Chapter 15
The Core fae doesn’t speak. He just stares at me with his arms crossed in front of his barrel chest. He has a chunk missing out of the side of his left ear, like something took a bite out of him, more noticeable since he’s bald.
He’s not all muscles like the Piper, but his frame is thicker, and there’s a pink ruddiness to his complexion.
Instead of looking like a warrior, he seems more like he’d be a farmer out working the land, or a butcher hacking away at fresh meat.
An irritable one too, based on that scowl.
“I need to relieve myself,” I tell him.
He looks me up and down and then jerks his head before turning, which I’m guessing means I should follow. He doesn’t take me far. Maybe fifty paces from camp, but it’ll have to do.
Baldy stops and crosses his arms again, and I swallow down my complaint as I go behind a thick tree and quickly do my business. Then I pull up my pants and back up a step.
And another.
Another.
My heart hunches, muscles braced.
He doesn’t come over from behind the tree, doesn’t bark at me to return. So as quietly as I can, I turn and start to move. Rush without running. Hurrying while keeping my steps quiet.
Once I’m forty paces away, I start to sprint.
Frid is sleeping. Maybe the Piper is too. The crossbow man is still by the fire, and the Needle isn’t nearby. It’s just me and Baldy, and I’m smaller, and hopefully quicker, than him.
I can do this.
Even the moon seems to urge me on, shining just enough for me to see but withholding enough light to help keep me hidden. I race through the forest with dual-mindedness. Get away from the Piper. Get home to my mother.
Get away. Get home.
I keep running without looking back, sidestepping branches, doing my best to avoid rocks. I know that every movement is pulling at my wounds, but I can’t care about that now.
I refuse to be collected like a debt. I refuse to never see my family again.
As I zigzag through the trees, I don’t hear Baldy shouting or racing after me, so my heart leaps with hope.
I’m going to make it. I’ll get to the dock, find a small ferry, and pull myself across the bay.
I’ll learn how to swim through the Rat-filled water if I have to.
Hamelyn’s gates will open again soon since it’s no longer Plagued, and even if they don’t, I’ll climb over the damn wall.
All of these determined thoughts lengthen my stride.
Until a noise bursts.
Like popping ink, the dark sound suddenly blots over me, thick and pitchy.
“No . . . no . . .” I slam my swinging hands up over my ears, but it’s too late.
The music sinks. Steeps. Saturates my muscles.
I jolt to a stop with the next piercing plop.
My heart pounds, though I can’t hear it. All I can hear is the stagnant staccato holding me still. Desperately, I try to get my legs to move, try to make my body break out of this invisible hold, but I can’t.
Fear thickens in my gut.
Seconds scour like the tick of a clock, pointing with accusatory hands. My breath comes in fast pants, eyes wide and terrified as I stare at the dark forest before me. At the trees that now look like sinister silhouettes. Even the moon seems to turn her back on me with a cloaked cloud.
The crunch of a twig makes me flinch so badly my pulse skips.
The Piper steps into my line of vision, holding the instrument to his lips like one would take a drag from a tobacco pipe. Silvery vapor twists from it and hovers around his hands and face, opaque and fluid as he plays the oppressive tune.
He’s bathed in shadows, hair wild and loose, face cut in sharp anger.
Like a vulture following the doomed, he slowly begins to circle me. Ready to descend and pick me apart. I whimper out a breath of fear, instinct demanding that I cower. That I beg and plead for my life.
But . . . something else steps forward in me. Something that stiffens and sticks. My gaze lifts, and instead of remorse, hatred gleams through my eyes.
Fury burns through his.
He ceases the song just enough to speak. “You think you can run from me?”
His expression is menacing. Enough to make my knees shake, but I don’t look away. I refuse.
Yet when he leans in closer, I can’t hold back my flinch. “That was very, very stupid.”
His murmur slices into my nerves, fraying each one.
When he straightens up, he circles around me again, this time stopping at my back, where he’s out of sight. My eyes squeeze shut as I brace for a blow.
It comes.
But not the way I expect.
His mouth is right there, at my ear, breath hitting my skin. “You belong to me now, so you will heel.”
My eyes snap open. Music plays once more.
Instantly, my body jolts, like he’s just strung me with string, readying to dangle his puppet.
And that’s what I become. He plays a song, and the song plays me.
My movements are no longer my own as I turn around, shoulders back, head up. He starts walking, and I’m tugged behind him like a dog on a leash. I can’t even try to fight the compulsion. I’m too exhausted from running, from being musically compelled, from being whipped and chained.
The music may keep me walking, but it’s pure hatred that keeps me upright. I don’t know why the Fates let someone like him live through Brekon’s break. Don’t know why they’d let him of all people have magic.
By the time we get back to camp, I’m unsteady and ready to drop.
We pass by Baldy, and the Piper nods his head. “Don’t worry, Garren. She didn’t get far.”
Garren glares at me and then turns and stomps away.
Probably the beginnings of a grudge.
With the poisonous song stopped, my body sags. I heave out a clumped breath, dazed and dizzy. The Piper stuffs the instrument into the scabbard at his belt and then reaches back to grip my arm.
“Don’t touch me!” I try to rip away, but I can’t. His hold is far too strong, and I’m far too weak.
He pulls me across the clearing, past the man with the crossbow, who’s still chewing that bone. He sends me a mocking smirk as we pass, crossbow pointed at me like he’s tempted to let it loose.
My eyes shift to see the Needle standing next to the Piper’s empty tent with her hands on her hips. She looks between the two of us before focusing on the Piper. “Want me to tie her to a tree?”
He stops but doesn’t let go of me. “Tempting, but I have something else in mind.”
She nods and walks away, and the Piper turns to me. “Get inside.”
My anger sputters out, replaced with wariness as I look at the tent. “Why?”
“Because I meant what I said. You will heel.”
He thinks to treat me like some pet? Then I’ll bare my teeth.
“You are a bastard,” I hiss.
He only cocks a condescending brow, and lets out a tired sigh. “I think that would be you, Bane-blood. Get in.”
The command is cutting. A blade grating against my skin, leaving it to prickle.
With leaden feet, I turn and walk beneath the canvas, ducking down. There’s one bedroll laid out and I start to crouch, but—
“Move over.”
Pausing, I shift off the bedroll and instead sit on the floor of the tent. I look up at the Piper, and I try to hide it, but I’m already shaking. Is he going to force himself on me? Is that how he’s going to make me heel?
I don’t care what magic he has. If he tries to violate me, I will fight him to the death.
He stands there, expression dark, and gives another order as if I truly am a pet. “Stay.”
He turns his back on me, and my breath whooshes out as he walks away. I watch him go to the fire and sit down with Crossbow, several feet away. Their voices murmur and drift.
I stare for a long time, strung tight, mind spooling, but he doesn’t come back. I desperately try to stay awake, but the violence and strain I’ve endured for the past two days is too much.
My body finally gives out.
I lie belly-down, too weary to stay upright any longer. Exhaustion wins, and my heavy eyes close, but it isn’t a soothing doze. I jerk at every sound. Every movement.
I’m so paranoid that I nearly scream when the Piper returns.
Fear claws with cold fingers, freezing my breath in place.
I watch as he kicks off his boots and then peels back the corner of the bedroll. He lies down on the ground, covering himself with the fabric to ward off the night’s chill.
I’m coiled, bones locked, my heart reaching up my throat far enough to choke on.
But he never even looks in my direction. He simply tosses one arm over his eyes and lets out a sigh, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Outside, the fire is still going, but it burns lower now. I can see shadowy figures walking around the camp, though I can’t tell who they are. I have no idea how many hours of night we still have. I have no idea how long I have to endure him this close.
He’s so much more terrifying in the dark.
“You reek,” he suddenly says, his voice like a slap.
I stiffen at the humiliating accusation, filling with outrage. “If it bothers you, I will gladly sleep elsewhere.”
“You lost that privilege,” he replies, ending the discussion and making me hate him even more. The tone, the arrogance of him, the absolute jurisdiction of his will presiding over mine—I wish the stars would fall and strike him dead. Or maybe he could get Sores Plague and be riddled with pustules.
I would welcome either scenario.
It’s unnerving to be so near him. I feel more vulnerable now, with him lying next to me, than I did in his music’s grip. My gaze stays trained on him, my breath coming in tight puffs. Such close proximity makes me feel like a rabbit cornered in a wolf’s den.
Unable to help it, I stare at his face. At the bulging biceps flung up so his forearm can cover his eyes. He’s far too big for this little tent.
Silence thickens and dries, brittle enough that my heartbeat keeps cracking it.
When he lets out a heaving sigh, I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Stop shaking,” he grits out.
I couldn’t even if I wanted to. The night air has a chill to it, but my fear is far colder. Still, I attempt to lock up my muscles, to stop my teeth from chattering.
A few minutes go by, and then a vicious curse spills from his mouth, and he tears up into a sitting position. I let out a gasp and try to roll away, but he grabs me by the nape and pins me down so I’m trapped on my belly.
I scream, but it gets muffled when he flings the top of his bedroll over me. My foot comes up awkwardly to kick him, but he tosses one leg over both of mine, holding me in place.
“Stay,” he orders.
With my cheek mashed against the ground, I’m breathing so hard my head spins. I brace, ready for him to hurt me, but he lets go of my nape and then lies back down.
Shock and unease flit through my mind.
He just . . . covered me.
With his bedroll.
We’re sharing the bedroll.
Because I was shaking.
These thoughts punch out, one after another, landing with force. Making me reel.
And now, he’s right next to me. I used to have at least a foot of space between us, but not anymore. I used to have the barrier of his bedroll for separation.
I don’t have that either.
I’m under this cover with him. One of his legs still pinning mine.
He’s not hurting me, but he is touching me. Holding me down. “Get off.”
“No.”
He sounds so . . . unbothered. It rankles.
When I try to shift away from him and kick off his leg, his hand shoots up, grip collaring the back of my neck again. He brings his face right to mine.
I go completely still.
Mere inches are stuffed between us, and that larger-than-life presence of his soaks me through. Even in the dark, I can see his full lips pulled tight with vexation and his eyes lit up with embers. I can also see the dark circles of fatigue beneath them.
“Stop moving, or I’ll make you,” he snaps, like the strike of flint.
Hate and heat.
Both blaze to life.
My breath hitches as I stare at him. His expression is smothered in shadows, jaw tight, stubble darkening his face.
Brown eyes still burning.
Burning enough that I feel the lick of fire on my face. Dragging everywhere he looks. Each place where his body is in contact with mine is so much hotter than the rest of me, like even my skin has ignited with warning.
“I’ve offered you my bedroll when I could’ve ended your life for your disobedience.” His words land against my cheek. “Say ‘thank you, sir.’”
Furious tears start to scratch at the backs of my eyes, but I don’t let them spill. “Thank you, sir,” I repeat bitterly.
“Good, little fiend. Now stay fucking quiet and still.”
He releases me in an instant, hand gone from my neck, thigh gone from my legs. He turns onto his back again, and I try to keep my heart from crashing through my chest. The heat of where he touched won’t leave. But I try to exhale it out with a tight, shaky breath anyway.
His luring magic has poisoned me. It’s insidious, and it’s left its mark on my very skin. In my blood. Corrupting me. Making me react to his presence.
“Sleep,” he tells me.
And though I try to fight against it, I follow his command, as if he spoke it with the pipe to his lips. Because my body is too wounded, too wrung out, to stay awake. So I fall asleep, tucked beneath my enemy’s bedroll, no longer shivering.