Verena
A scream rips from my mouth.
I scramble back in the dirt, but I can't look away. The poor horse takes off in terror, galloping out of the woods as the branches lift the bandit into the air and start ripping him to pieces.
Blood rains down. A mouthwatering scent like berries fills the air—but my stomach bucks sharply at the graphic violence.
Closing my eyes to hide from the horrific scene, I turn to heave.
By the time my stomach stops, so have the sickening sounds. I hold perfectly still, waiting for the trees to grab me next.
They don't.
When I open my eyes, the twisted branches have returned to normal, but they still drip with fresh blood.
For a moment, there is nothing but the pounding of my own heartbeat in my ears as I wonder why this forest doesn't feel dangerous, despite what I just saw.
Somewhere in the distance, a man's voice echoes, "She's gotta be this way. I heard a scream."
"That's just the Loomdark, luring us! I'm not venturing any deeper."
"Stop trembling, you coward! We won't get full payment until we deliver that woman. Besides, Druhn's with us. He's got magic enough to fend off whatever's lurking here.
"Right," another voice declares. "You two go that way, we'll go this way. And remember, she's to be delivered unharmed…but if you do have to knock her around a bit, we'll say it was the forest. Not our fault the bitch ran into this cursed shithole."
Rising to my feet, I stumble toward a massive nearby tree. With my back pressed against its cool bark, I try to keep a lid on my panic as I listen for sounds of anyone approaching.
Fear pumps through me. The scent of nearby blood taunts my empty stomach.
It smells like a berry smoothie.
Damn it, I really, really wish I hated smoothies right now.
I'm getting really fucking tired of being controlled by the queen's relentless appetite—and apparently my building irritation counts as a form of wrath, because the Thirteenth Faerie's voice surfaces in my head again.
"Merely speak my name aloud, if you bothered remembering it, and whatever irks you shall meet its end."
Fuck. Off. Forever, I try to think back. I'm never saying your name again.
I'm pretty sure this freaky telepathy thing he does isn't a two-way form of communication, because there's no reply.
Somewhere in the dark trees, a branch snaps. I hear a quiet swear. Much further away, a hissing sound fills the woods before ebbing.
I can't help remembering all the things Merrick told me lurk in these woods, any of which might kill me if I don't get out of here fast. Is the caravan still under attack, or have all the bandits followed me into the Loomdark?
Who the fuck are these guys? Why are they trying to kidnap the queen?
Just as I'm working up the courage to creep back toward the entrance of the Loomdark, Eris's worried voice calls through the woods.
"Wherever you are, Fairest, stay hidden and don't move. Twelve of these bastards are hunting you."
He must be hanging out in some kind of reflection on one of them—but immediately, someone else speaks in the raspy voice of an older man.
"She must be near, in hiding."
"How do you know, Druhn?"
"A spirit in your blade calls to her."
Shit.
Whoever Druhn is, he can see and hear Eris.
One of the bandits mutters about how fucking creepy that is before he calls out to me.
"Where are you, you bloodthirsty little cunt? Come out before a wandering troll takes a liking to that pretty red hair of yours. Anything in these woods will eat you whole—but we won't hurt you. We're just here to take you somewhere much better."
I recognize his voice. He's the same asshole who was holding the torch back there, threatening Snow White.
Hopefully, that means the attack on the caravan has ended, and the others are all safe. If so, Wulf will probably charge in any second as a giant bear and—
Wait. No.
My last order to him was that he guard the caravan until I said otherwise. He can't disobey a direct order, even if I left the caravan to run into these woods.
Eris can't warn me without Druhn overhearing. I'm also not about to place a fraction of trust in these face-stabbing woods.
So… I'm on my own.
Swallowing down my fear, I scan the dark forest around the massive tree before I take a measured step away. I don't see any movement, so I take another step. Then another.
Soon, I'm running, darting through the dark trees as noiselessly as I can.
Just as I'm sure I'll reach the edge of the forest, I see a flicker of torchlight nearby. Eris shouts in warning, but it's too late.
A man tackles me from the side. I yelp as I'm wrestled to the ground with brute force. Someone else shoves my face into the cold dirt as my wrists are tied roughly behind my back.
I struggle, kick, and swear at them. But it's all useless because one of the guys manhandling me is nearly as burly as Beowulf.
When he yanks me back to my feet, gripping me tightly by the arms to hold me still, I see that twelve bandits are surrounding me.
Well—eleven bandits, and an older man dressed in a hooded cloak.
The cloaked man watches me closely, but he says nothing as the torch-bearer from before gets right in my face with his halitosis. Others are holding torches now so flickering shadows dance across the faces of these men, including this one.
"Oh-hoh! Now that I can get a better look, you're a beauty, all right—but you must be one of the witchfolk, eh? Else what the fuck did you do to my friend back there, you vixen?"
He highlights his question by gripping my chin roughly, shaking my face to indicate the rotten-papaya-flavored blood on my chin.
From somewhere I can't see, Eris snarls at the hooded older man. "Tell him to get his fucking hands off of her."
"I asked you a question," the man holding my chin barks in my face, stinky spittle spraying.
Turns out, adding stinky spittle to my hatred for condescending men is the quickest way to make me lose my temper.
I don't even care how much it hurts when I bite my lower lip hard enough to draw blood to spit in his face.
The instant it makes contact with his cheek, he rears back. His shrill scream echoes in the Loomdark, but it turns into one of agony as, abruptly, his cheek bursts into flames.
The other bandits shout. I flinch back as the fire spreads immediately, covering half of his face.
Oh, yuck. That smell is fucking awful.
While he screams and thrashes, the hooded man pulls a small bag out of his cloak. Without a word, he throws a plume of grey dust on the man's head.
The fire goes out at once. The man drops to the ground, wailing and clutching at his half-melted face.
"Shut up before you draw a monster here with that weeping," one of the other bandits snaps at him. Then, striding up to me, he leers. "Witch!"
That bandit's open hand flies. The crack of it against my cheek is jarring, knocking my face to one side and making my bitten lip sting.
Eris's cursing is vicious before he shouts, "Malivant. Malivant!"
"Enough! Do not utter that faerie's name again, or she shall lose her head, our orders be damned," the hooded man warns. Then he looks at the other bandits, who are obviously wondering who the hell he just talked to. "Gag the queen and bind her legs. We must deliver her before daybreak."
Hot moisture has risen to my eyes, a reflex from the lingering sting in my cheek. All my old trauma is trying to strangle my ability to think.
Nothing happened when Eris called the Faerie of Wrath. I get the niggling suspicion it's because that fucking asshole is just waiting on me.
He wants me to say his name out loud.
I don't want to give that monstrous jackass what he wants. I don't want his help with anything, ever. But when the extra burly bandit wrenches my head back, about to slide a gag into my mouth, I decide I'm out of other options.
I'm desperate. Angry. Fucking terrified.
But I am not about to be taken hostage again.
After everything I've been through, I refuse.
"Malivant," I whisper, letting all my wrath bleed into that name.
A smoky, cold wind snakes through the looming trees, snuffing out every torch flickering in the men's hands, except for one. The man preparing to stuff the gag in my mouth goes perfectly still.
A slight tingle of magic raises goosebumps on my arms. In my peripheral vision, I see several bandits looking around warily, sensing something unspeakable.
The hooded man vanishes in retreat, leaving nothing but grey smoke behind.
"At last, my name upon your lips," the faerie murmurs—but this time, it isn't in my head. It echoes all around, making my attackers shout in alarm. "Close your eyes, lest my wrath haunt you."
I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, still not ready to know what Wrath looks like.
A whoosh brushes past. Spice-scented wind coasts over my face.
Then, the screams of men rend the air around me, battering my eardrums. The burly man behind me disappears without a chance to scream. Sickening sounds follow—schlicks and cracks and something like limbs falling to the forest floor.
Trying to distract myself from the unseen gore, I squeeze my eyes tighter and hum that same nameless, melancholy tune that gets stuck in my head constantly. For a moment, it's enough to calm the painful crashing of my heartbeat.
Until another man screams in terror close by, drowning out my humming. The smell of more burnt flesh makes me want to puke. Smoke and various fruit scents flood the air around me.
I hold my breath for a moment, desperate not to have an idea of the massacre surrounding me.
But I know it's a massacre. I also get a rush of strangely familiar anger intensifying in my blood—as if Wrath's very presence is making my body furious about something I can't even remember, but I should.
Then, all at once, it goes perfectly quiet except the crackling of a fire and a sound like…water pouring into a metal water bottle?
I don't understand that, but I keep my eyes shut tightly.
"Are you all right, Fairest?" Eris asks quietly from somewhere on the ground. I'm guessing a fallen sword.