Chapter Three: A Full Second

  Daxon entered with less flair than usual. The door slammed open. He tripped over the guard reaching for him, caught himself with a flourish, and dusted off his jacket like it was all part of the act.

  Brynn glared. “Nice jacket.”. He’d taken the time to dress and oil his hair before bothering to come after her.

  Three guards rushed in after him. Kevlar waved them off, looking exhausted. “Take her home,” he said. Bryn’s smirk wavered. He’d said the same words to Marken more than once after dragging her out of a tavern brawl or arresting her for disturbing the peace. Her eyes met his, and a flicker of something passed between them. Regret, maybe. If guards could feel.

  Dax struck a pose, half a breath from something smug. “Come on,” she muttered, grabbing his shirt and dragging him along behind her. She needed out of this building before the walls pressed any further.

  They emerged into the sounds of the market prepping for the day’s business. She blinked into the sun. Morning. Of course it was morning.

  Dax threw his arm over her shoulders. “So what happened, oh sister of mine? And why did you send for me? Some shady business you didn’t want Marken to know about?”

  That brought her up short.

  He didn’t know.

  They stood side by side in the morning light, him shining and resplendent, her something dragged out of the gutter. Twins just the same. And he read her expression as he always did. The mirth and humor drained from his. “What happened?”

  “Not here.” She peered both ways. “Come on.”

  Her feet broke towards the Duck. Didn’t want to face Petra either. But she needed somewhere private and public. Duck fit the bill.

  Dax didn’t press her for details but he watched her, worry building in his expression, that telltale twitch in his left arm. He was taller but she set the pace, hurried but not enough to draw attention.

  The tavern was just opening for breakfast. She caught Petra’s eye across the room. He unfolded from his place behind the bar, face stricken. Started toward them. She cut him off with a quick jerk of her head. Watched him freeze, then resettle behind the bar.

  Dax saw it too. “Bryn,” he said, his voice dangerous now, “what in the hells…”

  “Sit down.” She steered him to a table in the far corner. Removed from the bustle. “Marken’s dead,” she said without preamble.

  The color drained from his face. “Fuck you.”

  “You think I’d joke about this?” Barely restrained fury in her voice. “Or that Kevlar’s in the habit of letting me stroll off in your custody? Look at Petra’s face if you don’t believe me.”

  Dax’s head swiveled, taking in the old bartender pretending not to watch them. “How?” he demanded.

  “Damned if I know.” She dragged a hand over her face. Smothered a yawn. “He’d been sneaking out at night….”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  She glared at him. “Didn’t think you’d want to miss your beauty sleep. I followed him last night. By the time I got there he was….” Her voice broke. Grief surged. Raw. Broken. She didn’t want to start screaming in the middle of the tavern. Or worse yet. Crying.

  Dax’s face softened. He reached across the table. Covered her hand in his own. For a moment they stared at each other. Their eyes were the only thing identical about them. Marken said once that if he’d caught one of them peering through a keyhole he wouldn’t have known which he was looking at. “Until Dax opened his mouth,” he added dryly, “and removed all doubt.”

  Dax’s face settles into steel. “Show me.”

  “He’s gone by now.”

  “Show me where.”

  She nodded. He deserved that much. “By the docks. Come on. Watch for guards. They might not be happy to see me back in the area.”

  They didn’t bother nodding to Petra, slipped out unnoticed behind some guests. Bryn didn’t bother trying for subtlety. Dax’s new coat had emeralds woven into the threads. They were hard to miss.

  They didn’t talk as they walked, caught in their thoughts. But Bryn still knew the second the tail dropped into place. Her head shot up. Eyes sharp. Glanced to Dax. His head was still down, oblivious. She nudged him sharply. Two fingers flicked behind her.

  He looked. Gods damn him. She jerked on his arm, forced his focus back, murder in her expression. Sorry, he mouthed. She shook her head. Looked around. Nodded at the alley.

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  They moved casually, as if they’d intended that as their destination all along. Ducking into the shadows. Synchronized without speaking, fluidly, communicating as they always had in looks and nods. She melded into the darkness behind a stack of crates. Dax caught an overhanging ledge and pulled himself up, vanishing into the shadows.

  And they waited.

  It didn’t take long. Seconds later the men entered the alley. Weapons sheathed, but hands on the hilts. Wary. Knowing they might be walking into a trap.

  And two more behind them. Four in all.

  Bryn lunged. She didn’t give it thought. Just let the rage she’d been simmering since finding Marken loose. Lunged. Swung. Missed. A boot on her back. Hit the ground and roll. Dax dropping to her side. Rolling again, this time to give him room to work, coming up behind the first man and driving her dagger home as she had so many times before. She spun, kicked, spun again. Something knocked her off balance. Landing hard against the wall.

  Her knuckles ached, raw and blood-slick. She didn’t remember the last punch—just the sound of bone against bone, and the way her breath wouldn’t come steady. She waited for someone to grab her. Shake her. Tell her to focus.

  But no one did. Marken wasn’t here.

  She pressed her back to the wall, slid down until the floor caught her. Her fingers curled against her knee—braced, clenched—just like they had that first time.

  *****

  Marken surveyed the eleven year old twins splayed in the dirt in front of him. “Pathetic,” he announced.

  Bryn scowled at him and spit blood. She wanted to argue. But she didn’t have much ground to stand on. He’d just taken them both down in three seconds flat.

  And he wasn’t finished. “You,” he said, pointing at Dax, “think too much. You telegraph what you’re doing to anyone with eyes. And you,” he said, spinning on Bryn, “don’t think at all. You’re all fury and teeth and daggers. It’ll give you an edge—until someone with training puts you down.”

  “Bryn was the best fighter in our cohort,” Dax snapped, jerking indignantly. “She took down the dagger mistress at the temple. When she was nine.”

  Truth. And she had the scars to prove it, a series crisscrossing her wrist, one shiny on her neck. Hadn’t let them patch anything after. No magical healing. She made Dax sew them up in the dorms. He vomited twice.

  Marken seemed decidedly less impressed. “You keep crowning her like that, she’ll think she’s royalty.” His gaze flicked to her. “That what you are, girl? Some sort of princess of the alleyways?”

  She growled, low in her throat. “No.”

  “Good.” He crouched in front of her, dark eyes sharp. “Because princesses don’t make it out of places like this. They bleed in the gutters, pretty and useless.”

  She lunged. Fast. Hard. Show him who’s useless. The dagger wasn’t real but if she’d connected she’d have broken his nose.

  She didn’t. He slid to the side, caught her, tossed her like she was nothing. Bent her arm behind her back hard enough to make her gasp. Not breaking. Not injuring. But immobilizing. Incapacitating. “If you want to survive, learn to listen. Both of you.” He released her with a shove and examined them both down in the dirt. Dax confused, Bryn spitting blood and nails. He sighed. “New rules. Neither of you lifts a finger in a fight. Not as the aggressor. Not to defend yourself. You stick close to me. If fighting needs doing, I do it. The two of you are as docile as dormice. Got it?”

  Bryn snarled deep in her throat. She was not going to be made helpless. Not by him. Spotting her mood, Dax jumped in. Protested. “How long?”

  Marken raised an eyebrow. “Until one of you can take me down. Or at least stand longer than a minute against me.” His attention was elsewhere. Bryn lunged again. He didn’t even look. One hand flashed out. Caught her throat. His foot swept under her ankles, knocking her legs out from under her. He put her back in the dirt and glared at her. “And in your case,” he said, “until you can think for at least a full second before you do something stupid.”

  *****

  She gave it the full second. Just long enough to gather her wits. To assess the situation. One man down. Whether by her or Dax, she didn’t know. Her brother almost holding his own against another. And two heading her way.

  She smiled, showing her teeth.

  And she moved.

  She lunged straight at the men, catching them off balance. At the last second she veered. Twisted. Her weight collided with the man on the right. Not his chest where he’d expected. Taking out his knees. They crashed down together and her dagger flashed. Before he bled out she rolled. The other man grabbed nothing where she’d been.

  She was already behind him. A kick to the back of the knees. A quick peek to check on Dax. He stood victorious, breathing hard, sword bloody. She didn’t even interrupt her momentum. Landed on the man's back. Smashed his head down hard. Raised her dagger, ready to drive it into his ribs.

  And stopped.

  A full second.

  The another.

  Lowered the blade. “Come on,” she snapped. “We need to get him out of here.”

  “What?” Dax stared at her in alarm. “Why?”

  “Because if he’s following us, he might know something about what happened to Marken. And we can’t question him here.” She grabbed the man’s arm, wincing at the dead weight as she hauled him over her shoulder. “Will you help me?”

  “But…” Dax glanced down at his jacket. Then, catching the murder in her expression, he groaned softly and ran to the man’s other side.

  They hauled the man between them, Bryn still tasting blood and ash. Marken’s voice echoed in her mind: “Until you can think for at least a full second before you do something stupid.”

  This time, she’d given it two.

  Just long enough to decide she wanted answers more than vengeance.

  For now.

  *****

  Marken always said my temper would get me killed if I didn’t learn to think.

  This one’s for the moment you breathe instead of strike. The moment you wait. The second that changes everything.

  He trained me to kill.

  He never said anything about mercy.

  -Bryn

  Next – Blood dries. Secrets don’t.

  He might be gone, but she’s still following his guidance. Real? Got anyone like that? Maybe we all do. Maybe it’s not so common as I think.

  New chapters weekly.

  Keep your blades close.

  -QH