“Did you say that just because you wanted to see her naked?”
“I had to. The size of her shoulders and thighs absolutely fascinated me. Then it just became a regular thing.”
“Caid doesn’t mind?”
“Not so far.”
“I’ll make sure to point it out to him.”
“Why do you hate me so much?”
She started back toward the mountain so she could return to her training. “You make it so easy.”
“Hey!” he called out and she faced him. “How far up were you?”
Gemma lifted her face to the sky, squinting against the two bright suns. She found the spot and pointed. Quinn’s gaze followed and he snorted.
“The gods really do protect you monks, don’t they?”
“What do you mean?”
“Woman, you never should have survived that fall. At least not without a broken back. And yet you walk away.”
Gemma stared at the spot she’d fallen from and realized that the centaur had a point. Whether she’d fallen in the river or a giant pile of pillows, she should have been injured if not outright killed. And yet . . . she felt relatively fine. No broken bones. No internal damage, from what she could tell. Her brain seemed relatively intact since she’d had an entire philosophical debate with her sister on evil.
Did her god still protect her?
“Oh . . . and, Brother Gemma,” Quinn called out to her, his centaur body returning to the river, “feel free to join us at your leisure whenever we are bathing.”
Rolling her eyes, Gemma snorted and once again returned to her training.
* * *
Quinn was walking past one of the buildings under construction when he heard Gemma’s uncle talking. He glanced in and saw the stonemason dwarves working hard and the Smythe siblings listening to their uncle. But instead of their uncle explaining how the dwarves could work so fast and so well, he was demonstrating on one of the younger boys how to expertly cut a throat.
It took a second to sink in, so Quinn had passed the building before he realized what he’d just seen. But he stopped and spun back around.
“Archie!” he barked when he stood in the doorway.
“What?” the man asked, with his nephew’s chin lifted up and a wooden dagger used for training pressed against the boy’s throat.
“What are you doing?”
“Doing about what?” he asked, confused.
Quinn gestured at Archie with both hands.
“Oh, this.”
“Yes. That.”
“In case we’re invaded. Figured the children should know how to die with honor.”
“Okay.” Quinn quickly pointed at a dwarf who was standing near him and warned, “If you drop that hammer on my foot, I will stomp you to death with my hooves. Understand?”
The dwarf moved away and Quinn walked outside into the bustling town. Every day more shops and stands opened up and more tradespeople moved in with new wares to offer. Quinn loved it. It reminded him of home.
Focusing intently, he finally heard what he was listening for and followed the sound until he reached the stall. An exhausted Gemma stood there buying a cooked chicken and bread. Her meal after training. She could get the same thing from the castle cook but she liked to buy her dinner from the townspeople sometimes.
“We have a problem,” he told her.
“What now?”
“Archie.”
Her eyes crossed but she followed him back to the construction site. At this point, Archie was letting the children take turns slicing each other’s throats with the wooden dagger. Horrified, Gemma shoved the paper-wrapped food into Quinn’s arms, not warning him it was still hot, and rushed into the room.
She grabbed the mock blade from her youngest sister.
“What the unholy hells are you doing?”
“Teaching the children how to—”
“No!” she told her uncle. “Just no. You are not teaching them that.”
“They have to learn. What if we are invaded?”
“Make sure they can’t get through our castle walls, old man. Do something other than teach our children to accept death?”
Archie placidly gazed at Gemma, then the children.
After a full minute, he said, “It’s smarter for them to accept death.”
The dwarves laughed, so Quinn flashed the fangs all battle centaurs possessed and they disappeared into the walls. Unlike the blacksmith dwarves, they weren’t ready to jump into a fight unless absolutely necessary. For blacksmith dwarves, it was always necessary.
Gemma turned to the oldest among the children at the moment. “Isadora, take the children home, please.”
Isadora did as ordered and Gemma waited until her siblings were out of hearing range. When she felt confident they were mostly alone, she faced her uncle and punched him in the throat.
As he grabbed his neck with both hands, trying hard to breathe, she stepped in close and said, “I’m doing my best to save you from the wrath of my mother and Keeley. But if you do this again or you even mention an honorable death or a death of any kind around the children, I will personally disembowel you. A skill that is taught to every war monk novitiate. So do not fuck with me, Uncle. Have I made myself clear?”
Archie didn’t answer. He was too busy bending over, coughing, still attempting to breathe.
Gemma grabbed him by his hair, right at the base of his neck, and yanked his head back. “Have I made myself clear?”
He nodded since he could not speak.
“Excellent.”
Gemma returned to Quinn’s side, scooping her food out of his arms.
“That could have been handled . . . nicer,” he suggested.
“Then next time you may want to tell someone who didn’t spend ten years of her life with war monks.”
She did have a point.
He watched Gemma disappear among the townsfolk outside. When he turned back around, Archie was glaring at him, but all he could do was shrug and mutter, “Yeah, sorry. Didn’t know it was going to go like that. Guess she has a lot on her mind right now. But, you know. Maybe not so much death with the children. Just a thought.” Archie’s eyes narrowed.
“All right . . . well. See ya!”
Quinn walked out, briefly stopping when a dwarven stone hammer dropped from the scaffolding right above his head, barely missing him.
Those dwarf bastards.
* * *
Keeley wasn’t sure her sister would want anything to do with her after their morning argument but once she’d completed her training, Gemma didn’t seem to have any problem joining her in the study to go over the latest reports sent to them concerning King Marius and their sister Beatrix. He was building armies in the south with mercenaries and terrifying the locals at the border between their territories.
At the moment, Marius had the much-richer lands of the east, with their thousands upon thousands of acres of grain fields owned by wealthy royals. Meanwhile, Keeley had the more treacherous hill territories filled with wild game and dangerous tribes. But she’d already begun to build alliances with many of those tribes. Although even she knew some of those were tenuous at best. She had to tread carefully but she found the challenge a little thrilling, not that she’d mention that to anyone but Caid. Gemma already thought she was “too reckless” and Laila insisted on seeing her as “unrealistic” and “naïve.” Honestly, the only one who seemed to have any faith in her outside of her doting parents was Quinn, which seemed just . . . wrong.
Keeley discreetly glanced up from her papers at Gemma. These days her younger sister seemed nothing but angry. Angry at Beatrix? Definitely. Angry at her precious gods? Perhaps. Angry at Keeley? When wasn’t she? But there was more to it, Keeley just hadn’t figured out what was at the heart of it all. It had started months ago. They could all feel it. But then the day came when Gemma had walked downstairs in brown leather leggings, with a brown fur cape. It was the drabbest thing Keeley had ever seen anyone in her family wear and, except for Beatrix, no one in her family gave a damn about fashion at all.
Eventually their mother outfitted Gemma in proper chainmail but she hadn’t put her monk gear back on in more than a year. Keeley never thought she’d miss any of that shit, but she found she did miss the way it had made her sister glow a bit. Now her sister was always sad or angry or sad and angry. It had gotten to the point that Keeley almost hated being around her. If she had to hear her sigh dramatically one more time . . .
“So, what do you both think?”
Keeley frowned, exchanging confused glances with Gemma before they both looked across the room. Ainsley leaned against a bookcase. She’d grown into a beautiful girl with all that long red-blond hair and bright green eyes, but she was a strange one. Always sort of lurking around. She hung out in trees a lot.
“How long have you been standing there?” Keeley asked.
“Twenty minutes. Talking . . . to you.”
“You were talking?” Gemma blinked. “About what?”
Ainsley briefly closed her eyes. Took in a breath, let it out. When she opened her eyes, she said, “All right. Let’s try this again, shall we?”
“There’s that tone,” Gemma muttered.
“I was thinking perhaps I could train with some of the new army recruits. Perhaps learn how to handle a sword. I’m proficient at the bow, but useless with a sword.”
Keeley and Gemma stared at Ainsley for a bit, then at each other.
After a few moments, they couldn’t help themselves . . . they burst out laughing.
“You’re a baby!” Keeley yelped.
“We’re not giving you a sword!” Gemma added.
“You don’t give babies swords!” Keeley agreed.
“Both of you were using swords before you were nineteen.”
“And when you’re nineteen—”
“I am nineteen,” Ainsley snapped.
Keeley frowned, looked at Gemma. “When did she turn nineteen?”
“I don’t know. We should ask Mum.”