“Mae, get up. For fuck’s sake.” Tristram glared down at me, parrying the advance of one attacker with his axe. It splintered, the handle snapping. I grabbed at it as it fell not far from where I was crouched. “Mae, get up, you need to run.”
“No. I don’t need to run.” I stood and handed him back his axe. He stared at it in amazement, his lips parting slightly as he looked at the new handle the Beech tree had just twined around the sharpened blade. Smooth and wide, the handle fitted perfectly into Tristram’s strong grip. In my own hand, I swung a long sword carved from wood, but there was little doubt its edge was as sharp as Tristram’s axe. It glinted in the dim sunlight as thought it had been polished for this moment since the dawn of time.
“I believe this is the moment we kick their arse.”
Tristram’s eyes narrowed, analysing me with shrewd observation briefly, before he spun away dropping the full force of his rage onto the shorter man’s head. I ran with my Beech wood sword, slicing at his friend’s arm. Blood spurted into the earth, absorbed almost instantly. The Beech tree broke out in red leaves, shimmering and shaking, like a cheerleader waiting for the next score. I jabbed again while I tried to keep one eye on Tristram. Although he didn’t know it, I was the stronger of the two of us. Admittedly, it was only my magic giving me the edge, while his muscles powered through every graceful move he made. If I hadn’t been fighting for my life, I would have stopped and stared. He was beautiful. Much like the Tristan in my own world, but also different at the same time. Powerful, edgy, and rugged. Blonde and broad, but with a startling beauty. A spark of flame kindled in the pit of my tummy, but I chased it away as I parried the approach of the tall man again. This Tristram wasn’t mine. He belonged to her.
Distracted as I was, my opponent took the chance to swing for me, catching me tightly and wheeling me in. His breath fanned on my neck, cooling the sweat gathering at the end of my hairline. “Hey,” he called. Tristram, his own adversary in bloody parts on the ground, turned, his eyes wide, his chest heaving with exertion.
The man’s fingers grabbed at my clothing, yanking at the wool of my dress as his hand roughly squeezed my breast. “This yours?”
I grimaced as his lips landed on my cheek, pressing hard enough to make me squirm. I couldn’t move. The more I fought, the tighter his hands hurt my flesh. With an inner resolve I didn’t know I contained, I stood stock still. Tristram’s face chiselled into a mask of pure anger.
The earth pounded at my feet, rivers of energy and magic running towards me. The Beech was going to pay me back. I knew it, could sense it almost as though the tree was talking to me directly. I couldn’t hear its words or thoughts, but I knew its intent.
I shook my head at Tristram, just slightly. Don’t worry, I tried to tell him. Just don’t worry. This won’t be what ends us.
Then I knew it.
I knew the whole reason for everything. Every death, every drop of blood. Every passing year between now and when we would meet again at Fire Stone, our blood cursed to hate one another but unable to avoid the pull of our destiny.
Nothing could end us.
Together Tristram and I. Tristan Prince and I, had a purpose. Together we were something. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew it all the same. The trees told me. The Beech, swiping out and hammering the man with his hands on my skin to one side, knew it.
The Beech pulled the man up, dragging him on towards his trunk. The man screamed as high as any child while Tristram launched himself across the space separating us and pulled me into his arms. I breathed in the hot and sticky strength of his embrace.
His hands roughly grasped at my face, cupping it in his palms. The jet gaze I’d always known swept across my mouth searching for damage. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I shivered in his hold. “That was insane.”
His eyes narrowed and he pushed me back. “Who are you?”
“What do you mean?” I swallowed hard. We’d just survived an attack. Shouldn’t he be asking about the trees helping me, about the wooden sword as sharp as any metal smelt by our blacksmiths, or about the man currently being encased within the trunk of a Beech tree.
“Do you mean my magic?” I stuttered.
“No.” His hands rested on my shoulders. “I mean who in the name of the gods are you, because you aren’t my Mae.”
I stuttered a little, his dark gaze watching my every move.
“Tristram. I’ve been manhandled by some disgusting boar of a man. Can we just get back?”
I didn’t mean this. What I wanted was for him to let me go, so I could run from him and save him from this fate we were playing out.
“No. Talk.”
“You won’t want to hear or listen.”
His smile was small, not a smile at all. “I’m sure I will, My Baduri.”
“My father doesn’t want me talking to you. I told you.”
His head tilted to one side as he thought about this. “No. You speak differently. You smell different. The way you move is different.”
My heart raced in my chest. “You’ve hardly seen me to even say that.”
“The other day at the river. You were scared, but you didn’t seem yourself. You were confused, muddled. So why do you look like my Mae if you aren’t?”
I cursed internally. I didn’t need this. I needed to be fleeing to save him, meeting the red army so they could do what they needed while I learned what I needed. What Mae and I both needed.
His fingers tightened on my shoulders.
