Chapter 27 #2
Then his tangled hair shifted as his face emerged with painstaking slowness.
Inch by inch, his profile was revealed, dried blood plastered to his cheek from the wound near his temple.
It looked terrible, hair matted into the gash, dark crimson extending along his scalp.
But, bless the Domus, his eyes were open.
And they were glaring at the burlap sack in front of him with a promise of death.
The jagged edges shredding my nerves pulled back just a breath.
He glanced down the line and those dark, beautiful eyes found me. They were steady. Furious. Not swirling with the confusion or fear of a man who’d just woken up and found himself in an unfamiliar place facing death.
But the look in his eyes wouldn’t get us out of this mess. We were surrounded by more bodies than even he could fight off. The only thing that would make these final moments easier was holding on to the strength in his gaze and returning it with my own.
I clung to that small comfort as the flaps of the tent parted and three Horrads emerged from its depths.
The leader was obvious. Though significantly shorter than the two bodies flanking them, the central Horrad wore a long, swooping necklace of earth-toned beads.
No one else I’d seen was wearing ornaments like this.
I waited for them to say something, because that was what leaders did: speak, enjoy the sound of their own voice, and make decisions and decrees. But this one didn’t.
Their silence, the way the Horrads covered their bodies entirely—it was almost as if they were hiding. From what, exactly, was the question. As far as I knew, they were the greatest predators in this Territory.
I wondered if I would even have the chance to solve that mystery.
That wonder swiftly turned to doubt as the leader walked toward me. When they lithely crouched, their blank canvas filling my vision, my mind emptied entirely.
This, before me, was death.
A gloved hand whipped out and caught my chin.
Firm pressure tilted my face up, then turned it left and right.
Like the two Horrads before, this one studied my eyes.
The hand on my chin traveled to my throat, tightened, and hauled me up with so much force, I had no choice but to follow.
Down the line, Harthon jerked. His attempt to stand was quickly met with four weapons pointed at his head.
“I’m fine,” I wheezed.
It was strange, hearing a voice in that quiet. But just because the Horrads were silent didn’t mean we had to be, and there was little left to lose.
I thought the leader’s hand might squeeze harder in punishment, but air continued to skate down my throat. I watched the Horrad as they watched me, their head level with mine. With their smaller stature, they might have been a woman.
The leader nodded and the Horrads who’d followed them out of the tent stepped up, all three of them scrutinizing my irises. The hand on my throat returned to my chin, turning my face side to side again.
One of the Horrads pointed to the sky.
It was met with a sharp head shake.
The first Horrad insisted, indicating the clouds above with more emphasis.
The leader shoved their face into mine, so close that the gaping fabric nearly skimmed my nose. It reeked of foul, unbathed skin and something else—something bitter, like chamomile or wormwood.
Their breath.
They withdrew and firmly expressed their disagreement.
Again, the Horrad waved above, but this time, it was hesitant. For several breaths, the two of them stared at one another, the third looking on.
I didn’t know whose opinion—if any—was in our favor, but I silently begged for their success.
Finally, a victor was chosen. The Horrad who’d pointed to the sky dropped their hand, shoulders slumping. The leader released my head and sent a brutal kick into my knee.
I crashed into the ground, pain bursting into my calf and thigh. The strike had knocked my knee inward, testing the strength of my muscles. I only knew it wasn’t broken because I managed to withhold my cry.
It was strikingly clear, then, that the prevailing opinion was not in our favor. The prevailing opinion meant pain. Suffering.
Death.
In a flurry of movement, Stefano was hauled off his knees and forced before us and the horde of Horrads. A new degree of fear gripped me, so raw and consuming, it stripped a piece of me away.
All pretense vanished. Stefano struggled, shoulders jerking, legs swinging until two more Horrads stepped in and wrangled them, carrying him. Some of the weapons that’d been aimed at Harthon moved to Joris, who was trying to prevent whatever was about to happen.
My vision went hazy, the throbbing in my knee disappearing as I watched, helpless, my soul beginning to shred at the inevitable.
Not Stefano. Not Stefano.
Tendons in Harthon’s cheek rippled, his head shaking in a slow, awful rhythm—the only motion that wouldn’t get him stabbed by the wooden blades jutting toward his eyes.
A heavy punch to Stefano’s gut sent him down. A hand gripped his ear. Someone raised a dagger.
“Fuck.” The curse was a weak, terrified hiss from between Stefano’s gritted teeth.
For Domus’ sake, they were going to filet him in front of us.
A low growl permeated the chaos.
The dagger paused mid-sweep as a hundred canvas coverings swiftly turned, facing something beyond Harthon.
The animalistic rumble came again, and I grew more certain that it hadn’t come from a human.
The warmth in my chest flickered as I searched around the bodies blocking my vision. All at once, they parted, and a choked gasp fled my throat.
It was the wolf—the same one from before, its intelligent amber eyes coasting over our gathering, sooty white fur slinking across lean muscles and ribs as it stalked in our direction.
Toward us.
Toward you.
When its eyes locked on mine, I knew.
“What the fuck?” Aric murmured in awe.
I blinked, not trusting my eyes, but the animal didn’t vanish. The same must have occurred to the Horrads, because the dagger aimed at Stefano was swiftly put away.
Confusion rocked me.
You wouldn’t sheathe a dagger with a wolf approaching. And it continued to approach, lithely moving until it stopped right before me, the bodies at my back giving us a wide berth.
This close, I could see the scars marring the wolf’s black nose, the flecks of deep brown around its pupils, the deadly tip of a canine that hung over its bottom lip. It spun around and sat, its soft tail brushing my knees, like it was…guarding me.
My confusion only grew when three more Horrads now pointed to the sky. The leader stood still, regarding us.
“Your eyes are glowing,” Aric informed me, his gaze sober.
“I…I think that might be a good thing,” I replied cautiously. The wolf’s ears twitched.
The leader stepped forward, in front of Stefano now. Their hand joined the others, gesturing to the clouds above. Then they bowed.
At me.
Or the wolf?
All at once, the sound of shifting coarse fabric rolled across the camp as every single figure rushed to follow suit.
“What is going on?” I whispered.
Aric dared to answer. “Either they have a thing for big animals, or they think you’re summoning it, which means they also think you’re the magvis.”
“The story you told about your father’s horse—you said animals feared the magvis.”
“Yes, but she’s the only being who could do something as strange as this.”
The leader straightened, cuing our audience to do the same, and the air at my back shifted as someone stepped close.
The wolf whipped around, maw parting on a deep, threatening snarl.
Moving slowly, so as not to spook the animal, the Horrad kneeled and began fumbling with the ties on my wrists until they slid away.
Before me, the Horrad leader aimed their fingers at the ground before swinging them up, gesturing for me to…stand? With trepidation, I rose, shoulder protesting as my arms fell to my sides, knee throbbing as it bore weight.
A Horrad emerged from the tent, a cup and a platter of what looked like bread in their gloved hands.
The leader curled their fingers into their palm, beckoning me.
“Do I go?” I asked shakily, glancing at Harthon, trusting his judgement. Because I sure as shit didn’t understand what was happening or whether this was some sort of trap.
Harthon regarded the wolf and said, “Yes.”
The wolf mirrored my movements, latching to my side as I walked forward. Its presence was all that gave me the courage to take the leader’s hand when they offered it to me.
Their grip was delicate. Remarkably so, for someone who’d nearly dislocated my knee moments ago. Another Horrad emerged from the tent with a wooden stool, which they placed beside me. A soft tug on my hand indicated I should sit.
I did, the wolf perching at my feet.
The Horrad holding the cup and platter came over, extending both to me. Again, I looked to Harthon for direction. His chin dipped.
I gingerly took the cup, which was filled with water, and a small piece of bread from the wooden tray.
Everyone bowed to me again.
“Why haven’t they freed you?” I asked quietly, glancing from Harthon to the rest of my companions.
Aric’s expression was flat, face tilting up in grim resolve.
He didn’t need to speak.
“No,” I breathed.
The Horrads straightened, and the leader spun away from me, quick steps bringing them right back to Stefano. A blade appeared again, and someone grabbed Stefano’s head.
“Wait—” I shouted, shifting forward.
When no one stopped me, I jumped to my feet, throwing the bread and cup aside. “I said to wait!”
They froze, the weight of a hundred hidden gazes on me.
These people had spared me. They’d bowed to me, given me an offering, and gazed into my eyes like they meant something. Like I meant something—like I was above them.