Getting the payment was Shiv’s—or rather, Jevan’s—favorite part. Grinning beneath his mask, he set Henry’s severed finger on the nightstand, still wrapped in gauze. The elf woman on the bed leaned forward, breath catching as she unwrapped it. Gold ring. Pilaxis seal. Proof of death.
“He’s dead,” Senya declared, rising from her seat with pride in her voice. “Your child is avenged.”
Jevan felt the aura radiating from the elf: grief and relief tangled together, bittersweet. The mutations from the Knightmare Trial were useful in a fight, but sensing everyone’s emotions? Annoying.
Tears poured from Lei’laan’s eyes. “Thank you. This is the news I hoped to hear. Now, my baby can finally rest.” She placed a coin-filled pouch on the bed.
Jevan snatched it up, relishing the weight, the jingle of gold against leather.
“Tell anyone who has suffered like you that the Knightmares have returned,” Senya urged, her green eyes practically shining through the mask’s eyeholes. “Humans, nonhumans, everyone you know. Even your fellow Zela’ken.”
Jevan rolled his eyes. He had no problem killing for coin. After all, he needed to eat. But helping nonhumans affiliated with Zela’ken rebels rarely paid well. Why not help a nobleman kill a bear threatening his farmers? That would pay far more. But he knew better than to argue with Senya.
“Then with your permission,” the elf began, dabbing her tears with a handkerchief, “may I connect you with another in need of your services? One of my comrades seeks extra swords for a job.”
Another contract already? Jevan sighed, fully aware of Senya’s pride as a Knightmare.
“That depends,” she said. “What’s the job? And why won’t your freedom fighters aid him? Is this one also requesting the death of a well-known lord?”
It made sense. If an elf killed a Tymerian lord, the consequences would fall on all local nonhumans. By hiring human sellswords, they get their dead racist with full deniability. The idea of humans working with Zela’ken was absurd enough that no one would believe it. And nobles had a talent for making enemies of everyone. Each other, peasants, whoever.
“All I know is our leader rejected his request for extra elves,” Lei’laan explained. “But permitted hiring sellswords, as they did with me.”
Jevan sensed no deception in her aura. He glanced at Senya. “Well?”
Senya regarded the elf, then removed her black leather glove. “Hold out your hand.”
Lei’laan held out her hand, and Senya clasped it. Knight Sense, psychometric and clairvoyant, went deeper than auras ever could. Auras offered feelings while the Knight Sense uncovered truth. It was why Jevan always preferred Senya use it. Last thing he wanted was a stranger’s emotional pain and memories.
“She’s telling the truth,” Senya confirmed, releasing the elf’s hand. “Very well. Tell your friend to meet us at the Barrel’s Bottom Tavern tomorrow afternoon.”
Already? Can’t we take a break? Jevan grimaced inwardly.
After discussing the logistics, Lei’laan rose and bowed before departing.
Senya removed her mask, adjusting her ginger ponytail. “Another dead murderer.”
“Another sack of gold,” Jevan replied, pulling off his own mask with a sigh of relief.
Senya cleared her throat. “Which isn’t the point.”
“Correct,” Jevan flashed his best sheepish grin. “What should we do with the ring?”
“It’s too recognizable.” Senya opened the window, tossing the finger outside.
Senya was a tall, shapely woman of twenty. Her face had a light sprinkle of freckles over her nose and cheeks. Among the Knightmares, she was the finest fighter.
A strong gust blew through the window, making her ponytail sway. Jevan shivered, goosebumps rising on his light olive skin. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s head home.”
The ride back to the town of Flooren gave Jevan too much time to think. Once they reached the main road and galloped out of the trees toward the farmlands, he tried to focus on the Tymerian countryside. The fields, the rolling hills, the distant mountain ranges. Surviving piles of snow still dotted the landscape, brown from mud and lack of fresh snowfall.
The sun hadn’t fully crested the treetops yet, but birds were already awake. They chirped, hopping branch to branch, knocking loose leaves as Jevan and Senya entered the woods and left the grasslands behind.
Senya’s somber expression was impossible to ignore. “You avenged that woman’s child. Why aren’t you smiling?”
“Because we couldn’t save the others,” she replied, her face dropping into sympathetic gloom. “The elves Lord Pilaxis executed didn’t deserve to die.”
Jevan sighed. Why did he ask? He hoped she wouldn’t bring up yet another discussion on Tymerian politics. What was the point of discussing them? They were sellswords, not rulers or nobles. Why bother caring? They had enough troubles of their own.
“Senya, since when does innocence matter? They were elves.”
“It’s sickening.” Senya shoved a low branch aside as her mount passed too close to a tree.
“We’re in Tymeria,” Jevan said. “This is normal.”
“I know.” Senya hung her head low as she glared ahead. “Which is why I’ll ensure everyone knows the Knightmares aren’t extinct. I’ll make them think twice before they commit such atrocities.”
Jevan kept silent for the rest of the ride, leaving Senya to her thoughts.
Flooren was a town in southern Tymeria. Not many nobles paid it much mind, which served the Knightmares well. A spiked wooden wall encircled it, barrel-vaulted rooftops rising above—the inn, the brothel, a church near the cemetery.
One section lay outside the wall: the nonhuman reservation. Elves, dwarves, and the poorest humans who couldn’t afford homes within Flooren’s walls lived there.
After leaving the horses at the stable, Jevan and Senya entered the Barrel’s Bottom Tavern. The keeper let them through the back. The tavern was built like an inn, with one room serving multiple purposes. Upon entering and locking the door behind them, Senya moved a fur rug aside, opened a trapdoor, and they descended into the old mine tunnels below.
Torchlight flickered off stone walls. Their hideout. Home.
They followed the passageway to Alester’s chamber. He stood at a stone table, studying a map of the Tymerian Empire.
“Welcome back,” Alester said, his eyes glued to the map.
“The contract is finished,” Senya said with a bow. “Is the King in the Night pleased?”
Alester was no true king. The title mocked the pomposity of rulers, yet still conveyed respect earned through action, back when the Knightmares were Tymeria’s most feared vigilantes.
He turned, grinning modestly. “You’re not required to call me that.”
Alester was fifty but moved like a younger man, his grey hair pulled back as he studied them with those stress-worn chestnut eyes.
“I’m not required to bow either,” Senya said, shrugging.
“The others returned last night,” Alester informed them. “Go have breakfast. You’ve done well.”
“Before that,” Senya said, “we have another potential client.”
“You go ahead,” Jevan said, already turning. “I’ll meet you in the hall. I’m starving.”
The meal they had last night was shit. Time for something delicious. The underground tavern was perfect. Cavernous, with curved stone walls and a ceiling of uneven rock upheld by two lines of pillars. Torches cast a warm light over a long table surrounded by chairs.
Half an hour later, the scent of salted ham and fresh-baked bread filled the air. Jevan sat with his companions, enjoying their well-earned meal.
“How was the contract?” Kyra asked when Senya arrived.
“We thought you’d be back before us,” Yohnnus said, mouth full of ham.
Jevan let Senya tell the story. The only thing on his mind was filling his belly. Besides, she told stories better. Tales were more entertaining when the storyteller was enthusiastic.
“We couldn’t save the elves,” Senya concluded, regret in her voice. “We didn’t learn about their situation until we arrived. I wish we had known.”
“That’s Tymeria for you,” Jevan said flatly. “An empire where nobles get away with killing children, nonhumans are murdered, and little boys are found in forests with no memory of anything besides their own name.”
“Yes, but that little boy found a new life for himself.” Senya’s expression softened. “I’m happy to be a part of it.”
Jevan didn’t care about his origins anymore. Who his parents were, why he couldn’t remember anything before waking up in that forest, or why no one ever came for him.
“Senya, I just finished eating,” Kyra grumbled, sneering at Jevan. “I won’t apologize if I vomit on your little pet.”
Jevan met the blonde’s bluish-grey eyes and smirked. “Jealous?”
“Of a short boy only eighteen? Don’t make me laugh.”
“You’re only one year older.”
Senya smacked the table. “No. I’ll not hear you two bickering at the table again.”
“Are you their mother now?” Yohnnus mocked.
Kyra almost never smiled, appearing friendly only when speaking to Senya. Her expressions ranged from disinterest to disdain, especially around Jevan. They’d never got along. The ivory-skinned blonde had a slender build and wavy shoulder-length hair.
“What about your contract?” Senya asked, changing the subject. “Yohnnus?”
Yohnnus and Kyra exchanged looks. “Should I tell it?” Kyra asked.
“Ladies first,” Yohnnus said with a shrug. “You’re the lady.”
Jevan gasped with feigned shock. “She is?”
Kyra knocked his head with her tankard, Yohnnus muffling his snicker behind his palm.
“That was great,” Yohnnus whispered.
Yohnnus always sided with Jevan when it came to humor. He was a lean, pale, handsome comrade of twenty-two with short-cropped black hair and sullen grey-green eyes, always dressed for a fight in his black doublet.
“We were hired to investigate a murder,” Kyra began. “A woman found dead, and the family blamed wolves. We tracked the killer. Turned out to be the woman’s sister, jealous and desperate. We solved it, collected our coin, and left. Didn’t bother with masks or the Knightmares name. Just acted as regular mercenaries.”
Senya sharply set down her cup. “The point of taking contracts is to spread the word of the Knightmares.”
Yohnnus shrugged. “It was good payment. Easy coin.”
“We take contracts to help people,” Senya insisted, voice rising. “We’re not common sellswords. We’re Knightmares.”
Jevan rubbed his temple. Here we go again.
“Senya, we needed the coin,” Kyra interjected. “We need to eat. Even at their height, Knightmares took payment.”
“The Knightmares killed slavers, rapists, corrupt nobles,” Senya argued, rising from her seat. “We hunt those who prey on the helpless.”
“You can do what you like,” Yohnnus replied with a dismissive wave. “Be Alester’s golden apprentice. Let me live my life as I please. Not like I’m killing innocents.”
Jevan placed a hand on Senya’s back, hoping to defuse the brewing tension. “Can we please not argue about this during breakfast?”
She sat with a disgruntled huff. “Sometimes I feel I’m the only one who cares around here.”