Chapter 6 #2
I grind my teeth, choking down the first few retorts that come to mind knowing full well that the insults to his mother that I learned from the sailors in the port would never be something that Tesni would possibly know, let alone dare say.
I think that Blackheart may just be the most infuriating prick in Hypathia.
Thankfully, my horse is ready to go and the boy holds the reins while I hoist myself up, without Turner’s hands on my ass this time.
Thinking of him apparently summons the bastard.
He strolls down the path with a small group of men behind him, his eyes immediately shifting to my thigh, the slit in the dress putting it on full display again.
Out of all the men that I’ve seen since being brought here, Turner is the only one who stares like this, who makes it clear what he wants…
and I don’t think he’s afraid to try to take it.
I sigh but wait patiently while Odessa secures my wrists again and tosses the end of the rope to Blackheart.
He smiles as he wraps it around the pommel of his saddle and pulls it tight.
We end up riding out from the camp in waves, twenty or thirty in each group.
The morning passes in a blur, and I honestly don’t remember much of the trip.
I let my mind wander, half because it’s the only way I can keep my panic at bay, and half because it takes the focus off of how sore my thighs and ass are getting and how the rope is chaffing my wrists.
We eventually stop at a wide stream to let the horses rest and to refill the water stores.
After being untied, I walk to the water’s edge a bit away from everyone else, though of course my shadow is watching me closely.
I cup the cool water in my hands and, with a glance around to make sure no one is nearby, try once more to use my Gift.
The water remains just that in my hands despite how much I will it to turn into ice.
“Fuck,” I whisper, letting the water fall from my hands.
“Rumor has it that you could boil this entire stream in a heartbeat if you wanted,” Odessa says as she approaches, holding out a small package to me.
I rise and take it, just stopping myself from thanking her again.
I unwrap it to find some strips of dried meat, salted and seasoned with something that smells mouthwatering, and small hunks of cheese.
I hike a shoulder as I nibble on one of the pieces of meat, my eyes nearly rolling back at the taste. Makers I’m fucking starving.
“If that’s what the rumors say, then it must be true,” I spit, letting my frustrations get the better of me.
“Well, I can tell the rumors of you being an absolute cunt sure are true.” She turns and walks away before I can respond, not that I have a damn thing I can say anyway.
I'm already weary of this charade, and it’s only been two days.
How the fucking hells am I going to keep this up for.
..however long it takes to get to Duskthorne?
I move to sit on a large rock at the stream’s edge and watch the others while I eat my rations.
The group, though large, moves easily and efficiently, as if they’ve done this a thousand times.
Water barrels and canteens are filled, the horses are tended to, food packages distributed—all with barely a word or order uttered.
Something is strange about the group, but I can’t quite place what.
“I expected much more complaining, if I’m being honest,” Blackheart says, startling me. He seems to be holding back laughter when I gasp and nearly fall over. I narrow my eyes, not having to act like a cold-hearted bitch where he’s concerned. I smooth my braid over my shoulder.
“How long will it take for us to arrive in Duskthorne? The faster I can be away from you and this band of degenerates, the better.”
“Weeks, maybe months depending on several factors.” My eyes go wide.
“Months?”
“Trust me, I don’t find the idea of being saddled with you for such a long trek appealing either, but Dorian will not negotiate until you are in his possession—and neither will Barony and the Alliance, for that matter.
A lot of things can go wrong on a journey like this.
Why pay a ransom when the prize can’t even be guaranteed yet? ”
“I…but…” I sputter, not knowing what the hells to say or how to wrap my head around being out here for possibly months without my Gifts.
But then again…the longer we’re out on the road, the more opportunities I’ll surely have to escape before we reach the nightmare that is Duskthorne.
So, maybe the long journey is a good thing in the end?
I let out a long breath and try my best to act as if I don’t care, but he doesn’t walk away.
Instead, he turns to watch the group with that intense gaze he has, as if he’s seeing a thousand different things at once, things no one else can.
Calculating and recalculating and noting every little detail.
“What other factors?” I finally say, the silence feeling heavy and uncomfortable between us. He turns back to me and gives me a bored look. “You said it could be months depending on several factors—what factors?”
“The weather, for one.” He looks upward, as if he can predict what will come by staring at the sky. “Heavy snowfalls will make for slower travel, especially once we reach the outer Obsidians.” The Obsidians are the mountain range surrounding and encompassing Duskthorne. “And battle, of course.”
I rear back and blink in surprise. Did he say…
I look back to the group and realize what had seemed strange earlier: they’re all carrying weapons.
Not tavern-brawl daggers or the thin rapiers some of the sailors carry, but real weapons: long swords and great iron hammers, balls on spikes and double-bladed axes.
And Odessa’s braids—they’re warrior braids.
I’ve seen paintings of the legendary Oska—stalwart female warriors from the wilds in the north that are now part of Duskthorne—fighting epic battles, their braids and blades coated in blood and wildfire in their eyes.
I can see Odessa among them in my mind’s eye and wonder if perhaps she’s a true descendent of them.
And if, perhaps, I should watch my tongue around her a bit more.
“This is an army,” I say slowly.
Blackheart quirks a brow. “Of course it is. Did you think…” He barks out a laugh.
“Did you really think all of this was for you?” He throws his head back and laughs again and I press my lips into a thin line.
He goes on and on, to the point where others start looking our way curiously.
Finally, his laughter subsides and he wipes tears from his eyes—fucking tears, the prick—and says, “Oh, thank you for that, Red. I needed a good laugh. But no army was necessary for you. I could have captured you alone with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back. Your location happened to be in our path, so.” He shrugs. “Two birds. One stone.”
“Why the hells is an army parading about anyway then?” I snap, sounding petulant and annoyed.
He looks at me seriously now, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head.
“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.” When I give him a dry look, he curses and runs a hand through his hair.
“Great fucking Makers, you really are a self-absorbed, spoiled little princess, hiding away in your fucking castle until someone can scrounge up enough coin to pay for your services.” Anger makes his blue-gray eyes blaze and churn.
“A war is brewing out here. People are dying, innocent fucking people. What in the hells did you think the Alliance was doing? Having tea? Throwing parties?” He curls his lip in absolute disgust and fury, and I actually flinch backwards from the fire of it.
“You have no idea what’s really going on, what your precious Barony and his friends are planning, what they’re already fucking doing. ”
I can only stare. A war? We’d heard rumblings down in Helios, sure, but it was just gossip and rumors, wasn’t it?
But…Tesni’s note flashes behind my eyes now: There will be no winners in this war for our kind.
She’d mentioned Barony’s Alliance moving against Duskthorne, wanting to take their Gifteds. Fucking hells.
Blackheart is truly fuming now, surprising me in his anger.
He serves the worst royal in all of Hypathia, doing Makers knows what in Dorian’s name and allowing horrific things to happen under his watch within the walls of Duskthorne.
I may not know what in the hells he’s talking about Barony and the Alliance’s plans, but whatever it is, it can’t be worse than what he himself is a part of.
How the hells can he be so self-righteous?
But before I can ask just that, he pulls himself up to his full height, towering over me even sitting atop the rock, and glares down at me, sending my snide retort dying on my tongue.
His eyes truly look like the North Sea during a storm now, more gray than blue, and churning just as violently.
“You want to know the real reason Dorian wouldn’t want you for his collection?” he seethes, “Because even someone as despicable as him wouldn’t want someone like you anywhere near him. You are the worst kind of Gifted, the worst kind of person. The world would be a better place without you in it.”
I flinch away again, his words hitting me like a physical blow.
He’s not even talking about me, not really, but the fire and hatred in his eyes feel all too real and tears well.
I blink them away, determined not to let him see them fall, and he storms off, barking orders at a few what I understand now to be soldiers.
Odessa shoots a glare my way, blaming me for Blackheart’s sour mood, I assume. She’s not wrong. Her demeanor around him makes much more sense now—he’s not the leader of a band of Hunters; he’s her superior officer in an army of warriors.
“Great fucking Makers,” I mutter, putting my face into my hands.