The leader, a blond-haired man with purple eyes and fangs of black, spoke, his voice soft and melodic. “Aodh, you ought to have known we’d hear the sword as soon as you pulled it free of the iron box.”

“You presume that I did not expect your company.” Adam rolled his shoulders as though he were settling in, his body now loose and ready. His smile was not kind; it was hungry. “Shall we… converse?”

There was no other warning; the fight simply was. Eliza pushed back against the curved wooden wall as the four fae converged on Adam, long swords appearing in hand and whizzing with silver light through the air.

The thrill of the fight surged through Adam’s blood. He laughed with it, even as he sliced and pivoted. God, but he had missed this. Missed the marriage of his body and mind to fight with sword and fists. There were four men, fast and quick. Almost too fast, but the chains had been broken and the effect immediate. He was strong now. As he’d been as a knight.

Adam feinted right, kicked left. And then blocked a jab with his sword. One fae thrust his sword, aiming for Adam’s gut. He grabbed hold of the blade, the dull edge made for jabbing, not cutting, and wrenched the weapon from the fae’s grasp. Novices, he thought with disgust as he swung around and beheaded one man. An ordinary sword wouldn’t have done that, but this was fae iron. It cut through them like they were soft bread.

Sweat trickled down his spine as Adam hacked his way through the fae. His side stung, likely cut, but he didn’t slow. Until there was one. Their swords met again and again, a clatter of metal upon metal. Adam backed his opponent into a corner, his blows never ebbing. This he knew. It was rote. Even after all these years. And with an upswing, he caught the fae’s sword on the hilt, slicing away fingers. The fae male screamed, dropping his sword and clutching his hand.

Mellan sends me mere boys.

Adam stopped and pressed the point of his sword just at the base of the young fae’s throat. The lad stilled, his chest lifting and falling in a rapid pant.

“I’ve a message for Mellan,” Adam said. “I’ve bested him by this sword once before, and I’ll do it again. Come after me and what is mine and I’ll cut off his head.”

Licking his pasty lips, the fae gave a faint nod.

A soft, feminine scent stirred the air, as Eliza moved to his side. He’d kept Eliza in mind the entire time, knowing precisely where she was and making certain to draw the fight away from her. But he’d never looked her way, the threat of distraction too high.

Adam did not turn to acknowledge her now, but his body seemed to broaden, as if to form a wall between her and the fae warrior. The soft touch of her hand upon his elbow merely heightened the need to haul her out of harm’s way. Adam stayed the course.

“I’ve a message for Mellan as well.” Eliza’s voice was low yet strong. “We are through. I’ll die before doing his bidding again.”

A chill went through Adam at her words, and he leaned his weight towards her, letting his shoulder butt up against hers.

“Go on, then,” Adam told the fae, gesturing towards the door with his sword. “Before I simply send him your head instead.”

The young fae left on swift feet, a mere blur in his terror. If only he’d utilized that speed while fighting Adam, he might have had half a chance.

Winded, his body warm and pleasurably humming with the exertion of the fight, Adam let his sword arm lower and finally turned to Eliza. She glanced down at the bodies littering the floor. Tears stained her cheeks, reddened tracks against her skin.

“Love,” he began, taking a step in her direction. But then halted when she opened her mouth and began to laugh.

The sound lifted the hairs upon the back of his neck. It wasn’t a natural laugh, but a mad, crazed cackled. Something about it shriveled his insides and drew his cods up tight in terror.

Her neck arched as she threw her head back and howled.

“Eliza!” His shout came from deep within him, and she reacted as though slapped.

With a flinch, she snapped her mouth shut. Wide, fearful eyes met his, and then she turned heel and fled.

Adam found her at the end of the long, narrow hall, just before it opened onto the fore deck. Her slim figure was a dark silhouette against the bright entrance. She stood, hand upon the wall, back stiff as washday starch. She might have simply been waiting for him, but it was the steady way she held herself, as if taking too deep a breath would make her crumple, that had him approaching her with care.

She stiffened further as he stepped near, but she did not turn. Pale sunlight shone down on the tops of her cheeks, giving them a soft peach blush. There was something about the curve of her cheek, the vulnerable delicacy of it, that made him want to cup her there, stroke his thumb along the sweet, cupid’s bow of her upper lip.

He shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets instead. “Would you like to talk?”

For a long moment, she stared off into the distance. “What is there to say?” Her voice was too low, almost defeated.

Adam took a step closer, coming alongside her. At his back, the barge was cold and dark. Fresh air and warm sunlight caressed his face. He closed his eyes to the light and took a deep breath.

And her small, pained words reached him. “I laughed.”

He opened his eyes. “Yes.”

Their shoulders nearly touched, and he could sense her shiver.

“I laughed at their deaths like a mad woman.” A shuddering sigh broke from her. “I couldn’t stop myself.”