TWENTY #3
“Keep moving!” he shouts.
I stagger ahead, tears streaming, my throat raw. I’m barely able to force my legs to keep going.
I reach the trees, stumbling into their cover, but when I turn to him, Kieren isn’t there. I spin around, heart in my throat, nearly slipping in the mud, and finally see him.
Kieren is on the ground in the clearing.
A hound has him by the arm, dragging him backward like he weighs nothing. He fights, kicking the animal off as his hands claw at the dirt, trying to find leverage. But the dark is full of movement now as the others close in.
“Get up!” I shout.
One of the dogs looks around, alert. Interested.
I can draw them away. Give Kieren a chance to move again.
My eyes scan the woods around me wildly, looking for any sign of a path, any clue how close we are to the main road.
If we can reach it, we’ll be going in the direction of Miradores. They wouldn’t dare to follow us there.
I wet my lower lip, pursing my mouth to whistle, to call the hounds after me.
But on the far side of the clearing, lantern light blooms between the trees, and men emerge from the woods. A half dozen of them, and the one holding the light …
“Where are you going?” the bartender calls, voice filled with delighted cruelty. “Are you going to leave this one behind for us to kill, too?”
My heart stops.
They can’t see me. Not under the cover of the forest. I retreat one step into those shadows.
“We’re here for you, witch. Not him.” The barkeep crouches down with the lantern and presses a knife to Kieren’s throat. But my best friend looks up, staring toward the darkness ahead as if he knows I can see him, and mouths the command he’s given me twice already.
Run.
I grab hold of the nearest trunk to steady myself. A few steps back and the woods will swallow me from sight. But I can’t bring myself to keep running.
If I do that, he dies.
If I go back, we’ll probably both die.
The idea lodges in my ribs like it’s that blade at his throat.
And then I shake it off, because I am not leaving my family.
Not again.
Tree branches catch at my cloak, the forest trying to stop me as I walk toward the clearing. But I keep going, stepping out of the tree line and into open view.
Fix it. I can still—
The sight of him steals the rest of the thought. Kieren is on his knees in the mud, two men forcing him upright as he fights them like an animal. His bottom lip is split and bleeding. He’s close enough now that I can see where the hounds tore his clothing. Far enough that I can still turn and run.
“Arden, stop,” he shouts hoarsely. “Run. Don’t—”
The lantern light wobbles ahead like a beacon.
Do what needs to be done.
I couldn’t make the sacrifice that night. But this? This isn’t a sacrifice at all.
It’s what needs to be done.
Only one step left. The noise drains away, and there is only stillness—as if the world has narrowed to a single unavoidable path. I step before the barkeep. Lifting my chin, I aim my words directly at him. “Let him go.”
That’s all it takes.
They close around me. Rough hands grab my arms, yanking me backward so fast my teeth clack together. The man laughs and shoves me down. The ground bites into my knees, wet and cold.
“Witch.” He hisses the verdict.
It hits me low and hard, knocking my breath into a gasp.
I drop my head back to find the Stars and sob. “Please.”
If my magic is going to wake, let it be now. Please.
“Isn’t she polite?” The man above me sneers. He bends over me, so close I can smell the stench of whisky and poor hygiene on his breath.
“Let the lady beg,” another taunts.
“Enough,” the barkeep says, pressing his boot into Kieren’s back. His blade is still pointed at him. “I want to see the mark.”
“No.” The word escapes me in a strangled cry. I throw my weight forward, nearly tearing free of the man holding me. Nails raking skin. Teeth snapping for anything I might reach. He grabs me by the hair, and pain explodes across my scalp as he yanks me back hard enough to make my vision swim.
“Easy,” his voice croons near my ear. “We just want to have a look.”
His companion steps in front of me and unfastens my cloak. I squirm, trying to aim a knee at his groin, and he leaps back as he snatches it off me. “Vicious bitch!”
I open my mouth and spit at him.
The hand in my hair wrenches me back. “Hold still and this will be over faster.”
My stomach lurches violently, and heat floods my throat.
I gag, my body revolting against what my mind can’t escape as he aims a dagger at my heart.
His arm circles my waist, locking me against him, and every instinct in me screams to fight, to flee, to disappear out of my own skin—but there’s nowhere left to go.
I guess the Stars aren’t listening tonight.
“Is this where it is?” he whispers, his knife trailing over the front of my sweater. “That’s what the Civicus reported.”
“Don’t touch her!” Kieren struggles to get to me, but the bartender keeps him pinned.
I can’t bring myself to look at him, my whole body shaking. When he walks out of here, it will be worth it. He’ll understand someday.
“Open it up and let’s see,” the bartender orders, voice flat.
A single tear rolls down my cheek, so warm it almost stings in the cold night.
The man fists my shirt, and the others urge him on, applauding him like he’s a fucking hero.
I stare straight ahead, ignoring their cheers, pretending I can’t feel his body pressed against mine.
Even Kieren’s protests fade from notice.
But I can still feel the tip of the blade, sharp and cold through the thick knit.
My breath catches as the knife pauses, and then in a blink, it slashes a single, careful cut.
His friend leaps forward and rips the sweater and undergarments down the middle to my waist. Cold air slams into my bare skin, and I gasp, lungs burning, more tears falling.
Kieren whimpers somewhere in the distance.
The man before me stumbles back a step, eyes widening at the sight of the raven-mark burned into my chest.
Their gazes roam my skin, and I close my eyes, because it’s the only place left for me to hide.
Dread fills the hollow silence like it’s building toward something inevitable.
Just like that night in the throne room.
Just like those nobles. These men are no different than they were.
Rank, class, status—none of it matters. All men are equals in the face of fear.
I brace for pain. If there’s a price to pay, it’s mine. Not Kieren’s.
For half a heartbeat, no one moves.
Then someone whispers, cruel and hungry all at once, “Harbinger.”
A louder voice follows. “It’s true. She’s the harbinger.”
The word spreads on their mouths like rot, like they are all part of a ritual that can’t be stopped.
I bet most of them don’t even know what they’re afraid of.
Just a superstition they’ve inherited, passed down generation after generation.
The kind that festers and grows in the way only fears can until it makes sense to punish a single person for the sins of an entire group. Fuck that.
I buck, rage cutting through the terror. “Get your hands off me!”
I twist and claw, my nails scraping against wet leather and wool. Someone kicks my legs out from under me, and I go down again, face-first this time. The taste of dirt and iron floods my mouth.
Their jeers become a chorus as they circle me, moving so quickly that they blur into the night. The hounds howl and pull at their leashes as if scenting prey. I lurch to my knees, ignoring the blood in my mouth and my torn shirt. I chose this, but I will not make it easy.
Wolves will bite.
I spring forward and grab a boot, knocking the man to the ground. I shove against his chest and propel myself onto my feet just as someone tackles me. Fingers choke my throat until blackness seeps into my vision.
“Should I kill her?” my captor calls to his friends.
I tear at the hands around my neck.
“No,” the bartender’s cold voice answers. He moves away from Kieren and takes a single step toward us. “Burn the witch!”
“Nooo!”
But the cry doesn’t come from me. It’s Kieren. He’s on his feet.
The hands at my throat shift and clamp down on my shoulders. I suck in air and moan, “Run.”
But Kieren already is.
Just not away.
Toward me.
No.
A blade flashes in the lantern light, followed by the wet sound of flesh tearing. Kieren slows, his body arching, the breath leaving him in a sharp, broken grunt. He stumbles, hands flying to his stomach as darkness spreads and oozes between his fingers.
No.
The word shatters through me.
Not Kieren.
He tries to take another step toward me. He makes it halfway before his knees give out, and he hits the mud hard. His face twists in pain as his breath comes in shallow, panicked pulls.
“Kieren!” My voice breaks, but I don’t stop fighting. “Please let me help him. I can help him.”
Someone backhands me across the face, and my head snaps sideways, vision bursting into sparks. “Shut up.”
In the chaos, Kieren groans, and my insides hollow out. I thrash against the hands holding me in place, kicking my legs out. My feet scrabble against the loose dirt, muscles screaming as I try to squirm free. I can fix this. I just need to get to Kieren. It’s not too late. It can’t be.
But a meaty arm hooks around my waist and yanks me up like a rag doll.
“You don’t look so powerful now,” the man says scornfully.
I wrench my gaze back to Kieren. He’s on his side now, trying to crawl, fingers digging into the mud and slipping. Each movement is slower than the last as he refuses to give up. He lifts his head, eyes wild as he searches and finds me.
Relief flickers over his face, even now.
“I’m here,” I sob. “I’m right here.”
I strain toward him, but the arm at my waist snaps me back. My captor seizes my wrist and pins it at a torturous angle behind me.
“Leave him,” the bartender says with a casual wave of his hand. “Let him watch.”