The Demon Cycle Books 1-3 and Novellas: The Painted Man, The Desert Spear, The Daylight War plus The Great Bazaar and Brayan’s Gold and Messenger’s Legacy
differently now that she wore the pocketed apron, and nothing seemed able to change that. The curtsey seemed ingrained.
Still, Leesha treasured her friendship. Saira came secretly to Bruna’s hut, begging pomm tea, but their relationship ended there. To hear the women in town tell it, Saira was kept well enough entertained. Half the men in the village supposedly knocked on her door at one time or another, and she always had more money than the sewing she and her mother took in could bring.
Brianne was even worse in some ways. She had not spoken to Leesha in the last seven years, but had a bad word to say about her to everyone else. She had taken to seeing Darsy for her cures, and her dalliances with Evin had quickly given her a round belly. When Tender Michel had challenged her, she had named Evin the father rather than face the town alone.
Evin had married Brianne with her father’s pitchfork at his back and her brothers to either side, and had committed himself to making her and their son Callen miserable ever since.
Brianne had proved a fit mother and wife, but she never lost the weight she had put on during her pregnancy, and Leesha knew personally how Evin’s eyes – and hands – wandered. Gossip had him knocking frequently on Saira’s door.
‘Good morning, Mairy,’ she said. ‘Have you met Messenger Marick?’ Leesha turned to introduce the man, only to find he was no longer at her back.
‘Oh, no,’ she said, seeing him facing off with Gared across the market.
At fifteen, Gared had been bigger than any man in the village save his father. Now, at twenty-two, he was gigantic, close to seven feet of packed muscle, hardened by long days at the axe. It was said he must have Milnese blood, for no Angierian had ever been so large.
Word of his lie had spread throughout the village, and since then the girls had kept their distance, afraid to be alone with him. Perhaps that was why he still coveted Leesha; perhaps he would have done so regardless. But Gared had not learned the lessons of the past. His ego had grown with his muscles, and now he was the bully everyone had known he would be. The boys who used to tease him now jumped at his every word, and if he was cruel to them, he was a terror to anyone unwise enough to cast their eyes upon Leesha.
Gared waited for her still, acting as if Leesha were going to come to her senses one day and realize she belonged with him. Any attempts to convince him otherwise had been met with wood-headed stubbornness.
‘You’re not local,’ she heard Gared say, poking Marick hard in the shoulder, ‘so maybe ya haven’t heard that Leesha’s spoken for.’ He loomed over the Messenger like a grown man over a young boy.
But Marick didn’t flinch, or move at Gared’s poke. He stood stark still, his wolf eyes never leaving Gared’s. Leesha prayed he had the sense not to engage.
‘Not according to her,’ Marick replied, and Leesha’s hopes fell. She started moving towards them, but already a crowd was forming around the men, denying her a clear path. She wished she had Bruna’s stick to help her clear the way.
‘Did she say words of promise to you, Messenger?’ Gared demanded. ‘She did to me.’
‘So I’ve heard,’ Marick replied. ‘I’ve also heard you’re the only fool in the Hollow who thinks those words mean a coreling’s piss after you betrayed her.’
Gared roared and grabbed at the Messenger, but Marick was quicker, stepping smoothly to the side and snapping up his spear, thrusting the butt right between the woodcutter’s eyes. He whipped the spear around in a smooth motion, striking behind Gared’s knees as he staggered backwards, dropping him hard on his back.
Marick planted his spear back on the ground, standing over Gared, his wolf eyes coldly confident. ‘I could have used the point,’ he advised. ‘You would do well to remember that. Leesha speaks for herself.’
Everyone in the crowd was gawking, but Leesha continued her desperate push forward, knowing Gared, and knowing that it was not over.
‘Stop this idiocy!’ she called. Marick glanced at her, and Gared used that moment to grab the end of his spear. The Messenger’s attention snapped back, and he gripped the shaft with both hands to pull the spear free.
It was the last thing he should have done. Gared had a wood demon’s strength, and even with him lying prone, none could match it. His corded arms flexed, and Marick found himself flying through the air.
Gared rose, and snapped the six-foot spear in half like a twig. ‘Let’s see how ya fight when yer not hiding behind a spear,’ he said, dropping the pieces to the ground.
‘Gared, no!’ Leesha screamed, pushing past the last of the onlookers and grabbing his arm. He shoved her aside, never taking his eyes off Marick. The simple move sent her reeling back into the crowd, where she crashed into Dug and Niklas, going down in a tangle of bodies.
‘Stop!’ she cried helplessly, struggling to find her feet.
‘No other man will have you,’ Gared said. ‘You’ll have me, or you’ll end up shrivelled and alone like Bruna!’ He stalked towards Marick, who was only just getting his legs under him.
Gared swung a meaty fist at the Messenger, but again, Marick was quicker. He ducked the blow smoothly, landing two quick punches to Gared’s body before retreating well ahead of Gared’s wild return swing.
But if Gared even felt the blows, he showed no sign. They repeated the exchange, this time with Marick punching Gared full in the nose. Blood spurted, and Gared laughed, spitting it from his mouth.
‘That your best?’ he asked.
Marick growled and shot forward, landing a flurry of punches. Gared could not keep up and hardly tried, gritting his teeth and weathering the barrage, his face red with rage.
After a few moments, Marick withdrew, standing in a catlike fighting stance, his fists up and ready. His knuckles were skinned, and he was breathing hard. Gared seemed little the worse for wear. For the first time, there was fear in Marick’s wolf eyes.
‘That all ya have?’ Gared asked, stalking forward again.
The Messenger came at him again, but this time, he was not so quick. He struck once, twice, and then Gared’s thick fingers found purchase on his shoulder, gripping hard. The Messenger tried to pull back out of reach, but he was held fast.
Gared drove his fist into the Messenger’s stomach, and the wind exploded out of him. He struck again, this time to the head, and Marick hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.
‘Not so smug now, are ya!’ Gared roared. Marick rose to his hands and knees, struggling to rise, but Gared kicked him hard in the stomach, flipping him over onto his back.
Leesha was darting forward by then, as Gared knelt on top of Marick, landing heavy blows.
‘Leesha is mine!’ he roared, ‘And any what says otherwise will … !’
His words were cut short as Leesha threw a full fist of Bruna’s blinding powder in his face. His mouth was already open, and he inhaled reflexively, screaming as it burned into his eyes and throat, his sinuses seizing and his skin feeling as if burned with boiling water. He fell off Marick, rolling on the ground choking and clawing at his face.
Leesha knew she had used too much of the powder. A pinch would stop most men in their tracks, but a full fist could kill, causing people to choke on their own phlegm.
She scowled and shoved past the gawkers, snatching a bucket of water Stefny had been using to wash potatoes. She dumped it over Gared, and his convulsions eased. He would be blind for hours more, but she would not have his death on her hands.
‘Our vows are broken,’ she told him, ‘now and forever. I will never be your wife, even if it means dying shrivelled and alone! I’d as soon marry a coreling!’
Gared groaned, showing no sign he had heard.
She moved over to Marick,