Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
Ifeel as if I’m back on the ship again, a gentle swaying beneath me keeping me lulled in that place just between sleep and waking.
I try to remember what happened, but admittedly can’t recall much…
but I certainly don’t think I ended up back at the docks?
I slowly try to swim up from the darkness, but it feels as if I’m clawing through mud.
A muted voice inside my mind is screaming that something is very, very wrong, so I scrape and pull as hard as I can, and finally, I find the light.
My eyes flutter open and I immediately squeeze them shut again as a wave of nausea roils through me.
My head is absolutely pounding, the light far too bright. How much did I drink?
I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, breathing in deeply to settle my stomach and clear my head.
After a moment, I pry my lids open once more and take in my surroundings, confusion immediately furrowing my brow.
I’m sitting on a cushioned bench, covered in thick, luxurious velvet of the deepest sapphire blue, another identical one opposite me in the small space.
Gold silk lines the walls and golden lace curtains cover windows on either side.
I lurch a bit again and realize that I’m not on a ship at all. A carriage. I’m inside of a carriage.
I glance down and frown, hands flying to my stomach and rubbing down to my thighs.
My worn leathers and high riding boots are gone.
Now I’m in a dress. It’s not that I mind dresses—I wear them often at the Port, but those are made of thin, wispy material that moves like air around my bare legs as I dance or lounge by the water, much to the sailors’ delights.
This dress, however, is made of heavy velvet, with long sleeves that bell outward at my wrists.
It flows down to my toes and when I lift the hem, I find that I do have boots of a sort on, though they are a far cry from my beloved riding boots.
These only come to my ankles, are lined with fur, and have heels for fuck’s sake. I nearly growl at the fucking audacity.
The dress is a deep sapphire, matching the cushion below me almost exactly, with golden embroidery along the hem and the edges of the sleeves, delicate lace adorning the low neckline.
Already I feel too constricted, too contained.
I try to run my hands through my hair only to find that it’s been pinned up into intricate braids atop my head, like some sort of crown.
“What in the Great fucking Makers…?” I narrow my eyes when I finally notice a letter lying on the other bench, the Kingdom of Lyanna’s seal adorning the front in thick, crimson wax, reminding me of dried blood.
I snatch it off the bench and rip it open, only to frown: the page is empty.
I let out a rough exhale of annoyance and letters began to appear on the parchment, unfurling slowly like the petals of a flower.
Tee,
Believe it or not, I am sorry that I’ve now betrayed you twice in this lifetime, but I am not sorry enough to change my plans. There will be no winners in this war for our kind, dear sister, and you know better than anyone that I will always do what is necessary to ensure my own survival.
You will be taken not long after you wake and read this—if the alchemist is correct on how long the drugs will keep you asleep that is.
I’m already well hidden away by now, waiting for the ransom to arrive.
If you are thinking of revealing your true identity once your captors have you, I would advise against it: after all, why would they keep you alive if they don’t think you’re worth anything?
I feel sick as the memories come flooding back: the strange taste of the wine, the feeling of being trapped within my own body, all that Tesni had revealed about her twisted plan to let me be kidnapped in her place.
I put the rest together on my own: Tesni left Lyanna at the same time as her caravan, heading the opposite direction.
She’ll hide away until Hastings steals the ransom and joins her, and the two of them will leave Hypathia, probably travel to one of the islands off of the coast and I’ll…
I have no fucking idea what will happen to me in the end.
“That fucking bitch,” I whisper to no one.
I knew she was cold and cruel, that I couldn’t trust her, but this?
This is far beyond what I thought her capable of.
I wonder what she means about the war having no happy endings for our kind, but when the carriage lurches again, I push that aside and focus on the more pressing issues.
Like how the hells I’m going to get out of this.
The letters begin to fade and I almost laugh, remembering this ink from when we were young.
It only reacts to a specific person’s breath.
King Barony had brought some back for us from a trip to Enola, one of the few times he seemed to care about us.
You had to mix a bit of the person’s blood with the ink, but it was worth the price for all the fun we had, leaving secret notes to each other all over the castle that only we could read.
Clever. Tesni wouldn’t want anyone else to read these words, to have any other witnesses to her crimes. No, not clever. Cunning, I amend. You call ruthless, vicious people cunning.
My thoughts begin to run wild, trying to come up with a plan.
Tesni was right: I have to pretend to be her if I want any chance of getting out of this alive.
If the Hunters find out that I’m not Barony’s Gifted, but a Gifted nonetheless, I’ll be taken to the highest bidder—and the highest bidder when it comes to Gifteds is almost always King Dorian.
Being taken to him would be worse than death.
“So, I can’t fight back with my Gifts when they come for me,” I whisper to myself, dread settling in my belly like a cannonball.
Not unless I’m prepared to kill every single person who attacks.
If I can’t and I’m captured, they’ll know the truth and that lands me on Dorian’s doorstep.
So, no. I can’t use my Gifts at all. I have to keep my power in check and hidden, no matter what.
I take a deep breath and force myself to think clearly.
I’d survived the unsurvivable for years as a helpless child.
I can survive anything. I just need to stay calm and think, like Tobias always taught me.
He saved my life when I fled all those years ago, and he’s still managing to do it now.
A part of me smiles, my chest aching with missing him, but the rest of me is trying very hard to stay calm and find a way the fuck out of this.
“Alright, so I’ll just have to escape before they come for me.
” If Tesni’s letter is to be believed, that will be happening any moment now.
If I can get away before they even find me, then I can hide, get lost in a snowstorm of my own making until I can make a new plan, find a way back to Helios.
Just as I call out to the driver to demand that he stop, I hear a soft, muffled grunt and then a low thump against the front of the carriage.
“Hello?” I call cautiously. No answer. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” They’re already here.
The horses slow without someone to drive them onward, and eventually we stop.
My heart thunders loudly in my ears as I wait, bracing myself in the corner of the carriage away from the door, preparing to attack whoever the hells comes through it first. But the door stays shut.
What are they playing at? A moment later, I understand, shrieking as the glass of the window shatters and some kind of smoking pouch sails inside, attached to the end of an arrow that plugs itself into the door on the other side.
I begin to cough as the smoke fills the space, thick and acrid.
Already I can feel the drugs in the smoke beginning to dim my Gift and make my eyelids heavy.
With no other choice, I freeze the smoke, then quickly melt the ice, soaking the bottom of the carriage, effectively neutralizing the poison.
I know they’ll be approaching soon, assuming that I’m knocked out.
I only have moments to act, to try to flee and take my chances on the run.
I take one deep breath and throw the carriage door open.
I jump out and run—where, I have no fucking idea, but running is better than sitting here just waiting to be taken.
I hear shouts of surprise and glance back to see several cloaked men on horseback in the trees lining the path.
Thankfully they were on the opposite side of the carriage when they approached and shot that arrow, so I’m already heading away from them.
I curse these damned boots as I slip time and time again on the snow and ice.
It’s not a thick covering, but it’s enough to make the trek difficult.
These boots were made with fashion in mind, not function, and the dress is making it hard as hells to run.
“Damn Tesni to the pits of the seventh fucking hell!” I spit through gritted teeth as I continue to run as best I can like my life depends on it.
It fucking does depend on it. The men draw nearer, but the trees start to grow closer together the farther from the path I get, and the horses can’t maneuver between them as quickly as I can.
As if realizing the same thing at the same moment I do, several of the men dismount and begin to give chase on foot.
I dart to my right, changing directions to try to throw off my pursuers.
My power roils within my chest, burning in my palms, begging to be used.
I clench my jaw, knowing I can’t do anything with my Gift right now… but then a thought sparks to life.