Chapter 16
I wake to the sound of the Core fae hollering at us. True to his word, the Piper is getting us up by dawnlight.
Sometime during the night, the rest of the numbing magic completely wore off, so my sleep was spent in fragments. Now, I lie splayed on my stomach, neck cricked, unable to move. My back sears and thumps with brutal agony.
I don’t know when the Piper left the tent, but he returns now, tossing back the flap before standing over me, looking refreshed. “Get up.”
My mouth parts with a croak. “Can’t.”
Maybe he can hear the weariness in my voice and can tell I’m not being obstinate, because he doesn’t argue or spit at me with other vitriolic commands. Instead, he reaches down and yanks back the cover of the bedroll.
He lets out a rigid sigh. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d soaked through your bandages?”
I try to scoff, but even the expelling of breath hurts, so it gurgles to a whine. He curses and stalks out, as if my whipping is some sort of inconvenience to him.
I can assure him, it’s far more inconvenient to me.
Maybe he’ll leave me behind? That would be nice. But no, he sends the Needle in. I tense on instinct as she kneels next to me.
“Flinching already?” she says with a sardonic lilt.
My dry lips stick against my teeth. “Well, when you go around stab—”
White-hot pain pierces through my back as she stabs her wooden needle into my skin. My breath flashes out like a lightning bolt, a choked scream leaking from my throat.
Fates, I hate her . . .
But just as soon as the pain came, numbness spreads right after.
Okay, I like her.
The agony dissipates, and I let out a shuddering breath of cool relief. “Thank you,” I mumble.
“You’re welcome. Now sit up so I can give you new bandages.”
My arms shake as I shove my body up, but I hold myself in awkward silence while I turn away and take off my tattered shirt.
I hunch as she peels off the bloodied bindings to wrap me in fresh ones.
By the time she’s done, pain no longer saps all my energy, and I’m able to sit up without wanting to crumple.
“That should hold you over until we get to Penbroge.”
I steal a look at her as she ties the bandage off with a knot, and I notice the small beauty mark at the corner of her bottom lip.
She’s pretty, and somehow, she doesn’t look like she just slept on the ground all night.
Instead, she manages to be polished and put together in her travel cloak and fitted trousers.
Even her brown hair is bound in a shiny braid.
Mine has so many knots, I can’t even scratch my scalp without hitting a snag.
“What’s with the shiny dots?” Lacera asks as she taps on my arm.
“Freckles,” I mumble.
“Never seen freckles like that before. Or hair.”
I shrug as I feed my arms back through the sleeves of my ruined shirt. She moves to leave, but my question stops her. “Why did he take us?”
She gives me an impatient look. “I’m not here to be your confidante. I’m here to make sure you don’t slow everyone down. Now get up and get going.”
With that lovely reply, she leaves the tent with a smack of the flap.
I blow out a breath, but then I glance around. I’m alone. Maybe I can sneak out before anyone notices?
Just as I start to move, someone starts to dismantle the tent with me still inside. One of the rods comes loose and smacks me in the head, and I scramble on my hands and knees, crawling out from under it.
When I get out, I look up at Baldy—Garren. “Hey, I was in there!”
He glares at me in a way that tells me he was perfectly aware. Then he yanks up the rest of the tent and stalks away with it in his arms.
“That’ll be the grudge,” I mutter as I rub the smarting spot on my head.
I straighten up, pausing when I see Crossbow sitting on a log just a few feet away, his eyes trained on me. Unease has my shoulders tightening. There’s no way I’m going to be able to slip away.
With a frustrated drag of my feet, I find a group about to be escorted to relieve themselves, and I gingerly follow along.
Afterward, we’re all given a ration of the same meat as last night, though this time, it’s cold.
Water gets passed around next, and then the Core are shouting at us to get back into a line.
Theo and Kaetir find me in the rush, and Theo gives me a once-over. “You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah. You?”
“Fine. But I woke and you were gone and . . . Did you just come out of the Piper’s tent?”
I grimace, shame heating my cheeks, and I look around, wondering if everyone else saw too. “I tried to run away. He caught me.”
They both go wide-eyed. “Are you . . . I mean, did he . . .?”
Theo can’t even finish the words.
“No,” I say with a shake of my head. “He . . . left me alone.”
Mostly.
And yet, the memory of his hand at my neck, of his leg pinning mine, rushes back in my mind, unbidden. Unwanted.
I hate that the Piper is now more aware of me than ever. I don’t want him to look at me, let alone touch me. Don’t want to be in such close proximity ever again.
Theo still watches me, a frown dug between red-wine brows. “If he hurt you . . .”
My throat swells. “He didn’t.”
“Est . . .”
“Don’t, Theo,” I say tightly. “I’m fine. And besides, I’m not your concern anymore.”
The look of hurt that flashes over his face makes my stomach dip. There was a time I never wanted to make him hurt, even at the expense of myself. I’d harbor the words. Sit stagnant in still waters, never wanting to rock the boat.
But he cut the line that anchored us, so why bother?
We start walking side by side to join up with the others. I see Frid counting us off, making sure we’re all here.
Theo dips his head a bit, his voice lowering. “Listen, Kaetir and I were talking. There’s a lot we don’t know about Core fae,” he admits, gaze flicking over to the Needle as she mounts one of the horses I saw grazing last night. “But the Piper . . . he’s probably the most famous one.”
“Yeah . . .” I reply, not really understanding what he’s getting at.
“See the bald one? I found out from one of the other fae who got taken that he’s the Water Weaver,” he tells me, chin jerking up to motion to Garren. “He was the one who got rid of the Poison.”
I glance at Garren curiously.
“I’ve heard of him before but don’t really know how his magic works,” Theo goes on. “But the Piper . . . we do know how his magic works.”
Realization rises, and I look over at him. “The pipe.”
He gives me a meaningful look. “Exactly. Without the pipe, he’s not the Piper, is he?”
The question lands like a rock in the water, and my mind ripples with the effects of it. With the implications.
Frid barks at everyone to hurry up and straighten the line. But I’m swirling.
Theo, Kaetir, and I go to the back of the group, but a body steps in front of me, pulling me to a stop.
The Piper blocks my way.
“You. With me,” he commands.
My eyes go up, and my stomach goes down. “But—”
He cocks a brown brow, that simple gesture extinguishing my words. There’s something gritty in his glare. Every time he looks at me, my organs seem to lock in place. His magic has done something. Latched on and not let go.
Others watch the display, and my embarrassment builds.
He jerks his head to the side and then turns and starts walking. I cast Theo and Kaetir a glance before I follow. We go all the way to the front, where the Piper stops beside a horse. The other three Core fae are already mounted.
“Frid, Lacera, you ride along the middle,” he orders, before looking at the Water Weaver. “Garren, you take up the rear.”
The three of them nod, the two men moving, but Lacera stays. “Want me to watch the girl?”
“No need. I have her well in hand.”
“I’m not a glove,” I say, bristling.
He ignores me.
Lacera nods and then tugs on her reins, turning away.
The Piper looks down at me. “I’ll help you get on.”
My brows lift. My gaze too. This horse must be a good twenty hands. It’s tall. Its black coat has a greenish sheen to it, and something about its face makes me think it would very much like to kick me in the ribs. I’ve never ridden a horse in my life. This one looks like a terrible first choice.
“I don’t know how to steer a horse . . .”
“I’ll be steering the horse,” he tells me. “You’ll be riding with me.”
“No.”
The word blurts out of me. It’s not petulant; it’s reactive. I don’t want to touch him. Don’t want to be close to him. And I definitely don’t want to share this death horse with him.
He leans forward, torso crooking toward me, tone deceptively quiet. “No?”
I shake my head. “I’d rather walk.”
The muscle in his jaw jumps. “I’d rather you walk too. But I will not allow you to slow us down.”
“I won’t. Your masochistic Needle already stabbed me today. I’ll be fine.” I back up a step, and his teeth grind.
Then he reaches for his pipe.
I react on instinct.
Lashing out, I go to snatch the instrument, my fingers closing around the holder at his belt—
And his hand clamps down over mine.
Palm crushing. Fingers digging.
His brown eyes flick from my fingers to my face, and they spark with anger. “You little fool,” he hisses.
I stay completely still, hand caught, breath heaving.
Bracing for punishment.
When he moves, I flinch, my neck snapping to the side. But instead of striking me, he takes my hand and lashes a thin cord of rope around my wrist.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Let’s see if you’re right about not slowing us down,” he replies flatly.
He ties the other end of the rope to the curved horn of his saddle and then smoothly seats himself on top of the horse.
I try to rip the rope away, but he cinched it so tight I can’t slip my hand free. Desperate, I claw at the knot, but it won’t come loose.
He looks down at me with challenge. “Would you like to change your mind?”
My teeth gnash together with pure spite. “No.”
With a steely gaze, he clicks his tongue and the horse starts moving. I dig in my heels and pull with all my might, knees bent, free hand grabbing the rope. I yank hard enough that the horse huffs and jerks to the side.
“Stop that,” the Piper orders, like he’s speaking to a puppy gnawing on his shoe.