Page 76 of A Thief to Die For

And what if it’s worth it?

‘Guards,’ the Commander calls. ‘Take aim.’

Guardsmen raise their bows from the edge of the field, with me as their sole target.

My imagination is betraying me, because I can see the scene he’s painting with every horrific detail. Even the sound of the whip echoes in my head. I curse, my fingers twitching on my bow. What kind of man am I if I let this vulture go?

An alive one.

Through honour we prosper.

I exhale, breathing out my need for instant vengeance. ‘You’re not getting away with this,’ I promise Soren.

‘I think I already have.’

The last strands of my restraint snap. I shoot him.

The crowd screams as Soren stumbles back, doubling over. Breath ragged, he clutches his left ear. His fingers tremble as he pulls them away, hand slick with blood. ‘You shot me?’ His face twists with fury. Then he fumbles for his bow, but guardsmen surge forward, restraining us both.

‘I’m going to kill you!’ Soren bellows. He fights the other guards holding him back. A creek of blood winds down his neck from his ear.

‘Sorry, that had to be done,’ I call out to the Commander. ‘He was speaking vile things about your daughter.’

Soren’s nostrils flare, reminding me of a wild horse.

I shake off Fitzgerald, who’s pretending to have me by the arm, and return to the starting line. I pull another arrow from my quiver and raise my bow. There are zero distractions in my head as I aim. Shoot.

It lands dead centre. We’re tied going into round three.

‘He cheated!’ Soren sputters, shoving himself free of the guards. ‘He shot me. He should be disqualified!’

The Commander strides on to the field, and I brace for this to go south. Sure, I took the shot, but it wasn’t without a measure of calculated risk.

You wanted a show. You got it.

Suddenly, Soren’s hand darts back into his quiver.

I drop to a knee and take aim at him before he’s even nocked an arrow. ‘Keep going and let’s see what happens.’

‘Enough,’ the Commander shouts. ‘Guards! Take away their weapons.’

We’re both swarmed again. But I keep hold of my bow until Soren is stripped of his.

The Commander reaches us and sighs dramatically. ‘Now, as entertaining as all of that was, Lieutenant Collins is right. You’ve injured him. You have an advantage in the third round. We can’t have that.’

‘Then let me shoot him,’ Soren bleats like a dying goat.

‘I suppose that is an option,’ the Commander concedes.

My cheek twitches. ‘I’ll take a penalty. A distance penalty on the third shot.’

The Commander tilts his head. ‘How far?’

I glance at the target. In a competition of accuracy, every inch matters, especially over the hundred-yard range. ‘An additional two yards.’

He scoffs and turns to Soren. ‘Go ahead – shoot him.’

‘Okay, four yards!’ I shout. ‘But nothing more. He’s not missing a limb; he’s got an earache. And like I said, he deserved it.’