5 - Nyxabella

"Aran doesn't know I'm here," Belle called as she danced backwards across the landing, hoping Daivad would realize that if Belle was loyal to the queen she would never refer to her by her first name alone, much less her nickname.

It took him no time to shed his cloak, and he leapt straight from the ground onto the landing like it was nothing, his midnight blue magic with its galaxies of color swirling like the Dark Mother had sped up the night sky and stars were streaming across it. She had gotten her wish, to see his magic in action.

Now cloakless, she could see him clearly. His physical figure was almost as impressive as his magical figure. He was massive, taller than any man she'd met before, and his shoulders would look more at home on a bull than a man. Pieces of his shaggy black hair had escaped the tie meant to hold it off his face, and out from under those dark locks glared two shining, icy blue eyes. Dozens of scars of all shapes and sizes criss-crossed his bare torso. He held no weapons because he didn't need them—before her eyes, the bones of his hands cracked and reshaped, the skin bubbled and thickened, and long, wicked claws slid from his fingers.

He'd been so quiet stalking the rooftops after her, more shadow than man, but now he let his sheer bulk work for him, letting each bootfall rattle the landing as he stomped slowly toward her.

Belle bounced backwards across the bridge leading to the next building over, startling a villager who sat smoking a pipe and humming to themself. "Your ear," she said, "that's all!"

His magic flared not a half-second before he moved, and Belle scrambled to grab the next landing up and swing herself up, and up again, heart in her throat. No, not her heart—it was a wild laugh was trying to burst from her mouth.

The moment her feet hit rooftop, she took off at a sprint, shouting back at him, "And I know you'll want the words I have for it!"

"I want nothing." Daivad landed on the roof, heavy enough to shake the whole building, at the same moment Belle leapt off it.

She tucked her magic up so when she hit the catwalk below and rolled back to her feet, the bridge wouldn't snap. It gave her only half a second advantage, but it was better than nothing.

"Sweet shit," Belle called, sprinting off once again, the increasing speed of his footfalls sending a thrill through her. "Your actions name your desir—" The word was interrupted by a hysterical half-yelp, half-giggle as he swiped at her streaming cloak, close enough that one of his claws tore the hem.

The next building, she took a hard left at the landing, knowing it was much easier for a rabbit to change directions than a raging bull. Sure enough, she heard a crack as his momentum sent him slamming into the building. And across the next bridge, Belle dove straight through an open window, noted a child gawking at her from his bed, rolled back to her feet and dove back out the opposite window. Unfortunately, that window was not open, and she broke one of the shutters on her way out.

"Sorry!" Belle called to the kid, just as she heard Daivad slam into the window on the other wall with a frustrated growl.

As she'd hoped, those shoulders wouldn't let him through the window. He had to either go around or over—or bust down that poor kid's bedroom wall. Belle hadn't considered that option and she truly hoped it wasn't the one he chose.

She was relieved to hear the creak of the rooftop as Daivad ran across it.

She was less relieved when she felt his magic flare behind her—and then over her, and then land in front of her. He had lept from the roof all the way to the next landing and smashed down right in front of her. There was an enormous crack and the landing under them slipped down a few inches.

Belle whispered, "Shit," right before the landing gave out completely.

Both of them whipped up their magic as the floor left them so that they landed on their feet. And neither of them stopped there. Belle let her momentum and her magic carry her into a roll to the right, Daivad directed his straight at her. She sprinted out of his reach and down the nearest alley, but he was right on her heels. And this alley was a dead end.

Belle sent her magic up the wall straight in front of her and her feet followed. She took several steps up the wall before pushing off of it, flipping over Daivad high enough that his claws just barely caught a few of her curls. As she landed and as he turned, she pulled her knives and threw one. Directed by her magic, the knife nailed Daivad's baggy black pant leg to the wooden wall.

For a second he just stared at the glowing tattoos that had suddenly shone through the open sides of her dress. From ribcage to thigh, thick, swirling lines that hadn't been there a moment before drew twin images of empty knife sheaths, one on each hip. But it was only a second.

One enormous, clawed hand gripped the crescent-moon blade and yanked it loose.

"That's not a good—!"

The knife's magic flared and Daivad dropped it, his palm burning bright red even in the moonlight. Belle tugged at the air with one hand and the knife jumped back into her palm.

"My knives don't like—being touched by—anyone but me," Belle explained, panting. As was her nervous habit, she twirled her knives idly. "Please, all I'm asking is an ear."

Daivad's panting was much more intimidating than her own—each breath came as a growl. For a minute, they just watched each other. Already Daivad's breathing was evening out, and it made Belle realize how out of shape she was since her circus days.

With narrowed eyes, he watched her pant, and she thought he might actually be giving her the chance to catch her breath. A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth as she spun one crescent blade around her finger, and she took a half step back.

A shift in his magic made her tense, but she quickly realized it didn't indicate another attack. Something had just happened, and she didn't know what. He eased off his defensive stance, which only made Belle more suspicious. The move was meant to make her let her guard down.

Belle floated her hands to either side, knives gripped tight, and sent her magic out in a wave, listening. She heard them—half a dozen magics, all rushing toward them across landings and down streets.

All the strange giddiness she'd felt evaporated, and her blood went cold. Her joints went stiff and the air stilled in her lungs. People, people she didn't know, were coming at her from all sides, and the chase wasn't fun anymore.

Panicked, unable to choose between the warring instincts of fight or flight, she simply froze. A wave of self-loathing rose up—she hated when she froze like this.

But she'd practiced what to do when this happened. Again, Mama B's words scrawled themselves across her mind, whispered themselves in her ear. "Listen, Sweet Belle. It's alright if you don't know what to do, because your magic does. All you have to do is listen to it."

So she listened to her own magic. And it told her to breathe.

After one deep breath, Belle sheathed her knives. New glowing lines on her hips depicted now-occupied sheaths, then faded into her pale skin. She made her voice steady and said, "You need backup to deal with one mad little girl?"

She could hear the footsteps now, two pairs behind her, two straight ahead, and two on either side. Belle glanced up to see four cloaked figures perched on the edges of buildings like gargoyles, awaiting instruction. Her heart still pounded, knowing this could go any way, but she made herself take even breaths.

Daivad raised a hand, no longer clawed, and gestured down with two fingers. As one, the figures dropped from landing, to landing, to ground. Their magics were somewhat familiar—those who had been sitting near Daivad in the loft back at the tavern.

"Bind her hands," Daivad ordered.

"No." It came out harsher, more desperate than she'd intended. Daivad's icy eyes narrowed slightly. Once she'd steadied herself, she spoke more evenly, "My feet'll follow your orders easy, so long as no one tries to bind me. An ear is all I ask, I'll go wherever necessary to find it."

Maybe that was an unwise promise to make to a man who had just chased her all over Urden, but her magic told her that chase wasn't fueled by malice. Belle wasn't on her game these days, and there were a dozen times he could have caught her. Hurt her. No, his magic read as … curious. He'd been feeling her out.

Plus, surely the Mothers wouldn't bless a truly evil man with magic that beautiful. Right?

Daivad considered her with narrowed eyes. Then he strode forward to properly leverage all of his alarming height over her, and Belle had to lift her head to keep her gaze on his face. Without looking away from her, he produced a rag from one of his pockets and wrapped it around her eyes, then tied it behind her head. Then he grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the mouth of the alley.

Belle took a few sniffs. "Ay, when's the last time you washed this?"

Daivad said nothing.

To herself, Belle mumbled, "At least it isn't crusty."