6 years ago

  Mona stepped out from her hiding place and approached the bandits, both swords drawn and steady at her sides.

  The bandits stared in disbelief. Daven looked especially amused.

  “You do you, little girl,” Daven said with a condescending smile. “Here to defend your friend?”

  “He ain’t my friend!” Mona barked.

  “My apologies. Then what are you here for?”

  Mona stopped beside the moaning Quinlou, who was still clutching at his bleeding chest.

  “I’m here to defend my home—Chestnut Town!”

  Daven chuckled. It was clear he didn’t take her seriously. No adults ever did—not in the ways that mattered. They still saw her as a child. But this time, she’d prove them wrong.

  “Oh,” Daven said lightly, in the tone of a mocking caregiver. “I didn’t realize we were in the presence of the town champion!”

  Some of the bandits chuckled, but most simply looked confused. Clearly, they found her defiance so strange she wasn’t even worth mocking. But they’d soon see.

  After watching Quinlou’s failed attempt, Mona had crafted a strategy. Daven might be a scumbag, but he was no fool with a sword. She had taken his warning to heart. This would not be a choreographed duel like the ones in her books. This was a fight to the death, and she couldn't expect mercy.

  “Well?” Mona shouted. “Are you going to fight me or not?”

  Daven’s smirk held. “I’m not going to fight you, little girl. Drop those weapons and run along.”

  Anger boiled inside Mona—again. Once again, she was underestimated, treated like a delicate child. Denied the chance to prove herself.

  She took her stance.

  “Really?” Daven said, his amusement starting to fade. “We’re doing this?”

  Mona stood firm, blades raised.

  Daven rolled his eyes. “Fine. But don’t blame me for what happens next.”

  Suddenly, Mona felt a grip on her ankle. She looked down. Quinlou, still clutching his chest, held her back, his eyes filled with what looked like pain—and anger. She shook him off. He didn’t want to be shown up. Too bad. He’d just have to watch.

  “Go ahead, little girl,” Daven said. “Make your move.”

  With brows furrowed, Mona dashed forward. Not because he told her to—because she wanted to.

  Daven swept his blade across the ground, trimming the grass, then arcing upward—clearly hoping to exploit her small size. But Mona had anticipated this. She carried a list in her head of adults she wanted to defeat in battle. She couldn’t fight them all, but she would make the most of this chance.

  She sprang up, soaring over his swinging arm before the weapon rose more than a foot. With the sword in her left hand, she slashed downward—but missed as Daven stepped hastily to the left, caught off guard. Good.

  With her right-hand blade, she spun and swung in a tight, ninety-degree arc, turning her entire body as she glided past him.

  The blade connected—slicing through his shirt and, judging by the resistance, skin.

  She hit the ground with a thud, rolling across the grass. Not as gracefully as she hoped, but gracefully enough. She was on her feet within seconds, eyes locked on her opponent. A bloodstain bloomed above his stomach.

  She stepped back, readying herself to strike again.

  Daven responded with less caution and more rage, repeating the same wide, grass-level swing. But Mona wasn’t about to be predictable. She wouldn’t give him the chance to learn from his last mistake. She rolled right, narrowly avoiding his blade. As she rose—still moving—she slashed at his ankles from below, cutting through skin. Not enough. Not deep enough to sever his foot as she’d hoped. Not enough strength.

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  Still inside his range, Mona jumped, met his gaze, and swung three more times—quick but lacking the power she needed. He raised his sword—hilt up, blade angled along his forearm—and made three sharp, controlled movements, blocking each of Mona’s swings. Steel clashed three times, ringing out into the morning air. As Mona fell forward, Daven drove his foot into her chest, knocking her back and winding her.

  She hit the ground hard, gasping. Her vision blurred, but she could still hear him speaking—faintly.

  “Well, well. You’ve got some fire in you,” she heard him say. “You’ve pissed me off. I hope that makes you feel accomplished.” He sighed—perhaps out of genuine sympathy. “Honestly, I don’t know what else you were hoping to achieve.”

  Mona pushed herself up. One arm clutched her aching torso while the other barely held onto her sword.

  Daven wiped the blood from his chest and flicked it to the ground. “Go. Run home. I’ll give you that chance. But know this—your town’s payment just went up by ten percent.”

  “No…” Mona croaked, barely able to get the word out through her gasps.

  Daven grimaced. “I’ve already lost my patience. Pray I don’t act on it. Now go home, little girl.”

  “No! I can’t lose! There’s no way I’m losing today!”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yes! I just can’t! I will not lose to you!”

  Daven scoffed. “You already have.”

  “Mona!” a deep voice called from a distance. “What do you think you’re doing!?”

  She turned at the sound of her name. The mayor was marching toward her, her mother close behind, followed by a crowd of townsfolk. The orange glow of dawn had faded into a bright, clear blue. What an awful way to start the day.

  “Get over here!” the mayor shouted.

  Mona shook her head.

  “Do not disobey me, girl, or so help me—”

  As furious as the mayor sounded, he couldn’t mask the worry in his eyes. He was scared—he had been scared—and now she’d made it worse. Her mother, on the other hand, looked stern. No ambiguity there. Calming her later over dinner wouldn’t be easy.

  The mayor stomped his feet and jogged toward Mona. Daven raised a hand.

  “Halt!” the bandit barked.

  The mayor stopped.

  The crowd murmured, clearly unhappy. Many already doubted the mayor’s authority, and this moment hadn’t helped. Even Mona could see that paying the bandits was just delaying the inevitable. Even if the raiders kept their word, the people of Chestnut might come to their own, more drastic solutions. They were frustrated—proud of their town—and furious at being disrespected so openly. Eventually, they would fight, with or without the mayor’s approval.

  “Please,” the mayor pleaded. “Leave her alone. We have the money.”

  Daven’s gaze turned predatory—more so than anyone had seen so far. “The girl retreats when she decides, not a moment before.”

  “You have no right—”

  “No right?” Daven cut in. “You work for me.”

  “This is a partnership.”

  Daven laughed coldly. “Oh yeah? Who’s paying who? Who controls who in this partnership? Heavens, at least admit you’ve got no spine.”

  The mayor stepped back, and the crowd’s whispers grew louder.

  “Don’t speak to him like that!” Mona shouted, rushing at the man again.

  “Mona, no!” her stepfather cried out.

  Daven raised his sword for a downward strike. Mona skidded to a stop—barely a foot from him—and raised both blades in defense.

  Bam! Only when the foot hit her did she realize she’d been tricked—played like a fool. Daven had kicked her from underneath, his boot slamming into her chin and sending both swords flying from her grip. She landed hard on her back, hearing the metallic thud of her weapons as they hit the grass a second later. She lay there, completely at his mercy. Bested by an adult—again. But this time, it seemed there’d be no chance for redemption.

  “Act like a grown-up,” Daven said with a sadistic grin, blade still raised. “Die like one.”

  He swung down, and the crowd screamed. Her parents cried out in defiance.

  Steel met steel with a deafening clash. The ring of the blades echoed over the field, silencing every other sound in an instant.

  Mona cracked one eye open, half-expecting to see a spirit hovering above her, ready to claim her soul. Instead, she saw Yig—his blond hair messy from sleep, a bandage hanging loose around his arm. He looked far too proud of himself, a wide grin stretched across his face.

  “How come you didn’t tell me we were doing this today?” Yig asked.

  “This ain’t your fight. Leave it!” she snapped.

  “Eh? We’re partners, aren’t we?”

  Mona gripped the grass beneath her, seething. Was her will so weak she’d just let go now? This was her moment—to prove she was capable, strong, worthy of the name Darleth. Yig wouldn’t understand. And he wasn’t going to take this from her.

  “I thought you said you’d win, little girl,” Daven said, sneering. “Guess you didn’t even need me to prove you wrong.”

  “Hey! Stink-breath!” Yig shouted, pointing his sword at the bandit. “Don’t talk to my partner like that.”

  Daven smirked, a flicker of wildness in his eyes. “Your town’s full of gutsy kids, isn’t it? But this comedy act won’t stay funny for long.”

  “Of course we’re gutsy!” Yig said. “We’re gonna open the Gates to Paradise! Compared to what’s coming, you’re just a warm-up.”

  “You believe that?” Mona asked, standing. “Even now? We could die, Yig.”

  “Nah. We’ve got this. Like I said—we’re reaching those gates. That’s our Quest. We can’t settle for less!”

  Mona retrieved her swords. She wanted to believe him—with everything in her. And what mattered more than a dream? Her dream. Together, they could make it real. That’s what they’d promised. Who was she to break her word?

  “Let’s do it, then,” Mona said, stepping up beside Yig. “Partner.”

  Yig gave her his signature mischievous grin. “Yeah!”