Chapter 9 Eveera
Eveera
“Oh! Oh GODS! Yes, right there… right fuck… right there.”
“Would you for all bleeding hells sake shut up?!” Ezra shouts. “You’re being ridiculous.”
My head hits the flat pillow, a fit of laughter rumbling through me. “Ha – well, I just thought since you were soooo comfortable taking meetings and spending the night in the brothel that I thought I’d bring the show back here. For an encore.”
“Someone is going to hear you.”
A frown settles onto my face at his words, “oh? And we couldn’t have that. I forgot I’m to be seen not heard – er whoops – I’m not to be either of those things actually.”
He shoots me a withering stare as he fiddles with two liquid vials. From my angle, it looks like he is mixing them.
Fantastic, can’t wait to feel like a rotting vegetable after taking that.
It’s probably my punishment. The tonic. One you don’t have to accept, my conscience snaps.
Days following our time at the brothel, I’d made a variety of moans, grunts, and overall pleasurable noises.
Ezra has hated every minute of it. Which that hatred has only encouraged me.
I figured if he was going to be erratic and paranoid, then I would have my fun – mind games have always been a strong suit of mine, even without Wielding.
Turning sharply, the liquid sloshes over his hand, and the glint in his eyes grows feral.
Your pride isn’t worth your life. You’re not meant to be a martyr – or a prisoner.
The thought crosses my mind, and in that brief moment, I decide to do what only days ago I said wasn’t enough.
Sliding out from underneath the covers, my palm wraps around a metal pipe I’d been hiding.
I’d broken it off from underneath the sink one of the nights he’d gone on a rampage, leaving me behind, and stowed it away.
The fact that he hadn’t noticed was mildly concerning on a hygiene level, but I don’t have much time to dwell on that. The minute Ezra knocks his knees with mine, I swing my arm up, aiming the metal pole straight for the side of his head.
He dodges the hit, but at the cost of half the mysterious tonic’s contents pouring out onto the floor.
Well, even if this doesn’t work, at least the damned drink is wasted. I tell myself.
Ezra curses under his breath as he grabs my chin, trying to force the remaining drink down my throat. I thrash my head to the side and swing again, and this time the rod lands harshly against the back of his neck.
His head dips forward, the bottle clattering to the floor. “Bitch.” He hisses.
“How sweet.” I snap, using his vulnerable position to land a third blow against his temple.
“FUCK!”
“YOU!” I finish for him, taking my knee up into his ribs.
The breath leaves him, and I skirt around as quickly as I can before he collapses forward and on top of me.
His body flops awkwardly against the mattress, and I urge my feet to move, while he sputters and shouts at my back.
Pity for him that I don’t plan on sticking around long enough to find out what it is he’s actually saying.
My barefeet hit the ground in heavy steps, and I’m careful not to trip while winding down the rusted metal staircase.
Between the blood roaring in my ears and my fast heartbeat joining it, I’m unable to register anything that’s happening around me, or if Ezra recovered quickly enough to chase after me.
Never did I ever think I would be concerned about that… about him.
No matter how many Wieldless trainings we did, nothing could have prepared me for this type of exhaustion, for the weight of the mage shackles clamped around my wrists.
I spent my time torturing others or myself; however, I neglected to include training on if I were the one imprisoned.
I’d never planned on anyone making it past my doors or Vada – nor did I ever think I’d leave Obsidian.
What an oversight that was.
The glint of two metal doors comes into view, and I throw my shoulder into them, spilling out into the bustle of bodies. There are a couple of grunted protests as I collide with those right outside of the inn. Using them as a shield, I take the chance to look back.
I swear I see a head of blonde running across the lobby and decide that’s enough for me to elbow my way deeper into the busy street. Keeping my eyes forward, I try to ignore my skin lighting on fire with each person I clamor into, and push my barefeet faster against the scalding stone.
Blurs of faces pass me, and I say a silent thank you to my parents’ souls for making me short. It’s easier to disappear into a crowd when you’re beneath the average person’s shoulders.
When the number of people starts to thin out, I turn sharply into an alleyway. The road is much narrower here, and the company is more densely packed, forcing my run into a brisk walk as I wind between the different market stands.
The concerned shouts coming from the street behind me drag my attention back, and I see the top of his blonde hair flipping back and forth – frantic.
Don’t hesitate now. He can’t catch you if you don’t stop moving. I try to tell myself. But I can’t help the thought telling me that if he does catch up, I will have exhausted whatever lingering patience he may have had for me.
“Is this you choosing life?” I hear the hushed tones of Orem’s voice as I fumble my way out of the alleyway’s exit.
“No. This is me choosing not die at the hands of Ezra.” I snap, and the head of a merchant looks peculiarly at me, rushing past.
Because nothing would be more embarrassing than dying by a man I’ve bested both on the mat and in bed.
The road I spill out onto is sparse, and the desert sun glares off the patchwork metal buildings, making it hard for me to decide which way to go until I notice the smallest sliver of a shadow casting out. “Please be a sanctuary,” I murmur before darting across the street towards it.
That shadow – thankfully – was a sanctuary and ended up being a rusted door. A slightly open, rusted door. Thank fuck.
BANG!
I knock my shoulder into it, forcing the dingy metal open further and slamming it quickly behind me. The mage shackles clank loudly, as my hand fumbles along the seam of the door, hoping there’s some kind of lock.“Shit.” I hiss, my finger slicing against a jagged layer.
Pressing the torn skin against my shirt, I drop my head back and exhale a long breath. For at least until I decide to leave this place, Ezra has no fucking clue where I am. No one knows where I am, actually. My conscience reminds me. Both a blessing and a curse.
My eyes scan around the place that I’ve taken temporary refuge in. There’s not much to it – it’s an empty, dark, and dank abandoned warehouse. Essentially, it’s the same as everywhere else we’ve holed up on this journey. Except that this one comes with the stifling hot, stagnant air element.
Would be nice to be a weather Wielder in this situation… My eyes drop down to the very heavy weights on my wrists. It’d be good to have any Wield at this point.
“How the hell am I going to get these off?” I wonder, combing through the options in my head – I could try hacking them off, but I’d need to find some sort of sharp… thing around here.
There’s a small stream of light coming in from the arrowslit, and from the corner of my eye I notice something glinting across the room. Hesitantly, I push away from the precariously locked door. My knees threaten to give out as I hobble my way over.
The closer I get, the more I realize it’s a piece of mirrored glass. Well… it’s sharp. I think, holding it up and getting a good, long look at myself in the process. “Wow – I really look like shit,” I murmur, sliding down onto the filth-covered floor.
I’m one hundred percent getting a disease from this place…
I turn over the shard in my palm, and try to wiggle it between the minuscule gap between shackle and wrist. Much to my dismay, I only end up nicking myself. A second hiss passes through my lips, and I glare down at the new cut. “Welcome to the ranks.”
I try not to think too much about what’s going to happen from here on out.
Too many possible bad outcomes. “Why don’t you just go to their court.
Ask for asylum?” My head lolls to the right, where I find my hallucination of Orem sitting.
I’m still not sure that seeing them outside of my dreams is a good sign…
that’s got to mean I’m losing some of my functionality, right?
“Suram doesn’t have a court the way we do, Orem.” Axel answers from my left.
“Hmph. Oh-kay… so what do they have?”
Axel clears his throat, stretching out both arms in front of him, “a Consulate. Which, before you ask yes, she could go there.”
“And say what? Hi, I’m the Queen of Obsidian.
Please may I go home?” I interject. The two of them give me looks that say, “obviously,” and I snort.
“You both realize that thanks to my genius plan of never leaving my kingdom, no one knows what the fuck I look like. Which means no one, not one single person, especially in the Consulate is going to just take my word for it.”
They exchange a look, and Axel sucks on his teeth, “then they’ll have to portal Felix here as your regent and have him confirm.”
“When did you become so intelligent?”
“Well, I know you just saw me as eye candy and a means to an end of getting your favorite cakes on demand, but I do actually hold some valuable knowledge up in here.” He taps his temple for emphasis, a dopey grin inching its way up his cheeks.
My eyes roll back, and I try again – a little more carefully this time – to saw off the shackle. The two of them keep me company as I fail at that endeavor, and by the time my eyelids fall heavy, they’re gone.
When sleep finally takes me over, I am met again with two very familiar hazel eyes and the words of strangers,
“All I heard is that whatever killed them was brutal, eyes were bloodshot, and the veins under their skin – burst!”
“What would cause that?”
“The only time I’ve known something like that to happen was during the raids – a result of the poison some rebels used.”
“Ouch. Ouch, stop kicking me, Axel.” I snap, throwing an arm over my eyes to try and ignore his incessant kicking and the light streaming in.
There are muffled voices I can hear outside, and I’m sure it’s Armond and Felix deciding who will have to break in and wake the two of us up. But sleep does not want to let go of me yet. Or maybe I don’t want to let go of sleep yet. Hard to tell.
Axel’s foot lands a kick right into my ankle bone, and I nearly leap out of my skin, “AXEL–” I start to shout, my eyes flying open.
Much to my horror – I’m not in my room, Axel is not kicking me, but someone definitely is.
“Holy shit.” The kicking culprit exhales as I scramble up from lying on the dirty floor, flattening myself against the wall. “Well, at least now we know you aren’t dead.” He says, flatly.
The other one narrows his dark eyes at me, expression guarded. “How did you get in here?”
I scoff, “here? As in the abandoned building, here?”
“It’s not abandoned.” He interrupts.
I look exaggeratedly around the room. “Oh, I’m so sorry – love what you’ve done with the place.” The kicker smothers a laugh under his palm, earning himself an exasperated look from his companion. “The door was open.” I gripe, folding my arms across my chest.
“What are those?” The man to my right asks, his finger jerking forward. I tuck my hands and wrists even tighter underneath my arms, hoping that will deter his attention from them.
“What?” The shorter one asks.
“Those. The things on her wrists – what are they?”
I shrug. “I’ve overstayed my welcome in your… whatever you would call this. I’ll go.” Before I can move, he throws an arm out, blocking my path.
“Caz.” The man, Caz, doesn’t move. “What are you doing?” His companion hisses.
“She could be a criminal. We turn her in to the Council, we might get something out of it.” He replies firmly.
His friend’s eyes bulge out, and Axel’s words about the Consulate summoning Felix cross my mind. “And… she could not be a criminal.”
Caz turns to look down at him, a hand jerking back towards my wrists. “She has shackles. She could be on the run from them. If we get caught housing a known criminal, the Council will throw us in the cells right along with her.”
The one on my left flicks his stare nervously to my wrists. Fucking Helys.
I groan, not wanting or caring to listen to them argue anymore. “I’m not a criminal.”
“See?” He says, relieved, placing a hand on Caz’s shoulder.
“But I am running from someone.”
The two of them tense back up, and I let that revelation hang in the air a minute before Caz’s companion drags him away from me. He murmurs for me to wait where I am, the two of them disappearing into the shadowy alcove of this… place.
As soon as both their backs are turned to me, I assess the distance between where I am and the sliver of light cast on the floor from the back exit.
One… two… three
I take off as fast as I can, my legs feeling like they're weighted down with lead, and head straight for that stream of light. Come on, legs, move fast. Move fast. I chant in my head.
“Fuck, Devlen! She’s taking off!” I hear Caz shout from behind me. Caz and Devlen. Good to know, even though it will be useless to me in all of five minutes.
“Wait!” Devlen shouts, the sound of his voice followed by two sets of boots. My heart quickens its pace and crawls its way up into my throat. “WAIT!” He shouts again, but I only keep my pace, my hand stretching towards the door with plans to rip it off its hinges.
That is, until I feel the length of my hair being yanked back, taking me with it. “OW!” I screech, my body lurching backwards into a hard chest.
The wind knocks out of me, and I only have a few half seconds to slip that jagged piece of glass into my palm.
Twisting around, I cause them to lose their grip and ram the shard right into their shoulder. Caz’s eyes grow wide, and Devlen gasps, blood pooling from Caz’s shoulder around my fist.
“I will not be someone else’s prisoner,” I growl.