Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
Idon’t know what I expected a group of Hunters to be, but it certainly isn’t an entire camp of hundreds upon hundreds of people, all looking…
formidable. We’d ridden for an hour or so through the forest in what I assume was to the northeast, towards Duskthorne, and I’d come up with and discarded plan after plan of escape.
I’d finally given up, frustrated and exhausted, and decided that an opportunity will present itself at some point and I’ll be ready to grab it when it does.
The camp is made up of rows upon rows of tents, fires burning in the open spaces between them.
We approach a make-shift stable where a young boy, probably no more than fifteen, takes the reins of my horse and waits for me to dismount.
I nearly stumble when my boots hit the ground, my thighs screaming, but manage to right myself before Turner can “assist” me again as he did before.
The boy looks to Blackheart, and when he nods, the boy quickly unties the rope from my wrists.
I rub them as I wait, the skin irritated but not injured.
I have no idea what will happen next. Will I be chained in the middle of the camp for everyone’s amusement?
Worse? I know that I—Tesni—am important to them insofar as I’ll line their pockets handsomely from the ransom—or so they think.
What the hells will happen to me when the ransom never arrives?
When Hastings disappears with the coin and jewels to meet Tesni and I’m left in the hands of a monster?
Surely they’ll send another ransom, won’t they?
But what if they find out the truth about me before then?
Or if Barony does? Would he want me in his clutches or would he leave me to suffer at the hands of Dorian?
I clench my hands into fists, knowing that all of the questions are useless.
I have no intention of actually arriving in Duskthorne, so there’s no reason to worry about any of this yet.
Now, I need to focus on the more immediate threats—like what feels like hundreds of pairs of eyes staring at me.
I shrink back instinctively, the need to stay hidden in this part of Hypathia so intense it feels like something clawing at the inside of my chest, but then I remember that I’m supposed to be my sister.
I’m supposed to be King Barony’s prized and coveted Gifted with a reputation for being a haughty bitch.
So, I shove my shoulders back and do my best to look down my nose at everyone who dares to look my direction.
“This way,” Blackheart commands, not looking to see if I follow as he strides off down a muddy path between the rows of tents.
I don’t immediately move and get a shove from behind from Turner.
I stumble forward a few steps before turning to glare at the man.
He smiles, crooked teeth gleaming in the light from the setting sun.
“Touch me again, and it will be the last decision you ever make,” I spit, putting as much icy venom into the words as I can, my Gift coiling in the center of my chest. For a moment, I forget about my need to hide, my need to keep up this charade that will possibly save my life.
For a moment, I’m all too happy to throw all of that right out the fucking window and teach Turner a lesson, teach every man like him one.
“I wouldn’t,” Blackheart calls and I whip my head around to find him watching us, that cold amusement in his eyes again. “You can try, but I advise against it.”
Part of me wonders how many people I could kill before they could subdue me, but something in Blackheart’s gaze tells me I really don’t want to try.
There’s a calm, lethal power in this man, a coiled viper waiting to strike.
So, with one last withering look, I turn my back on Turner and stride forward to follow Blackheart through the camp.
I hear the rumblings as we walk, some whispered, some not bothering with that at all:
“Is it really her? Barony’s fire whore?”
“Doesn’t look so formidable to me.”
“She burned my entire village to the ground.”
“Thought she’d be prettier in person.”
“I’d still fuck her.”
“I heard that she can set entire leagues ablaze with the flick of a finger.”
“Makers damn her and her Gift to the pits of the seventh hell.”
I try not to cringe away at their words, each hitting like a slap though I know they aren’t truly about me.
“You’ve quite the reputation,” Blackheart says casually over his shoulder when we approach a larger tent set apart from the rest, a smaller one beside it.
I remain silent as he steps inside, clearly expecting me to follow.
I don’t particularly want to, but don’t suppose I have much of a choice, so I step beneath the flap and am immediately enveloped in warmth, almost to the point of stifling.
A large fire burns in a brazier on one side of the space, a bed covered in furs sits on the other, a chest thrown open beside it overflowing with weapons.
What looks like armor stands on a life-size dummy on the other side of the room near a large desk, the surface covered in maps and parchment.
I frown. I’d always heard that Hunters were typically small, rag-tag groups of outlaws and criminals who found a way to make a living doing terrible deeds that were technically legal.
This is a group of at least three hundred from what I could tell, and this man looks like he’s ready for battle, not the capture of a single Gifted.
What in the hells kind of Hunters are these people?
Blackheart removes his sword belt and hangs it on the stand next to the desk.
A dragon adorns the grip, wings spread out along the crossguard, ruby eyes staring and fangs on full display.
I remember now that the sigil of Duskthorne is an ice dragon, though they’ve been extinct for centuries.
He pulls a bottle of something dark from a drawer and pours himself a drink, not offering me anything, before leaning back against the front of the desk.
He runs a hand through his hair, the dark strands a tangled mess, and watches me over the rim of his glass as he drinks.
I stand in the center of the space with my arms crossed and try to keep my nerves in check, try to keep from shaking so violently that my knees buckle.
“What do you plan to do with me?” I ask, trying to sound strong and unconcerned.
“I plan to take you to King Dorian, who will negotiate with Lyanna for an obscene ransom for your safe return.” Just as Tesni planned, but something nags at the edges of my mind. King Dorian is known throughout the world as a cruel and avid collector of Gifteds. So why would he negotiate at all?
“Why?”
“Why what?” Blackheart asks, quirking a dark brow.
“Why return me instead of keeping me for his collection?”
Blackheart sets his glass on the desk and shrugs out of his coat, tossing it into one of the chairs. He eyes me as he rolls the sleeves of his black tunic up to his elbows, revealing swirling lines of dark ink.
“I wouldn’t think you’d want to be part of the collection.”
“Of course I don’t,” I snap, “but…why wouldn’t he want me for it?” For all that I hate my sister, there is no doubt that her power is vast and terrifying. Surely she would be a prized addition to someone like Dorian, especially knowing he took her from another kingdom.
Blackheart shrugs, rubbing his hand across the thick stubble at his jaw.
“Think he’s already got a fire wielder in a cage somewhere—he doesn’t need another.
” My skin prickles at the thought of people trapped in cages in Duskthorne, cold radiating out from my chest in fear and revulsion and fury.
“And what Barony and his little Alliance will be willing to pay to get you back far outweighs the need for Dorian to keep you as another pet.” He says little Alliance like the joined kingdoms are a mere annoyance, a gnat buzzing near your ear that you shoo away.
Perhaps Hunters don’t pledge allegiance to any particular kingdom since they travel the entire continent for bounties, so he doesn’t really care who decides to ally with whom.
“And until negotiations are concluded?”
He lets his gaze travel over me, not in a leering way, the way Turner had, but like he’s taking my measure, assessing Makers know what.
“Until then, you remain my prisoner. You’ll travel with us to Duskthorne, you’ll do as I say, when I say it, and you’ll not cause trouble. Simple.”
“Simple,” I repeat, incredulous. I have to get out of this place. The sooner, the fucking better.
“Glad we’re in agreement,” Blackheart says, a cruel smirk on his lips.
“Is Blackheart your name, or simply a monomer given based on your personality?” I spit. His smirk turns into a true grin, revealing straight white teeth.
“I’ll let you be the judge of that. Now—" he shifts his gaze over my shoulder and beckons to someone. I turn to find a beautiful woman with warm brown skin and ice blue eyes walking towards me. She’s dressed in black leather pants, a long-sleeved black tunic with a black leather vest over top.
Myriad daggers are attached to it—what in the hells would someone possibly need with so many knives?
?--and the firelight sparks off of the blades like stars.
Apparently the uniform of these Hunters is black to the core. “—Odessa will escort you to your tent.”
“No chains? No collar?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“Do you need them?”
“You can’t possibly think I won’t—”
“I don’t think, I know,” Blackheart interrupts. My eyes fly wide, real anger rising, not merely the feigned outrage that I’d forced to act like Tesni before.
“You have no idea—”