Bound by Darkness (Bound By Series)

18. Nicked Apples

Chapter 18

Nicked Apples

THALIA

I had never wanted to kill a man more than the one above me, a grin plastered against his sweaty face as his hands pinned mine to a pile of wet leaves.

My eyes trailed the sharp features of his face to keep myself from glancing at the muscles peeking beneath.

“Again,” Ivan said as he shuffled to his feet.

The fire crackled and popped in the crisp air as I stumbled to my feet, my body slick with sweat.

Fin poked the fire, the embers sparking in a flash of light. “Maybe next time hit him from the left.”

“Maybe next time learn to make a fire,” I grumbled as my feet planted against the kicked-up dirt. We were days into our ride, and he’d just mastered the art of the flame.

Fin scowled. “I don’t have to cook yours,” he muttered. He stoked the fire, tendrils licking the stick with orange. “I want to see him fall on his ass, and at the pace you’re going, it won’t happen until after Laias.”

“You come over here and give it a try!” A shove to my leg sent me kneeling against the dirt as Ivan twisted my arm, the dagger falling from my grip .

The tip pressed against my neck a second later.

I really hated him.

“Stop getting distracted.” He smirked, his grip tight as he brought the dagger’s hilt to my sweaty palm. “Again.”

I seethed at that word—more so that I kept ending up with a mouthful of leaves. He planned to assess my weaknesses and counter them with training before we arrived in Laias.

“You’re cheating.” I readjusted the hilt in my hand. I was so over this and his mockery.

“There are no rules during battle. If an opponent sees an opening, they will take it and you.” His hands stuffed into his pockets as he stared at me, his eyes beckoning for a challenge.

Unguarded, his weapons lay beside Fin near the roaring fire.

I hadn’t managed to land one hit against him. His body moved too quickly, and his maneuvers were of a skilled fighter honed from relentless battles. He even had the muscles to prove it. An eyesore my eyes kept trailing to despite my best efforts.

Ivan stood before the fire, his shoulders squaring as he assessed me with those cold eyes. He was waiting for me to make the first move.

Steeling my mind, I gripped the dagger tightly and shuffled my feet against the ground until my stance evened with my shoulders.

“Good posture.” His eyes flicked up and down. “Assess your opponent. Figure out their weak points.”

I held back a laugh. He had no weak points… at least, none to the naked eye.

“Lift your arm slightly higher,” he said as he pointed toward my elbow. “You’re dragging the weight at the hilt. Your strikes won’t have any impact by holding it there. You need it at the sharpest point to break skin and bone.”

“Got it,” I hissed before adjusting my arm. It burned where his fingers had touched earlier, the same warmth I’d felt when I shook his hand for the deal.

Tossing the thought from my head, my muscles screamed in protest at the unnatural angle. Every inch of my body worked in tandem effort to maximize my strength.

“Use those skills from the prison to hit me.” He tapped his chest once. “Even if you barely graze your fingers here, I’ll end the lesson for tonight.”

My brow rose at the challenge. “And if I don’t?”

“We’ll keep going all night until you do,” he said, a hint of a smile curling at his lips.

Even with sweat dripping from his brows, there was no denying Moria would have been right. The Fae gods had blessed him and it pissed me off to think so while he was torturing me.

Shifting my eyes to the trees, I crossed my arms over my chest. “I can barely keep my arms up, and there’s no more faelight.” My eyes drifted to the fire as Fin blew on a bowl of soup, steam billowing around his face. Gods, I wanted food so bad. “Fin, help me out here.”

“Oh, no. I’m not jumping in the mix,” he said, his mouth full of beef and carrots. “If I intervene, he might slit my throat.”

“You better start soon, half-breed, ” Ivan mused. “At the pace you’re going, you’ll wind up beneath me every single time.”

The embers flickered as I glared at him, his lips curving into a vicious smirk.

Fine. If he wanted to play, so be it.

Setting my arms out in front of me to maintain my balance, I assessed my opponent. Images flickered of what I had learned during my time with him. He seemed to favor his right side, but even a novice assassin knew to remain cautious. The same was true of his left.

An idea sparked in my head. An old idea my sister and I had used to tackle my father once… only once, but if I played it right— “Fin, get some ready for me.”

Fin glanced at me, but he placed a bowl next to the fire without a word.

“Cocky, are we?” Ivan’s eyes gleamed with a sheen of mischief.

I shook my head. “No, but you are,” I said as a playful smile lit my face.

Ivan’s brow rose briefly, but I didn’t give him time as I launched forward, my swings wide and violent.

Ivan dodged each one effortlessly, his feet light as he danced around me. “Giving up already? Pity. I assumed you had more spark.”

“No,” I rasped as I angled the dagger toward his head.

He swooped low, my blade slicing the air above his head as he reached for my foot.

I jumped back, my legs threatening to collapse at the exertion.

“You’re forgetting your form again,” he purred as his hand grazed my elbow. He tapped it once and I might have leaned into that touch for a second before I swung wide, my blade meeting air as he stepped to the side. This wasn’t a fair fight.

“Don’t touch me,” I said, heat radiating from elbow to shoulder.

“Keep your arm steady and I’ll stop. Unless you don’t want me to.”

Sweat dripped down my back as I lunged forward.

Ivan was faster, always quicker, as he punched my arm.

It stung, but it wasn’t enough to cause any damage. The bastard was pulling his punches.

As I drove the dagger toward his outstretched arm, I flipped it into my other hand, attacking from the left. A trick my father had taught me many moons ago.

He knocked the dagger from my hand with the back of his before kicking it toward the fire.

Catching my exposed wrist, he twisted it behind my back. “Are you even trying?” he whispered into my ear.

A shiver curled down my back at the honeyed tone of his words, his presence far too close. “Maybe,” I said as I stepped on his foot with my heel.

He cursed low as his fingers released their grip.

I whirled around, my body racing for the blade by the fire. Every inhale burned, but I needed to push him further if I was going?—

My arms and legs smacked into the ground with a resounding thud, his arms tangling with mine as we tumbled together, branches crunching under our bodies.

My back pressed against wet leaves and twigs as we rolled to a stop.

Ivan’s thighs trapped my legs as his hands pinned mine beside my head. “Looks like I got you beneath me after all,” he said, those silver eyes wildly bright.

My breathing grew laborious as I stared at him, my chest a stone from his as it rose and fell. He grinned, that dimple appearing again as his thighs shifted against my legs.

Every touch sent heat spiraling through my body as I ignored the muscles pinning me to the ground. Ignored the way my body was reacting to him. “Not… fair,” I managed to spew between fits of coughing.

“Breathe,” he ordered. “Your body’s not used to this level of exertion.” His fingers relaxed around my arms.

“I’m… trying.” Every inhale of my lungs pierced through me like needles .

His face scrunched slightly as he watched my chest’s shaky rise and fall.

“Water.” I coughed. My throat was dry, and I needed a bit of fluid to still my aching chest.

Ivan flicked his gaze to Fin as he sat back. “Canteen.”

I dug my elbows into the ground, but his hand pressed firmly onto my shoulders, my back digging into twigs and leaves.

“You’re not moving,” he said. “Fin, canteen.”

The scuffling of Fin’s boots sounded in my ears before Ivan handed the canteen to me.

“Help me up. I clearly… can’t drink water lying down.”

Ivan grabbed my hand and slowly raised me from the ground as leaves and twigs fell from my shirt.

My hand rested against his chest to steady myself before I set the canteen against my lips. Water poured into my mouth as I drank the slightly warm liquid. Slowly, my breathing returned to normal as I handed it back to him.

Fin’s eyes wandered to mine before glaring at Ivan. “You nearly killed her.”

“I didn’t think she’d purposefully try to overexert herself,” Ivan snapped. “Let’s take a five-minute break.”

“Five minutes? She needs proper rest and food,” Fin countered. “I’m putting an end to this stupid training. You’re not teaching her?—”

“That won’t be necessary.” My hand thumped against his chest from where it rested. It was a wall of muscle. Shit. “I win,” I said, my hand removing from his shirt as I hid the heat creeping into the back of my neck.

Ivan’s puzzled brows slowly unraveled as a grin appeared on his lips. “You cheated.”

Fin gaped. “By the Mother.”

“You said it yourself. There is no cheating in war,” I said, the smell of rosewood nearly intoxicating.

“Wait. Were you faking everything? I mean, we needed water,” Fin said, his eyes tracing mine.

I shook my head. “No. I did overexert myself, but it was part of the plan.”

“Elaborate,” Ivan stated.

“I knew if I overexerted myself, I could play on your arrogance. If your prized possession injured herself, you’d forget the rules. You can thank my father for that piece of wisdom and years of stealing.” A wide grin crossed my face as I remembered how many trinkets I’d stolen from the King’s storage sheds—a quick sleight of hand was all it took.

Fin whistled. “You were played.”

Ivan’s face remained impassive as he averted his gaze. “Enough for tonight. Let’s eat and rest.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be a sore loser,” I teased.

“I said enough! We’ll train again tomorrow.” Ivan swiped the canteen from the ground before heading to the horses.

Fin whistled low. “I guess he’s still a sore loser.”

Somehow, I didn’t believe his words.

“Come on,” Fin said. “Food’s ready.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I watched Ivan briefly before digging into the food. As I chewed on a carrot, I couldn’t shake the image of Ivan’s face as I’d said those words to him.

They had struck a chord, and by the gods, it bothered me.

Fin fell asleep first, his snores in tempo with the sizzling of the dying fire.

Shifting over on my makeshift bed, I stared at the empty quilt across from mine, the mismatched cross-stitches barely holding the flowery squares together .

It’d been empty all night.

Grabbing the edges of my quilt, I sat as my eyes scanned the surrounding area for him. I needed these revolving thoughts in my head to stop.

I found him near the edge of our makeshift camp, his back leaning against a decaying oak stump. He faced the shaded forest, no sound echoing from where he sat.

I quietly shuffled to him as I avoided twigs and pinecones. One wrong step and Fin would wake from his slumber.

“Not interested,” Ivan said as I stepped over a pile of charred wood.

He had a dagger in hand as he chipped away layers of bark from a lone branch.

“Come on,” I pleaded. “Fin’s snoring so loud I heard it in my dreams.”

My eyes traveled over the two black swords beside him.

Ivan flicked his eyes to mine. “Fine,” he said as he resumed his carving.

“What are you doing?” I asked as I sat beside him, one of the swords resting between us.

“I said you could join. Didn’t say we’d converse.”

“Wow, you are a sore loser.”

The dagger paused. “Is that what you think happened?”

“What else could it be? I won using your methods. I’m valuable property,” I teased.

He tossed the branch into the darkness. “That,” he uttered. “You think I view you as property?”

“Well, you did kidnap me and bring me into this war. I’m still a slave?—”

“Don’t ever say slave,” he said. “You are not a slave. I don’t keep you in chains or force you to work. You accepted our deal willingly.”

The air grew stifling. “I was joking, Ivan.”

“I do not own slaves. I will never own slaves. I made the deal and intend to uphold my part of the bargain,” he stated, ignoring my words.

I blinked as his silver eyes met mine. The swirls dulled to the same shade of gray as that caravan’s clothes.

Turning my head, I cleared my throat. I needed to change the subject to anything else as my eyes landed on the swords. “Your swords.”

“What?” Annoyance lingered in his tone.

“How did you get them?”

He remained silent. I’d definitely hit a nerve.

I let out a sigh as I brushed hair behind my ears. I swallowed my pride as I said, “It was a stupid joke. I didn’t mean—” My lips pursed together as I found silver once more. “I didn’t mean to make you upset, but you kind of deserved it for how you acted at Fin’s. You were gone for hours, and I thought you’d left.”

Ivan stared back before he turned, his hands bringing his satchel between us. He lifted the flap as shirts of various colors brightened the night. “When you’d vanished, I told the merchant to forget the clothes, because I didn’t know where you went. I was gone longer than anticipated because I went shopping,” he said, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not sure if they are?—”

“Thank you,” I said as my fingers lifted a shirt dipped in blue. I dropped it back into the bag as guilt clung to me. He had gone back for the clothes, and I’d yelled at him the second he’d returned.

“I still bought a few gray shirts. Can’t have you sticking out among the leaves,” he said, a smile clinging to his lips.

“What? You mean I can’t wear bright yellow in the middle of the woods?”

The flap closed as he shuffled the pack beside him, a chuckle leaving his lips. His face softened, as did another layer of my heart as I smiled back.

Clearing my throat, I jerked my head back to the swords. “I still want to know how you acquired them,” I asked. “I… don’t know much about you, and I figured it’s an acceptable conversation starter.”

“Normally, most conversations start with how are you or nice weather.”

My lips pursed together, the corners tempting to curl as my previous words floated from his mouth. “Would you like me to ask?”

A twitch to his lips was all I received as he grabbed the sword next to him, the sheath dark as night. “No.” Turning it over, markings etched into the leather revealed themselves as his fingers floated over each one before his throat cleared. “My mother gave me these swords when I was a kid.”

I turned my head, hair spilling over my knee as he spoke to my surprise. “Isn’t your dad the swordsman?”

“Isaiash was a swordsman, but my biological mother gifted these to me. Not Gwen.” I opened my mouth, but Ivan cleared his throat as he said, “This one says courage bests fear.” His fingers traced the first etching before pointing to the second marking. “And this one says wisdom triumphs over all. They’re written in the old language.”

“The Language of the Original Fae.” That language had been lost centuries ago. “How do you know the etchings say that? The old language is dead.”

“My mother spoke it. It has been passed through generations. A tradition not long forgotten in my homeland.”

“Where is your homeland? I—I mean, if what you say is true, they’ve hidden years of history.” Years of history that was dangerous and volatile if this knowledge became public.

“My homeland isn’t of importance. As far as the language, it used to be hidden. My mother was the last one alive to speak it. It died with her.”

I bit my lip at the words hanging in the air. “I’m sorry.” Superficial… as if my petty words did anything to lessen such a significant loss.

Ivan’s lip curled upward slightly. “Don’t sweat it. She died when I was young.”

“What of your father?” I couldn’t stop the questions, the intense need for knowledge about him intriguing me further. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to know his history—the history of a Fae, but as his lips continued to move, my body leaned closer.

Ivan scoffed as he slid the swords back into their sheaths. “Classic Fae. He only cares about himself. Well and his rage. My father strikes first and asks questions later. In his eyes, it’s the perfect quality for a man.”

“I didn’t… I didn’t know you dealt with that as a kid.” That’s what Fin must have meant when he said I needed to know who his father was. His father was awful… abusive. It made sense what Gwen had spoken too. “Gwen also mentioned?—”

A loose sigh left his lips. “She talks too much, but she’s good. Good to me,” he added.

“She is significantly better than you,” I teased as his words soaked into me.

He set the swords beside him as he turned his body. “What’s wrong with you? You’re almost tolerable tonight.”

A slight grin crossed my face. “I’m always tolerable.”

He chuckled as his arm rested over the oak stump. He leaned closer, that familiar scent of rosewood hitting me. “Oh, are you?”

I lifted my head from my knees, my cheeks heating slightly as his breath tickled my face. “Yes. It’s not my fault a Fae prick such as yourself struggles to see my tolerable qualities.”

“Is that who I am in your story? A Fae prick?” He inched closer. “A Fae prick who plucked you from your quaint prison life?” he teased back.

I stared at him, at the freckles kissing the bridge of his nose and the faint scar below his left eye. Even with the imperfections, he was still handsome.

Shaking my head, my amber curls tumbled forward over my ears as I held his gaze. “No, you’re worse. You’re the villain in my story.”

“Oh?” He licked his lips. “And how exactly am I the villain?” His face lingered a few stones from mine.

“You took my freedom. Villains tend to do that,” I mocked, a smile forming across my lips as I let his gaze sink in.

My shoulders loosened as a breath of air filled my lungs I didn’t realize was missing. The freedom to joke—to be myself was more than enough to keep me leaning closer to him. To feel even an ounce of his presence on my skin.

His gaze swept over mine, lingering long enough that heat crept behind my neck before he sat back, the decrease in proximity making the surrounding air cold. “I’m quite excellent at playing a villain. You, on the other hand, could use some assistance.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This tough exterior isn’t suitable for you,” he said. “You seem to carry layers of history wherever you walk, but I think it’s all a farce. A way to protect yourself.”

I swallowed. “Like you don’t do the same,” I deflected, my hands wringing together.

“Nope,” he said, a cheeky grin plastered on his tanned face.

“Whatever,” I said, leaning against the other side of the oak stump as those words sunk into the depths of my heart.

We sat in silence for a while, listening to the echoes of the forest before Ivan stirred, his eyes glued toward the trees. “I haven’t asked before, but I don’t see you use your casting. You’re supposed to be this legend… this weapon and I haven’t seen you use any of it. Can you?—”

“It’s… hard to use. When I was in the prison, the bars were made of materials that sucked the casting from me. I haven’t used it in a very long time… not since the night of my fa mily’s death. I know it’s in there, but it feels like it’s in the bottom of a pit I cannot reach.”

I needed to shut up. I needed to keep this to myself, but I found my lips impossible to silence. It was good to explain to someone the inner turmoil my body was holding onto… what my casting was doing inside me—like it was rotting a hole in my chest.

“That’s okay. All I need from you is to be in Laias. To play the role of bait,” he answered. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“And what if I’m not?” What if I ended up in the hands of the rebels or worse—dead before seeing Moria again?

He paused for a long moment. “I won’t let that happen.”

Maybe I was delusional, because I believed him.

“What are you thinking about?” Fin asked atop Beau as he strolled alongside.

It had been torture leaving this morning.

Fin refused to wake up, meaning I had to shake him awake because Ivan refused to touch him, and because of it, told me I couldn’t ride with him for the remainder of the trip.

Which is where I sat now—in front of Ivan on Onyx.

“Nothing,” I muttered after a long period of silence.

Fin chuckled. “Nothing intriguing in that head of yours?”

“I have priorities,” I articulated as I willed the blood beneath my skin to cool. “And men aren’t one of them.”

“Food, pleasure, and books. Priorities ,” he mimicked, his lips quirking to the side. “Real priorities.” Jerking his head to Ivan, he asked, “What of a jackass? What priorities swirl in that massive head of yours?”

“Laias.”

Fin huffed. “You’re no fun.”

“Fun is a distraction we can’t afford right now.”

“There’s no battle raging now. Tell me, what happened to the boy I knew who frolicked among the daisies and weeds? Who plucked various ones, bringing them underneath the overhanging branches of oak to draw their shapes and differences?” he drawled. “Now t hat used to be fun.”

Ivan glared daggers at Fin. “I found better priorities. Realistic priorities.”

“You used to draw?” The question escaped my lips far too quickly to be anything but casual.

Ivan shot Fin a glare sour enough to curdle milk as he cleared his throat, his voice smooth as honey. “Yes.”

“What did you draw?”

He stayed quiet a moment before his chest rumbled, his voice deep. “Everything… but plants were my favorite.” The shift of his weight tugged at the leather saddle. “Plants have unique lines of symmetry that collide to form intricate shapes.”

“Good at it, too,” Fin added. “He had this huge catalog of every plant you could imagine. He even used to draw them when he was supposed to be completing his studies with?—”

“It’s in the past,” he replied roughly. “There’s no use dwelling on it.”

Fin coughed, breaking the stagnant atmosphere between us. “Well, that’s depressing.” He jutted a thumb to his chest. “I guess I’m responsible for upholding the mood. Unless you want to help too, Thalia.”

I grimaced as my hand raised in submission. “I’m good. I have enough things going on, like playing piggyback between two Fae men.”

Fin chuckled. “I assumed you liked it. More to share.”

I threatened to barf as Ivan shifted, a sound escaping his lips. Was that laughter? He hadn’t laughed since leaving Gwen’s and I wanted to hear it again—the sound like deep wind chimes vibrating my skin.

Fin rummaged in his pack, a loud sigh escaping his lips.

“What?” I asked, my eyes roaming over to him.

“I don’t have any money for the tax.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll cover it,” Ivan added.

“Glad at least one of us is wealthy.” Fin grinned, but Ivan remained silent.

“Tax?” The word was unfamiliar to me. There had been no… taxes before I entered the prison. “You have to pay to be let in?”

“For Laias to offer refuge, anyone who comes to their gate has to pay a tax, a payment to be let in. This payment is sent every full moon to Armas… to King Hywell,” Fin spat. “It’s how His Majesty keeps himself surrounded in pleasure. Money from the backs of his citizens who want nothing to do with him.”

“Nothing to do with him?” I asked.

“Laias isn’t under Hywell’s immediate control,” Fin answered. “They seceded from his political agenda years ago. They pay the tax only to keep its citizens safe, but Hywell is growing impatient.”

“That’s—”

“Awful?” Fin picked at a patch of dirt on his arm. “If it weren’t to keep Laias safe and operating, I’d tell them to stop paying.”

“It would be a final declaration against Armas,” Ivan added. “Laias doesn’t have enough resources to take on an army of their size.”

“What about those who can’t pay? Do they send them away when they seek refuge?” Laias wasn’t involved with Hywell? They weren’t fueling this war?

Fin bit his lip, eyes scanning the forest as if someone would hear before he whispered, “There are rumors the guards pay the fee for any refugee who cannot as a token from the King and Queen of Laias.”

“Hush,” Ivan snapped, his head whipping around the empty forest. “These oak are not foreign to spies, especially as we draw closer to Laias’ border.”

The conversation ended like a leaf blowing in the wind as Fin nodded. Seeing Fin listen to Ivan was strange, and it made my heart race. Whatever we’d discussed bordered on dangerous, and I wanted no part of it.

“So,” I drawled, my hands sweeping the hair over my neck to expose the skin beneath. “How much further until we reach the border?”

“Not much.” Ivan pointed to the path ahead as it split into two. “Once we take the path on the left, we’ll follow it until we see the gates. You should still be able to spot the castle from behind them.”

Curiosity bit me again as I opened my mouth. “What does the castle look like? My father often came here and told grand stories when he would return home.”

“Oh, it’s better,” Fin beamed. “It’s made of thin sheets of glass which reflect the light from the sky. It shimmers like shards of starlight, especially at night and midday. They say the Mother herself blessed the castle before the curse flooded the land. The last real jewel of Cethales.”

Maybe my father had been telling the truth when he said he’d visited the most dazzling place in Cethales, and perhaps why he spent so much of his time here, away from his family… away from me.

“It even rests by the se?—“

Fin stopped.

A rough cough escaped his mouth as a trickle of red spilled from his lips. His eyes grew distant, hazy as they swiveled to me .

He coughed again, liquid spewing in fat droplets against his shirt and pants.

“Shouldn’t be there,” he rasped, more of it flowing from his lips.

Red liquid.

The air smelled of copper as blood gurgled from his throat. A scent I knew too well as my eyes trailed down to find the source of the pungent smell.

An arrow protruded from his side, his fingers wrapping around the wood.

Blood.

So much blood spilled from the wound, a dark stain against the light-colored shirt he had picked this morning.

It coated the wooden arrow and his fingers as it spilled onto the saddle.

His eyes grew heavy as his wheezing filled my ears?—

His body toppled over Beau, smacking into the dirt with a jolting thud.

“Fin!” I yelled, my eyes widening. “Fin!”