Chapter 27
River didn’t know what woke her, though she also didn’t know when she had fallen asleep.
The room around her was dark, so dark that she could hardly see before her.
Only a small candle flame remained in the room, bathing the space around it in golden light, and River blinked a few times to try and clear her vision.
The first thing she saw was a shadow.
It lurked there, in the corner, near the candle, and it took her a few moments to realize the flame was floating—because the shadow itself was holding the candle.
She made to sit up on the bed, but she soon found out she couldn’t.
Her wrists were restrained, each one tied to each post of the bed near the headboard, and instantly, panic rose up River’s chest.
She was confused, disoriented. The darkness in the room only heightened those sensations, and the nausea that seemed to accompany her in every single moment of her day now was returning with a vengeance.
At first, she was frightened by the shadow, her heartbeat racing in her chest, but then she told herself it was nothing—only a dream or perhaps a late-night hallucination, one of those that came with waking up abruptly from a deep sleep.
But then she soon realized she was wrong when the shadow moved, and didn’t fade away no matter how awake she was.
“Who are ye?” she cried, her voice catching in her throat.
That panic returned, threatening to immobilise her more than her bonds ever could.
That panic returned, threatening to immobilise her more than her bonds ever could.
The skin around her wrists was already rubbed raw as she tried to move, to escape the rope.
No matter how much she tried, though, the rope held fast, keeping her in place.
The shadow didn’t speak. It only moved around the room, and for a moment, River could have sworn whoever it was was looking straight at her, though she could hardly see. The stranger wore a hood pulled low over the face, and try as she did, she couldn’t see a single identifying feature.
But she knew it, deep in her heart, that this was the very same man who had been attacking Archer.
Who else could it be? Who else had a reason to tie her like this and threaten her? Surely, this attack was related. Anything else would be too much of a coincidence.
“Who are ye?” River asked again, her voice coming out in a shriek. And just as she trailed off, she heard the blood-curdling sound of another shriek—this one belonging to a much younger voice.
Arya! Colby!
“What have ye done to them?” River demanded, now working furiously against the rope that held her. “Ye beast! What have ye done to them? They’re only bairns! They havenae done anythin’!”
The figure didn’t respond. It only stared at her for a moment longer before it approached the window and slowly brought the candle closer, setting the curtain and the tapestry next to it on fire.
The flames caught immediately, the room lighting up, the fire reaching up to the ceiling before River could even realize what was happening.
In her panic, she didn’t manage to get a good look at the figure, but she doubted it would have done her much good if she had.
With that hood drawn over the attacker’s head, there was no hope of ever identifying him.
How did he even tie me down? How did I nae realize in me sleep?
She had never been that much of a heavy sleeper to not know there was someone in the room with her. But even if she had been,, she doubted that anyone could have tied her down without her knowing.
Then it hit her—the tea she had drank the previous night had quickly made her drowsy, and she had retired to her chambers to sleep. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she remembered the bitter taste of the concoction, the fact that she had found it odd.
Who had brought it to her? She couldn’t remember, not in that moment. It hadn’t been Layla, she was certain of that. It had to have been another maid, as Layla hadn’t left the room all evening.
She was lucky to have woken up at all before the man in the room had set it on fire.
She watched as the figure fled out of the door, the footsteps heavy and vaguely familiar to her.
The moment the figure was gone, there was only one thing in River’s mind—getting out of that room and find the children.
She could still hear their screams, and she knew they were coming from somewhere nearby.
They were not in their chambers—the stone and the heavy wooden doors would have dampened the sound of their screams too much for her to hear them.
No, they had to be closer, perhaps even in her own sitting room.
“Arya!” she screamed. “Colby!”
She received no answer; only more screams that pierced her ears like glass shards.
River tried to gather her wits about her.
She was of no use to anyone, not even herself, if she remained there, bound on the bed, and so she worked on freeing her hands first. She twisted her right wrist, brought her fingers together to narrow her hand, and she tried to escape the rope once more, only for it to hold fast again.
A desperate sob crawled up her throat, but she quickly swallowed it down.
She couldn’t let weakness defeat her. The children ended her now more than ever.
Straining as much as she could, River finally managed to get ahold of the rope with her teeth.
She pulled at it, neck muscles screaming as she did her best to pull her head back and loosen the rope—until it finally gave and her wrist slipped free of its bonds.
Relief washed over her, but it was momentary when the flames reached the wall behind her bed.
Before she knew it, the entire canopy had caught fire, and the black, thick smoke from it filled up the room.
Breathing became harder by the second, the flames and the smoke burning her throat, every breath a gasp.
With a trembling hand, she reached to the other rope, which was attached around her left wrist, and tugged at it desperately, eager to finally be free.
In her panic, it was difficult to undo the knot.
Her fingers slipped on the surface again and again, finding no purchase.
Every breath she took was labored and only served to heighten the nausea, making her dizzy and weak.
But Arya’s and Colby’s screams still filled her ears and she would do anything to get to them—anything it took.
River’s eyes stared at the flames as they came closer and closer to the bedsheets.
Her heartbeat thundered in her chest, rattling her ribcage.
She waited, and then she waited some more—and then the flames licked the rope, setting it on fire.
The heat spread over her skin, threatening to burn her, but River was quick to snatch her hand back, slapping at the end of the rope to put it out.
The moment she was free, she jumped out of bed and threw the door to the sitting room open.
There, thick smoke hung in the air and an orange blaze glowed all over the tapestries, the curtains, and the furniture.
River fell low, squinting her eyes to avoid the worst of the smoke, her hand automatically moving to cover her nose and mouth, though there was little to be done.
In the chaos of the fire, River saw Arya and Colby in the middle of the room, clinging onto each other as they screamed for help, trapped by the flames.
“Arya! Colby!” she shouted, and they turned to look at her with wide, tearful eyes.
The poor things were terrified. River frantically searched for a way out for them, any path that was not consumed by the fire, but she found none.
Instead, she found a chair and grabbed it, bringing it close to the flames and reaching out with her arms.
“Come!” she called to them. “Come, grab me hands. Daenae fear, I’ve got ye!”
Arya nodded at Colby and urged him to grab River’s hand first. The boy approached the flames fearfully, hesitating, but when his hand found River’s, his grip was sure and tight.
With a grunt, River lifted him over the flames and set him safely on her side of the room. The moment she knew Colby was alright, she turned back to Arya, offering her hands to do the same.
But Arya was larger than Colby, heavier. She had grown a lot recently, and manoeuvring her out of the fire was much harder than she had anticipated, no matter how much she tried to force her arms to lift her.
River saw in Arya’s face the moment when she realized she couldn’t do it. Fear gripped her, her cheeks paling, losing their usual color. But behind the terror, there was a determination, as if she had come to terms with her fate.
“Save him!” Arya pleaded. “Please, River! Just save Colby!”
“I’m nae leavin’ ye here! I’m nae leavin’ ye, Arya, so daenae even ask!”
She had to be mad to leave Arya there. No matter what it took, River would save her—even if it meant giving up her own life.
It isnae only yer life now. Ye’re carryin’ a life within ye.
The thought struck her suddenly, but it was true. Of course it was. River had another life to worry about now other than her own, and she couldn’t simply sacrifice herself.
But she couldn’t let Arya die either.
“Give me yer hands!” she called again, and though Arya looked at her with a puzzled expression, she did as she was told.
River drew in a deep breath that burned her nose and throat, the smoke choking her.
She gripped Arya’s hands as tightly as she could, and then, with all the strength that she had—and with some she didn’t even know she had—she pulled.
She lifted Arya just enough to get her over the flames, the bottom of her dress fluttering over the fire. The moment she was safe, Arya pulled River close, sobbing against her shoulder, and River held onto her with all her might, never wanting to let go.
“Layla,” Arya said, looking frantically around them.
“What about her?”
“She’s here,” said Arya, her voice rising, the words coming in short puffs of breath. “She’s here, River, she was here, with us. She has to be here.”
“Alright, alright,” River said, nodding firmly as she looked around. “I’ll find her. Ye go now. Go, get out of here.”
“We’re nae leavin’ ye,” said Colby, but River would have none of it. She grabbed Arya in one hand and Colby in the other, and she dragged both children to the door, shoving them out of the room.
“Go! Run!”
Then, she turned around to find Layla.
“Layla! Layla!”
River called her name again and again, but she got no response. Once again, she moved lower to the floor, and she began to crawl around, looking for Layla amongst the flames.
Then, she found her—in the corner of the room, laying there motionless.
“Layla!” River cried and rushed to her, only to find blood pooling under her head. She shook her, but she was entirely unresponsive. Panic and grief welled up inside River, but at least she had the presence of mind to check if she was still breathing, and found that she was.
She could have cried with relief.
With a huff, River stood and grabbed Layla’s legs, dragging her out of the room as fast as she could. By then, the entire sitting room was up in flames, everything around her burning. Even the air itself burned, hot and thick with flame, and River coughed as she pulled Layla to safety.
By the time she made it to the door, the children were thankfully gone, and River could hear the commotion in the farther reaches of the keep. They were coming to help, she knew. They were coming to help, and they would be able to help Layla.
Just as she was about to drag her out into the corridor, a familiar face approached them—Finlay. Another wave of relief hit River then, and she couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her—utterly humorless yet full of hope.
“Ye’re here,” she said. As long as Finlay was there, they were safe. He would know what to do. “Och, Finlay…I’m so glad to see ye. Come, help me get Layla out of here.”
But Finlay didn’t try to help her. He only stood there and smiled at her—a cold, pitying smile that she had never seen on his face before.
“Ye wee harlot,” he said, and River’s stomach dropped. It was like looking at a complete stranger. It was like someone else was using Finlay’s voice, someone who had nothing to do with the real him. “Did ye think ye would get away with this so easily?”
“I…I daenae ken what ye mean,” said River, startled by the sudden change in him, by the cruelty of his words.
“Is that so?” Finlay asked with a mocking scoff. “Innocent wee River doesnae ken…well, I’ll tell ye then. I’ll tell ye exactly what ye did.”