Chapter 47
Lilias
ROPE
The black stallion is limping.
We’ve ridden through the night and into the thin, cold dawn.
The cloth they tied over my eyes fell to my neck hours ago, and I’ve managed to loosen the ropes holding my wrists to the saddle.
None of the men noticed, and of course, I didn’t bother to bring it to their attention.
They’re riding hard, pushing the horses through a thin pine forest, over a rough path that can’t possibly be an actual road.
And we’re going the wrong way.
If they’re taking me to the mine, we should be heading south, into the mountains. If they’re bringing me back to the palace at Marion, which has got to be the least likely of all possible options, they’d be heading east. If they’re taking me to Vsenrog, we should be going back the way we came.
But we’re not doing any of those things.
Instead, the sun is rising behind me, throwing the shadows of the men and horses across the unforgiving granite rocks of the high mountain pass.
We’re heading west. Toward Ethiria.
It makes no sense. Ethiria is part of the Seven Allied Kingdoms, just like Marion and Vsenrog. I can’t think of any strategic reason to bring me west.
Then again, I can’t think of any strategic reason to kidnap me in the first place. I shake my head, then shift in the saddle. My wrists burn where they’re tied around the saddle horn. The horse I’m riding snorts. He’s moving like he’s tired. They all are.
The black stallion leading us stumbles, and the man riding him barks something. The horse doesn’t respond; he just stands there, panting. My heart aches for the poor animal. I would have stopped riding him hours ago.
“Shit,” the man spits. “Godsdamn worthless beast!”
He lifts his hand, like he’s going to hit the stallion.
I bite my lip to keep from crying out. The man hesitates, then seems to realize the stupidity of abusing an animal he’s on top of.
Grumbling, he slips off his mount, hands the reins to one of the soldiers, and mutters about how it’s time to take a break anyway.
I stare at the ground as the men talk in low voices. The horse I’m riding pricks his ears, perhaps picking up on the way my heart is beating against the inside of my rib cage. I twist in the saddle, just enough to glance behind us.
I’ve never been here before, I’m sure of that. But I remember the way we came.
I slump forward in the saddle, like I’m exhausted. All around me, the men dismount, grumbling and stretching. Several of them pull the saddles off their horses. I notice a flask passed between hands and lips when the big man who tied me up isn’t watching.
The gelding beneath me stomps the ground, like he’s impatient. I breathe slowly as the men move around us. I’m slouching, but my legs are tight around the horse’s chest. If anyone is paying attention, that will give me away.
My horse snorts and steps back when one of the soldiers finally pulls the saddle off the black stallion. I try not to react. The saddle hits the ground. The soldier turns to the stallion’s stiff leg.
I shift my weight slightly and squeeze my horse’s ribs. He takes a step back. The rope between his halter and the stallion’s saddle pulls tight. Godsdamn it. I grind my teeth together.
And the rope comes loose. My breath catches. No one notices as the rope that tied my mount to the soldier’s saddle goes slack, then drags on the ground behind the abandoned saddle.
It’s dangerous, having a loose rope like that. It could get tangled in the horse’s legs or caught in the brush. My fingers clutch at the saddle, pulling against the binds that hold my wrists.
“Hey there, Princess,” a man says.
My back stiffens. The horse tenses beneath me, responding to my sudden unease. A short, rough-looking soldier walks toward me with a nasty grin. From the glazed look in his eyes, he’s had his share of whatever was in the flask they passed around.
“Let’s get you a little more comfortable,” he says.
I cough, then smile as the soldier approaches.
“That rope,” I say, nodding toward the ground. “I don’t want my horse to trip.”
I smile with all the charm and grace of a lifetime spent in the palace of Marion. The soldier glances down and frowns. My heart hammers against the inside of my chest. This isn’t going to work. It was never going to work.
And then he bends down, picks up the rope, and tosses it over my horse’s neck.
The world explodes.
My horse shivers, scared of the sudden slap of rope on his neck. I lean forward, digging into him with my heels and shifting my weight. I’ve been guiding him with my legs for hours, but will he trust me now?
He spins away from the soldier, responding to my silent request. I scream, trying to act like I don’t know exactly what I’m doing.
The horse breaks into a gallop. I bend low over his neck as the camp behind us erupts in chaos.
And we run like all the armies of the nine hells are on our tail.
I pull him back once we hit the first river crossing. He’s snorting and panting, and foamy sweat drips from beneath the saddle. He dips his head into the dark water of the river and drinks deeply. I hold my breath and listen.
Birds sing in the trees around us. The sun filters through the lacy tops of the pines that line the river, and the water sings as it dances over stone.
I don’t hear voices. Yet.
I bend down to stare at my hands. The ropes holding my wrists together are stained with blood. I’ve managed to loosen them, but the gods only know if I’ve done enough. I grit my teeth and pull against the rope.
Pain burns through my arms. I stop, panting, as my vision swims with tears.
The dull weight of the dagger on my thigh taunts me as I wiggle my right arm, then my left. I imagine pulling my dagger out with my teeth, or perhaps finding one of those elves the stories say wait in the forest to seduce young maidens.
A barking laugh slips through my lips. It sounds like a sob. My horse sighs in response as I twist my wrists back and forth. The ropes burn, cutting into my skin. Blood drips onto the saddle.
And then, finally, my left hand comes free. I bark another laugh, not a sob, as I lean forward, draping myself over the horse’s neck, threading my fingers into his thick, black mane.
“Thank you,” I sob. “Thank you.”
The horse accepts my emotional meltdown with exhausted equanimity, and I don’t think I’ve ever loved another animal as much as I love this scruffy gray gelding right now.
Once I pull myself together, I tug Zarek’s dagger from its sheath, cut my legs free, and dismount. I stand in the freezing water and stare at the early morning light as it dances across the ripples.
The soldiers will probably expect me to flee to the palace of Marion. Where else would I go, after all?
They certainly won’t expect me to backtrack to the camp, or to push on to the mine.
No, the only person who expects me to go to the mine is Anura. After she delivers the mayor of Tanic’s warning about the Vsenrog troops on the border, she’ll travel to Detec and then on to the mine.
I pull the rope off the horse’s neck and lead him upriver, away from the path. Toward the Dragon Mine.