Blood of the Guardian by Kristal Shaff Page A

scars were the result of whip lashes. Perhaps you’d been a slave.”
    Alec gawked. A slave? He exhaled slowly, doing his best not to explode. “And that’s what you tell them?”
    “Well, since you haven’t shared … ”
    Alec stepped up to her, his anger flaring. “I’ve fought in several battles. Since the age of eight, I’ve had a sword shoved into my hand daily. And each of those days, my father showed me, the hard way, how to fight.” He touched the scar on his wrist. “This was my first, at eight years old. This …” He touched his chest. “… is when I died. And this …” He touched his face. “ … is when I murdered a man.”
    She blinked, visibly surprised.
    “So the next time you flirt with the warriors, don’t make up stories, especially about me.” He turned, glancing at the girl serving the food as he headed toward the stairs. If the gossiping savages thought him to be a sun warrior, then “Sun Warrior” he would be.
    Ten minutes later, the Sun Warrior leaned over the rails of the boat, emptying his meal into the sea.

Chapter Eleven
     
    ALEC DIDN’T KNOW HOW LONG he sat there, wishing he’d chewed his food better. It was worse this time, if at all possible. His stomach twisted in knots even without the help of the waves. Memories of Taryn and the rumors of him being a slave gnawed at his insides.
    Not that he cared what the savages thought of him, but how could she call him a slave? Sometimes, when he worked with his dad, he felt like a slave. His father never whipped him; he got all his scars fairly—as if a child sparring with an adult was fair. His father never forced injuries on him. It was always up to Alec—even if mismatched—to protect himself.
    He rested his forehead against the railing, dangling his legs over the edge. Cold water splashed on his feet, leaving his toes numb and tingling. He closed his eyes, and images of Taryn came to mind. He tried to forget her, but the memories of his death crept in, no matter how hard he pushed them away.
    He saw brightness but felt no pain. The light drew him, and contentment washed over him. But before the peace took him completely, his pain returned, his chest burning. The unnatural light faded, replaced by the sun on his closed eyelids. He gasped, awakening to the view of a blue sky. His lungs burned, as if they’d forgotten how to work.
    He’d remembered fighting General Trividar; he sat up, alert and ready to continue the battle. It was then when he had noticed her, lying on the ground, hand open, arms limp and outstretched toward him. Mud-coated blond curls splayed around her, covering her upturned face. Deep crimson stained the front of her chest and pooled around her, fresh and soaking in the grass where she lay. She twitched twice and then lay still.
    Alec jerked his eyes open, gasping, wiping away fresh tears. Brim curse the stupid girl! Why did she have to have Healing Shay? Why had she traded her life for his useless one? The others spoke of how brave she’d been, praising her courage to do what was necessary. They’d said that because of her, Alec had gotten word to the others. She’d helped save them all. So why did Alec feel so guilty?
    A presence appeared next to him. He looked up, hoping to see Greer. He needed some relief from this nightforsaken illness. Instead, the girl from the serving line squatted next to him, her eyes studying his face. Alec gawked, his mouth open. How long had she watched him? He turned away, scrubbing away traitorous tears. He’d been sobbing like a little girl.
    She tapped his arm.
    He ignored her. She’d go away eventually.
    She tapped again.
    He stared at the sea, and his stomach rose and fell along with a wave.
    She yanked him around.
    He glared, intending to tell her off, but she shoved a cup into his hand. A pottery of sorts, with painted, tribal designs along the edge, rested in his palm. He stared at it and drew back to chuck it into the sea.
    She grabbed his arm. She was a lot