Chapter 2 Sylvain Fireheart
I freeze in my tracks even as I know I need to keep going. I can’t afford to delay.
I certainly can’t afford to find out why those angry words were laced with the faintest fission of alarm.
Taking two steps backward, I peer around the corner I just passed. At first, all I see is the towering hunched-over form of none other than the prince’s friend, Malachi. I clench my jaw and take a deep breath. He’s a bully, but any maid who’s spent time in these halls knows how to play meek and mild when he corners them. A few words to stroke his ego and he moves on. I shudder. His attention is one of the many things the queen’s favor has protected me from.
“I don’t know who you are, but if you don’t let me go I know one thing for sure, you’ll never sire any children!”
I step fully into the corridor at those words and see feet kicking between Malachi’s legs. His hulking form towers over her, his brown close shaved head bobbing as he chuckles darkly. He has a woman pushed up against a wall. She swings her knee toward his crotch, but his legs clamp shut over hers. The low rumbling laughter comes from the giant of a man. Malachi is a demon in human form, and no one can convince me otherwise.
And the demon has just been challenged.
“I’m sure by now I’ve sired many a child, and I will have another in nine months. Won't I, pretty warrior?” Malachi asks, his voice full of menace and lust.
“I’d rather die!” the woman pants, thrashing in his arms.
Warrior? Is she here for the Slayer Trial?
“That can be arranged,” Malachi growls.
I really don’t have time for this. I really don’t have time for this. I’ve been waiting for this day, at a chance of redemption, for three years. I can’t risk it all for someone I don’t even know.
If she’s a warrior from another province, she’s surely strong enough to fight her own battles.
I turn to leave when I hear her cry out in pain.
With a grimace at my foolishness, I tie my skirt at my hips and place my sewing needle between my molars. I slip off my heels before silently sneaking up behind the behemoth. He doesn’t notice me—he’s too busy trying to pull the girl's pants off her hips.
“You’ll regret this when I face you in the Trial,” the woman hisses, prepared to fight till her last breath.
She’s strong. I like that about her.
“You said you’d rather die, remember? You won't be seeing the Trial, you little Flamepeak whore!”
I jump, my body and muscles reacting instinctually, carrying me through the air like the wild cat I land on Malachi’s back, my arms curling around his throat and squeezing. His scalp is greasy, the smell of a man unwashed fills my senses and almost makes me gag. My feet hit the wall in front of him and I push with all my might, making Malachi jerk back and stumble away from the woman. There’s a brief flash of wild red hair as the woman drops to her knees, but I focus on the monster in my arms.
Malachi thrashes, bucking like a wild horse and trying to dislodge me, but my ankles are locked around his waist now and his airway is slowly being cut off.
“Let me go!” he roars.
Which is exactly what I should do. I’ve wrenched him off the girl. Mission accomplished.
Too bad that’s not who I am.
“You didn’t let her go,” I hiss, tightening my body around him.
The need to give him a taste of the helplessness he just inflicted is a roaring fire I can’t bank.
“I was putting the whore to use, that’s what she’s for!”
“Even a whore has to say yes!”
The woman is standing now, facing us both, wearing dark-red fighting leathers. She bends at the waist to pick up two wicked-looking curved daggers as her green eyes stare into Malachi’s very soul. With the back of her hand, she wipes blood from her lips and steps forward.
In a flash, her blades are slicing through the air, her body moving like a dancer as she spins and jabs the knives towards Malachi’s gut. He dodges, no longer trying to get me off his back but holding out his arms to ward off her attacks. She’s quick, and he’s slow, but he’s much bigger and stronger.
The woman jumps, flinging herself into the air and kicking Malachi hard in the chest. He stumbles and slams into the wall behind him, crushing me against a painting of the first king of Stormcoast.
I gasp and my eyes bulge on impact but there's no time to recover. As quickly as I can, I pull the needle from between my teeth and aim it at Malachi’s eye.
“Are you ready to surrender?” I whisper, unable to get enough air for more of a menacing threat.
Malachi freezes, hands held out to defend himself, gazing at the thin piece of pointed metal threatening his sight.
In front of him, the redhead flicks her hair out of her face and glares.
“Fucking stupid bitches, do you know who you’re messing with?” Malachi’s words are so vehement that every syllable releases a fine mist of spittle. “Do you know who I am?”
I lean forward slightly so he can see me in his peripheral vision, and when he does his mealy brown eyes grow wide with fear. “Do you know who I am?”
“Fuck, Anara, I—”
“Oh, hush! You’ve done more damage than you can handle. What do you think the queen will say when she finds out you’re assaulting people coming for the Trial in her castle?”
“She would have never known,” Malachi growls, his eyes rolling to the redhead. “If that bitch had just bent over like a good fucking whore, this would have all been pleasurable!”
“I am not a whore!” the woman yells, tilting her chin up at him bravely. “I am Sylvain Fireheart, a warrior of Flamepeak. And you’re a dead man!”
Before I can react, Sylvain leaps, her foot aiming at Malachi’s face. The toe of her boot hits him in the jaw and his head spins to the left with a sickening jolt.
For a moment, everything seems frozen in time.
Sylvain’s in the air, the rage on her face seared into my mind forever.
And my needle is now embedded in Malachi’s pupil, destroying his eyeball forever.