidate me,’ Soren calls over his shoulder to the crowd. ‘He knows he’s going to lose.’

But then just for me he says, ‘Did you know she asked me to do it?’

I grit my teeth, warring with an untameable rage.

In my peripheral vision, the Commander stands. ‘If you kill him, Ryland, you’ll die on the same dirt. Nobody breaks a deal with me and walks away.’