Verona rode her horse for two days, and during noon on the third, she’d finally arrived. Perote, one of the great cities of Agnius. It stretched high and mighty similar to Rathalin, but it wasn’t as large. Around the perimeter, she expected to see camps similar, but the gates were clear. She couldn’t even see soldiers around. Was the city that easy to get into? Or perhaps the soldiers that mobilized out of Rathalin, did the same in Perote.

  She urged her horse forward, and the steed obeyed without question, stomping along the dried up grass.

  What was Jules doing now, she found herself wondering. Thankfully, he never returned. She’d hate to see another life wasted because of her. Memories flash of the happy days she spent in the den, with the escaped slaves. It all felt like a lifetime ago. Because of that one night when Lord Demarian came, she expected anyone she grew close with to be chased down by that man.

  No more. She needed to protect Jules and find new people who would accept her. She’d be the one to take down the Minister of Labor.

  She hopped off the horse when she was within the confines of the wall, walking with her spear out.

  This city had even less soldiers than Rathalin. She walked the lonely streets, the sun well below the horizon, the moon rising and stars twinkling. She gripped the spear even tighter.

  She wanted Lord Demarian dead. Either she was going to die tonight or he was.

  Footsteps echoed nearby and she ducked behind cover, waiting. She could feel her heart racing.

  “Be quiet!” a hushed voice said to her.

  She almost jumped and let out a scream, but the person pinned her down and held a hand over her mouth.

  Verona struggled with a hand clamped over her mouth to see Lord Demarian, sauntering through the streets of Perote, drunk with two of his friends. None of them wore any protective gear.

  The person removed the hand and Verona breathed out. She could scream and run, but then Demarian would know she’s there. She could turn and fight the assailant and Lord Demarian would know she’s there. She could stay quiet and wait.

  “Jocie?” the whisper said. “What’re you doing here?”

  Verona turned to see Jules there, holding his bow out. He moved to take an arrow out from his quiver and notch it into his bow.

  Verona wanted to leap into the man’s arm and hug him. It’s only been a month but it’s felt like a lifetime since she last saw him.

  “I thought I told you to stay put in Rathalin,” Jules whispered ferociously.

  Verona nodded. “Yeah but then I got bored,” she replied. “And you took too long.”

  “Because I was busy planning this! Galvin gave us the right opportunity to attack, and I’m not going to let it slip. You’re the last person I expected to see here tonight.”

  Verona frowned at that. “You were going to attack Demarian without me?” she said, hurt in her voice.

  Jules shook his head. “No, it’s not like that.”

  “Have you not listened when I explained all the wrong he’s done to me in my life? You know I want to see him dead more than anything. And you were going to end his life without me there?”

  “It’s too dangerous!” Jules exclaimed, his voice projecting through the alley. “And I don’t want to see you dead like so many of my comrades.”

  A silence followed. “Hey, who’s there?” the voice called. The voice of a drunken Minister of Labor.

  Jules sprang into action. He leapt forward and pulled the string on his bow, releasing the arrow.

  Verona sprang up as well, spear at the ready. Oh what she wouldn’t give to have a bunch of gemstones at her side right about now…

  The arrow missed Lord Demarian, and with a nod of his head, the other two drew hidden weapons and began to surround Jules.

  Verona jumped out from the shadows, spear in hand, and stabbed at the first one she came across, the tip of the weapon piercing through the poor man’s left eye. Blood spurted as she threw all of her bodyweight behind the attack, sending herself tumbling forward.

  The man died on impact.

  She lost her balance and rolled forward, hand off her spear.

  Verona stood up, her legs shaky and moved to grab her spear, ready to attack the Minister of Labor. He wasn’t there however. He moved swiftly to her side, an angered expression on his face, a large sword in his hand that could not possibly have been hidden, his stance ready to swing.

  The air between Lord Demarian and her was replaced by Jules, who wielded a tiny dagger and deflected the attack.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Get the other one!” Jules shouted to Verona. Just then, a single object rolled from Jules’s pocket and landed on the ground.

  A ruby, shining scarlet, its light brilliant in the darkness. Why did Jules bring that to the fight if he did not expect Verona to be there?

  He had to have followed her there, and pulled her into the darkness to keep her safe. He knew before they met. Verona looked into the eyes of the man who saved her on more than one occasion and whispered a thanks. She wrapped a hand around the ruby and Absorbed it in, letting the power of it flow all throughout her entire body.

  Fire, Rage, Power. Those words, as they always have, echoed throughout her mind. She ran after the friend, who was likely running to call more guards.

  When she ran a good distance away from Jules and Lord Demarian, she focused on Rage and forced the entirety of the essence she Absorbed into this man.

  The man stopped in his tracks and pulled out a dagger, a snarl on his face when he turned around to face the girl.

  “You have no right to come into our city as you have,” he spoke, enunciating his words, every inch of his body shaking.

  Verona would have used Fire if she wasn’t as experienced as she was now. Jules was the one who taught her rage could be a useful thing when the opponent wielded it. It made one sloppy. Made one so eager to kill that all technique faded from him.

  She kept a steady stream of Rage into the man’s mind as he approached. The moment she let go of the essence, then all sense would return to him, and either his technique would return or he’d just run off and call more soldiers.

  Verona needed to end him before he could do that. Jules already had Lord Demarian distracted. She wondered how he’d fare against the man.

  Keep your distance, she thought to herself as her opponent stepped up. He lunged at her with his dagger, but with the space she maintained between them, she was able to sidestep it. Then she swung her spear, using the wood of her shaft to slam the man in the face and knock him to the ground.

  He stood back up within the second.

  The man lunged again, this time faster than Verona could expect. She ducked beneath the dagger strike.

  The man moved in too close for comfort, exploiting the weakness of her spear. She dropped her weapon and propelled herself forward, her head slamming into the gut of this man, sending both of them forward tumbling to the ground.

  She was surprised with how much power she was able to exert from her headbutt. Her momentum broke the man’s balance.

  She’d gain weight since her time in the mines, and that weight came in handy. Before, she was a walking skeleton, on the brink of death from either exhaustion or hunger, she couldn’t tell. Now, meat’s returned to her bones, and her sense of self came with it.

  The man let out a cry as he landed on the ground, flailing his arms about and struggling to come free. Verona held him pinned down.

  Then she Absorbed in some more ruby and focused on Fire, flames engulfing the both of them. Since she was the source of the fires, it didn’t affect her as much as the other person. Her opponent burned alive, his clothing becoming a pile of ashes and his face charred by the time she finished.

  Smoke rose from the body in billows and she stood up, proud and triumphant. She’d won against her opponent.

  The pride was short-lived however. She turned to see Lord Demarian on top of Jules, ready to swing his massive sword down and end the man’s life.

  Oh no. It was happening again. She could still see the faces of those who died so she could live.

  Siva, Chatham, Kirith, the ex-slave who’s name she didn’t know that made the spices. All those people who died so she could live. No, it couldn’t happen again. She wouldn’t let it happen again.

  She Absorbed in the last of her ruby and focused on Rage, directing all of it towards Lord Demarian. Let the rage that she’s felt course through him, and let him direct that rage towards her.

  It worked.

  Lord Demarian spun to face her, his eyes showing a primal anger behind them, a lust for blood like she’d never seen.

  “You,” he snarled, his expression full of hate and disgust. Lord Demarian stepped over the battered and beaten Jules and made his way to her. Verona stood firm with one of the stances Jules taught her and prepared herself for the attack.