“What just happened?” Asked Quinten in a daze. The trio currently stood out in the hallway after being dismissed from Commander Taskin’s office.

Cedric grunted, saying, “I have no idea. I was hoping one of you would explain it to me.”

“Did Captain Blackwell suggest in her report that I might have killed Alice?” Quinten asked, his voice rising. Just the thought had him wanting to throw up in one of the potted plants lining the hallway.

Ronan placed a hand on Quinten's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “It didn’t sound like an official accusal and we know you didn’t. That’s what is important.” Giving Quinten a slight push to get him moving, he added, “I’ll tell you now, though. That bitch better make sure she never winds up in my infirmary tent. After this, I’d let her bleed out.”

The comment was so bloodthirsty, and out of character, that it had both Cedric and Quinten pausing to stare at their friend.

“What?”

Cedric grinned, getting a wink from Ronan as Quinten shook his head and started walking once more. In a bid to further distract Quinten, Ronan asked Cedric.

“The Skyrunners, huh?”

Cedric squinted as they rounded a corner, shrugging. “Apparently? Don’t get me wrong, getting assigned to them is awesome. I’m going to get all the ladies—but I can barely fly and mostly just glide at this point. Isn’t this a bit premature?”

“You heard the commander. It’s a rare ability, and they are desperate right now for fast communication in this war.” Quinten suggested absentmindedly. “A message can only get passed by bird so quickly. If you are the one flying, you can go directly to where you are needed instead of where the bird is trained to fly.”

Agreeing from the rear, Ronan said, “He’s probably right about that. Read through your order packet when you get a chance. They likely have some more useful information.”

The trio reentered the main room and stopped to do just that, hidden from view up on the second story.

Lost in their own orders, neither Quinten nor Ronan saw the fear dawning on Cedric’s face. “Are—were your Cavalry and Healing unit assignments switched to Southbend?”

Quinten looked up from the paper he was reading, a frown forming. “No, it’s still out if Northreach. Why would…” He trailed off as realization dawned.

“No.” He said, snatching the paper away from his quickly paling friend. Scanning through it, Quinten forcibly unclenched his hand, fighting the impulse to set the sheet on fire.

“They split us up?” Ronan asked in a quiet voice.

No one spoke, but Quinten answered him with a stiff nod. Cedric, surprisingly, was the first to snap out of their collective shock.

Sighing theatrically, he said. “I just had to do it. I was already amazing and then I learned to fly. I should have seen it coming. My level of perfection would eventually take me away from you two. I’m just sorry it had to happen so soon.”

Ronan and Quinten saw through the attempt to hide the fear underlying the young man’s joke, but none of them were ready to face the harsh truth they’d been presented with, not yet at least.

Forcing a sarcastic laugh, Quinten shook his head. “You can’t even fly. You just hold your wings out and try not to die.”

“Like a chicken.” Added Ronan.

The visual drew a genuine laugh, if a small one, from the three young men. Cedric took back his orders from Quinten and they made their way down the stairs to the ground level.

They’d nearly made it outside when a voice called from behind, “Q! Q, hold on a moment.”

With a quick glance over his shoulder, Quinten saw Lastrel hurrying over.

Cedric grinned, seeing her coming their way, and performed a bow. “Well, hello gorgeous. Thanks for gracing us with your presence.”

Raising a single bronze eyebrow, she asked, “Are you over that hoity-toity lady of yours yet?”

When Cedric frowned at her words, she smirked in return. “That’s what I thought. It’s still Lastrel to you. At least until you stop being such a tease.”

Ronan and Quinten laughed at their friend’s discomfort, his cheeks taking on an interesting shade of pink.

Turning to Quinten, she said. “Thank you for waiting. It was a bit of a madhouse in there. I didn’t even see where you three ran off to.”

The question made Quinten grimace. “The Mage Commander wanted to meet with us,” he said, leading the four of them out of the building. They headed toward the stables to retrieve their horses.

Her eyes widened briefly in surprise before narrowing on him. “The assassination attempt?”

“Yea…” Quinten said, trailing off at what he saw when they entered the stable yard.

A woman in Core brown robes that Quinten did not recognize sat astride Starbrite. He could hear the sandy brown haired ostler from earlier pleading with the woman to choose a different horse. There were four additional Core mages already mounted and watching, smirking at the stable hand from on high.

“Hey, isn’t that—” Cedric began, but Quinten was already striding forward.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Star, clearly uncomfortable with having an unknown rider on her back. Tossed her head and started backing up. The mage began sawing the reins back and forth, fighting the horse for control. Seeing the animal’s discomfort, the ostler lunged forward and grabbed hold of Star’s bridle.

They scrambled, spinning so that Star’s bulk blocked them from sight. A moment later, a scream rang out and Quinten rushed forward, reaching them just as they completed their turn. Flames licked at the mage’s hand, and the scent of roasting meat filled the air. The groomswoman fell to the ground, clutching her arm and continuing to scream. Reacting on instinct, Quinten thrust his hand forward and a gust of air burst forth. It caught the mage full in the chest and sent her flying from the saddle. She landed with an umph and an explosion of lost breath. The yard settled into a shocked silence while onlookers tried to process what’d just happened.

Quinten grabbed Starbrite’s reins, placing his palm over the horse’s nose. He wanted her to catch his scent and calm down knowing that everything was going to be alright. The last thing the poor woman writhing on the ground needed was a hoof to the head. As Star settled, Quinten knelt beside the ostler, keeping an eye on the downed mage. He held the reins in one hand, and placed the other on her uninjured arm. The fear and pain she felt shot through him, making him grit his teeth to hold back a growl.

He took a momentary breath to ensure his voice would come out normal, and said, “Hey, hey. It’s going to be OK. My friend is a healer, and will see to your arm—” He stopped talking, watching as the mage propped herself up onto her elbows. The glare she leveled at him brimmed with fury and indignation.

Of course, she just had to be a loud one. Quinten thought, I should have known…

“How dare you! Who do you think you are?” Pressing herself into a seated position, the woman continued, “No—Better yet, do you know who I am?” She seethed.

Quinten kept an eye on her in case she attacked, but otherwise, chose to ignore her. He didn’t have to wait long before Ronan made it to his side. He skirted around Star, giving her more room than absolutely necessary. Not that Quinten would ever mention it, and knelt beside the stable hand. “It’s OK. I’m a healer. May I see your arm?”

With her in good hands, Quinten shifted his full attention to the mage. His decision to ignore the woman did nothing to improve the fury and indignation clearly written on her face. She’d risen to her feet by this point, and the four mages with her had all dismounted and formed up behind her as they watched him like pack animals surveying their next meal.

“Well? Answer me!” The woman demanded. Having made her wait this long, Quinten saw no problem taking the opportunity to assess the lady, and she was a Lady, he had no doubts about that. The quality of her brown Core robe was significantly higher, and the material much finer than the standard issue robe he wore. If that hadn’t given it away, the amount of jewelry she wore could have fed, clothed, and sheltered a family for several years.

Tall for a woman, she was only a few inches shorter than Quinten, and he found himself oddly thankful for the extra height. She had long raven-dark waves that framed her face before forming into an elaborate braid that ran down her back. Her large steel-grey eyes were cold as she stared him down in self-righteous anger. Her hand twitching toward the sword strapped to her waist, indicating just how she would like to handle the matter.

Quinten straightened and gave a half bow, falling back on his etiquette training. The woman snorted, but followed suit with the barest dipping of her knees for a curtsey.

“Oh, now he wants to follow courtly etiquette after attacking me by surprise?” She huffed in what Quinten could only assume was equal parts affront and incredulity.

“That was not an attack, my lady. It was a means of separation. I didn’t want to see anyone come to any more unnecessary harm. I believe we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. I am Lt. Ashford.”

“Unnecessary harm, he says. Who are you to say what is and is not necessary? She had no right grabbing hold of my horse.” The Lady said, completely ignoring Quinten's introduction. He wasn’t famous and didn’t expect everyone to know his name, or who he was, but he saw recognition flare on the face of a tawny-haired mage standing behind the irate woman.

“My horse.” Quinten emphasized, giving Star a pat on the nose, earning a nuzzle in return.

The mage stared at him for a moment, her brows coming down as she asked, “What?”

“You said the groomswoman grabbed hold of your horse—when, in fact—It was my horse that she grabbed. Which is likely why she tried to stop you from taking Star in the first place.”

The woman who recognized Quinten stepped forward and tugged on her friend’s sleeve, only to be ignored. Sensing a point of weakness, the Lady argued. “Then why was she in the Core stables? Personal horses do not belong there.”

Quinten watched her, amazed that she’d somehow managed to get her nose so high in just two sentences. “Which means… this whole fiasco is your fault.” Pausing, the dark-haired woman looked Quinten up and down, her eyes latching onto his sword for several seconds before continuing. She looked Star over once more, and with a wicked grin creeping across her face, said. “I want recompense. Your sword and horse should do.”

Realizing she was serious, shock and incredulity hit him like a wet blanket to the face.

“No—?”

Her self-satisfaction quickly turned to rage as she yelled. “No… NO? You attacked a Lady. The daughter of a Duke and the niece of the Mage Commander, and you think you can just get away with it? Where is your honor?”

Well, fuck. Thought Quinten as the pieces fell into place. At least he had a name for the banshee standing before him.

Lady Daphne Wyndham.

*****

How her day had taken a turn like this, she couldn’t fathom. Assaulted by the help, and attacked when she was defending herself. Channeling her unhappiness through her gaze, she stared down the boy in front of her. No, he’s a man, She thought ruefully, giving him a thorough once over.

That is a lovely horse. And the sword, just look at it! thought Daphne, staring at the shining steel. It has to be a family heirloom…

“No…?” Said the young man in what sounded almost like a question, his voice coming out in a rich baritone. The slight rise of his brow making her feel as if she were being mocked.

Wait, what? Daphne’s thoughts screeched to a halt. The mental image of her presenting a new sword to her father crumbling.

“No… NO? You attacked a Lady. The daughter of a Duke and the niece of the Mage Commander, and you think you can just get away with it? Where is your honor?”

”Men are stupid,” her mother had taught her—it was one of her favorite lessons. Challenge their pride, honor, or manhood, and reason would abandon them, turning them to warm clay in your hands, ready to be shaped.

Cadence tugged on Daphne’s sleeve again and she shook her bodyguard’s hand off with a scowl. Turning back to the offending mage, she didn’t see the anger and indignation she’d hoped to incite. Instead, she found clear annoyance, contempt, and maybe even a hint of disgust written across the man’s handsome face as he returned her gaze.

An unexpected and uncomfortable tightness filled her chest at his expression, only managing to piss her off more.

“What is going on here?” A familiar voice rang out.

Perfect timing, she thought, giving the young man a vulpine grin while every other Core mage in the yard saluted the Mage Commander. Turning to face her uncle, her expression contorted in pain, she cried, “This mage attacked me, Uncle!”

Commander Taskin frowned as he looked between his niece, Lt. Ashford, and the woman in servant’s clothing currently curled into a ball, being healed by the Hastings boy.

He’d known the minute he’d seen Ashford’s file that he was going to bring with him a wagon-load of trouble. And here he was, less than an hour past their initial meeting, already in confrontation with Daphne.

Starfire and Fury I hate dealing with children.