5. Survival
The night sky shimmered with stars and shades of black and navy. With each passing step, large plants loomed. Lyra struggled to remember the names of the things she was passing. So many books all warred for priority in her chaotic mind.
A stinging pain had her looking down at the rope that was tied around her wrists and then at the elf to which it was attached. He was foolish not to keep her in his line of sight. And with the looming tall things coming closer, she could find a place to hide.
Trees! They were called trees, and a multitude of them made up a forest.
An unusual feeling in her mouth had her smacking her lips together.
“Stop that.”
“My mouth feels strange,” she mumbled, continuing to smack her lips.
“It’s dry because you keep breathing through your mouth.”
Wilder jerked them to a stop and thrust a leather pouch at her. Lyra stared at it quizzically before grasping it between two fingers.
“What is this?” Her nose wrinkled in disgust at the feel of it.
“It’s water. Your mouth is dry,” Wilder replied, staring at her like she’d grown two heads.
Dry. That was the word. She had never known what that would feel like and could scarcely imagine it.
But now the air was dry, and her skin felt dry where it was covered in fabric. However, the ground was not dry. No, it had squelched with each of their steps.
Lyra continued staring at the leather pouch. “Do you think I’m that gullible? You’ve kidnapped me, so you’re obviously not beneath drugging or poisoning me.”
Wilder ripped it from her grip and twisted the metal cap. It opened, and he held it to his mouth. Lyra watched with a curious expression as the leather pressed against his lips. The column of his throat bobbed as he swallowed.
A few drops sparkled on his chin, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. He had such large hands; the palms were pale compared to the tanned skin on the tops of them, and his fingers were long, like a musician’s.
Wilder thrust it back out to her, and this time, she took it greedily. She was thirsty, but more than that, she needed a distraction from staring at his hands. She pressed it to her lips and tilted her head back, allowing the water to flow into her mouth.
It was surprisingly fresh. Lyra gulped down a few mouthfuls. Water clung to her chin as well, but she did not wipe it away. She delighted in its touch.
The water was a comfort, even if it wasn’t the same as the ocean she had come from.
Wilder’s attention narrowed on the droplets clinging to her pale skin before he ripped the container from her hands. Their hands grazed, and Lyra stared at where his skin had touched hers.
An unusual feeling—that touch.
“Let’s move,” he grumbled.
The trees grew closer, and the glow of the small, distant village winked out of existence. He was moving quickly. If she were going to escape, she needed to do it soon. But how?
Lyra stared down at the rope around her wrist. If she had teeth, she could bite through it. Hell, even her nails would have worked against this pathetically human contraption. But stuck in this body, she had nothing.
She tugged at the rope around her wrist. It swayed and jostled under her ministrations.
Wilder turned around in an instant to glare at her.
“Haven’t I made myself perfectly clear?”
Lyra held her hands up in surrender. But anger simmered in her eyes.
She would find a way.
Wilder saw the fight in her that was growing, a steady current of power swelling like a wave before it crashed against the shore.
“There is not a place you could run, a place you could hide, that I would not find you, Legs. And trust me, out here,” he gestured around to the tall trees, “you don’t want to leave my side.”
“I’m not scared of you,” Lyra muttered.
“You should be,” he replied over his shoulder, already turning his back to her.
“And why, might I ask? Because you kidnap helpless females under your king’s orders? Pathetic. I bet you haven’t made a single decision in your entire life! You’re a coward, little princeling.”
Wilder shook his head. His dark mass of hair bounced with the movement. “You talk too much.” But his tone held a sharp edge of annoyance.
If she could burrow herself under his skin, maybe he would let her go to free himself of her.
“What is that you want? Jewels? Gold?”
He didn’t answer, but she could see his shoulders stiffen.
“I am the Princess! Tales of my beauty are known across the realm. Surely that would be enough to entice you for a trade?”
Wilder laughed and shook his head as he halted to stare at her.
“There is nothing that you could offer me that I would trade for my duty to my kingdom. Save your breath. You’ll need your energy for this journey.”
Wilder tugged her forward, walking along the narrow path into the increasing darkness of the forest. The canopy of leaves blotted out the stars, and it was a struggle for her to see where they were going.
He was leading her into the depths of darkness, and she was terrified.
Yet his feet did not falter, and each step was meticulously planted.
With nothing else to do, she wielded her knowledge as a weapon. Lyra would talk and talk until it annoyed him enough that he didn’t notice when she slipped the rope. Or until he gagged her, and in that case, she would fling herself to the ground and fight with everything she had.
Lyra would not go down without a fight. She had to get back to the water—where she belonged.
“Did you know these trees are a mix of juniper and hawthorn?”
Her voice seemed amplified in the sleeping forest, her tone purposely superior. Males hated it when you knew a thing more than they did.
Wilder grunted in response.
“And that tree there,” she jutted with her chin, “is an ash tree.”
“Quiet,” he hissed. His head swiveled from side to side as if he were looking for something.
Lyra continued walking, but twisted her wrists under the rope, trying to loosen it. Wilder was too busy scanning their surroundings as they walked to notice the rope jiggling at his side.
“These fluffy things are ferns. They have fronds. I know you won’t understand that word, so I will explain. Fronds or f-r-o-n-d-s are leaves. Compound leaves, to be exact. Shall I explain what a compound is?”
Twisting and tugging at the rope as she spoke. A flap of wings startled her. But Wilder continued, not at all bothered by the proximity of the creature and still looking as if he was searching for something.
“Oh, and that must’ve been an owl,” she gushed.
The rope loosened a fraction, and she bit her lip to keep her excitement contained as she twisted some more.
“If you don’t shut up, I will gag you.” His shoulders almost touched his ears.
She really was getting under his skin, then.
A howl pierced the air, and goosebumps raised on Lyra’s arms.
“That must be a wolf!” she whispered-shouted with excitement.
The sound stopped Wilder in his tracks, and he unsheathed the sword at his hip. The blade gleamed in the moonlight, and Lyra’s mouth dried up.
While death would be preferable to the Wilds, she was not exactly ready. Sure, her entire existence until this point had been miserable, but it had been hers.
The wolf’s howl tapered off, and Wilder tugged back on the rope to get her moving again.
“Do you know what other kinds of animals live in these woods?” Lyra asked him.
“I know nothing about the mortal land, and I don’t care to. So shut up.”
She twisted and tugged at the rope again as she talked. “How can you be a prince and know nothing?”
They walked farther on in silence, each step adding to the insurmountable distance to the sea. That knowledge was unsettling. She wavered in her plans once more.
It would be excruciating to run the whole way back. But would it be worse never to return? Maybe she could live among the mortals. She knew enough about the surface world to carve out a measly existence here.
“There are probably chipmunks in these woods, and moles, and gophers. Oh, and I bet there are cardinals. They are red birds. The color of their feathers is like fresh blood.”
Wilder ground his teeth, trying his best to ignore her chatter and keep alert. But his ignoring her was what she was counting on. The rope finally gave way, widening enough that she could slip one hand out.
Her skin burned and was discolored where the rope had rubbed her raw. She held onto it and slipped the other hand out as they continued to walk so that he wouldn’t catch on to her plans yet.
Lyra knew there would be only one tiny window of opportunity.
“There are other birds that are blue, and do you know what they’re called?” She waited for a response she knew would not come. “They call them Blue Jays. How unoriginal. Why would they name a bird after the color it was called?”
“I swear to the gods, Legs. If you don’t shut your mouth …”
With his words, she lowered the rope to the ground, bending over at the waist as they walked. Her leg muscles howled with the change of position. But he didn’t notice the lowered rope on his side. Wilder breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t respond.
Lyra let go of the rope and held her breath, praying to all the gods that he wouldn’t turn around. And he did continue without her, unfazed by the quiet or the rope that rustled against the forest floor behind him. It was not louder than her tromping footsteps had been, anyway.
Wilder adjusted the pack on his shoulders and kept marching along the path.
“Finally, some peace and quiet,” he said. “This journey will not be half as miserable if you just follow my orders. It’s already taking everything I have to …”
His words trailed off as he walked on without her.
Lyra smirked, and as he walked farther away, she slipped between two large ash trees and into utter darkness. She walked off the beaten path, running her hands from tree trunk to tree trunk to find her way.
It was nice up here on land, with so many more sensations than she was accustomed to.