Chapter Ten
Without the shackles on my legs, I’m free to move in a small circle from the bed. My arms are shackled at the wrists, but their chains are connected directly to the tent post rather than each other, leaving me a wider range of movement than Seth intended.
Or perhaps this is exactly what he intended. Perhaps this is a test, but not of my capability, but of my loyalty, and if I escape and fail to get away, he’ll punish me for it.
No. That’s not Seth, I realize, thinking about the brute whose hand he took for touching me. As much as Seth may claim he isn’t like Adria, he, too, only knows one way to show affection: violence.
I take a cautious step forward from the cot, the chain attached to my right hand clinking as it loses some of its slack. I pause, standing still. Waiting to see if someone is going to come and see what I’m doing.
But they don’t. Like Ronan, Seth prefers to keep his guards outside his sleeping quarters rather than within them.
If things were different, I might point out that the lack of privacy might be worthwhile to avoid the vulnerability of being attacked in your sleep, but it’s to my advantage that there are no guards here to see me scheming against him.
I don’t know how many of them are stationed outside of the tent, but they don’t enter as I drag the chain across the rug on the floor as quietly as I can.
I walk until I reach the end of the slack, holding both arms out behind me. Creeping along, I trace an arc towards Seth’s desk, stopping when I hear raised voices in the distance.
I inhale deeply and hold my breath, standing as still as a statue. Slowly, I lift my right foot and take a creeping step back to the cot as the voices grow closer. If Seth catches me, he’ll have someone tighten these chains or replace my leg shackles, and I’ll lose my chance.
But then the voices withdraw. I wait for a long moment before resuming my advance towards the desk.
The noise of the camp returns to its normal level—people talking and laughing far away, the clinking of metal as armor and weapons are repaired and prepared for battle, the crackle of fires to keep away the night’s chill.
I take another cautious step forward. Nothing. No one is coming. Another step. My chains rattle as I reach their limit, but the desk is just beyond reach.
Beyond reach of my hands, at least. If I lower myself closer to the ground and reach with my feet, I might be able to reach the chest that has the chains the servant left just beneath the desk.
Or, if I can just get my left arm to stretch a little further, I could pull open one of the drawers with my toes—
I’m straining my bare foot towards a handle when I hear an even louder commotion than before. This time, it’s so loud and so close that I rush back onto the cot as quickly as I can, trusting the noise to cover the sound of my movement.
But no one enters my tent. They run past it, and then their voices fall silent again.
Oh, gods. Please don’t be Ronan.
As badly as I want to be back in his arms, as terribly as I miss him, I desperately don’t want him to come here. I can’t bear it if something happens to him because of me.
The silence is agonizing. The entire camp has gone still, so still I can hear the quiet rush of the Mara, so quiet I can hear the rustle of the wind blowing over the sand dunes.
I’m not certain anyone is even here anymore.
There isn’t a single cough, a single scrape of a chair leg on the bare ground, a single jangle of chainmail.
I might be alone here. I don’t have Ronan’s gift, but I’m willing to bet my life there’s no one outside the tent at this moment. No one is this quiet.
I cross back to the desk as quickly as I can. I lower my body, baring my ankle from beneath my ancient nightgown and stretching my toes until they contact the handle of a drawer.
Then I throw myself backwards towards the bed, snatching the drawer out and back as far as I can.
It’s the elixir drawer, I realize as I hear the sound of glass clinking. There are several brown bottles within it, not just the cologne Seth used earlier.
I rush back to search the drawer. Nothing has broken, thank the gods, but I don’t know what I’m going to do with these unlabeled elixirs. They could be anything. Even opening them to smell them and identify them might be dangerous.
I pick up the first bottle, the one I’m fairly certain is the cologne, and I notice a small piece of paper adhered to the bottom.
Essence of bergamot is scrawled in tiny script.
Of course Seth would label them. I pick through the bottles as quickly as I can: silphium, reduction of willow bark, lemon balm, aloe.
Healing remedies and contraceptives. I open the silphium and give it a whiff to verify it’s correctly labeled, and it smells exactly as I expect it to: sweet and vaguely herbal, like licorice.
I take a swig of it and replace the bottle.
I’m ready to give up and try the next drawer when I notice the bottom of the drawer moves when I reach near the back. I press on the wood, and it gives a little, almost as if there were something beneath it.
I reach along the sides until I feel the clasp. The false bottom of the drawer releases, lifting to reveal a compartment underneath.
This is where he keeps the good stuff. A highly potent gin, oil of cannabion, tincture of belladonna, and a potion simply labeled “Sleep.” I skip the intoxicants and the deadly poison.
Putting the servant girl to sleep ought to be enough.
I creep back to the cot and slip the sleep elixir under my pillow.
Then, carefully, I replace the hidden compartment and push the drawer back to its opening. I pull down on the front with my toes to lever it upwards, freezing as the bottles roll forward. But nothing breaks, and I manage to maneuver my other foot to push until the drawer wedges back into its slot.
Then, using my arms on the ground for leverage, I kick it back with both feet until it shuts. It makes a loud slamming sound, which I cover by rushing back to the cot with my chains, taking a seat so quickly I nearly lose the sleep potion from under my pillow.
But I catch it just before it falls and slip it back into the pillowcase, lying down just as I hear the pounding of footsteps outside the tent.
The flap flies open, and a young guard in full armor enters. “Everything alright in here?”
His eyes survey the room fearfully, relaxing only when he sees me in bed.
“Fine,” I say, glancing at the desk to make sure it appears undisturbed.
Fuck. There’s a bottle I missed on the ground. It must have blended in with a dark patch on the rug.
The guard turns to where I was looking, and he’s going to see the bottle if he steps any closer. I have the sleep elixir, but I’ll need to sneak up on him to use it, which is impossible given that he’s watching me closely as he approaches.
“Can you send the servant girl? I’m having an issue. A lady issue,” I say, looking down meaningfully into my lap.
It isn’t true and won’t be for a couple more weeks, thankfully, but he doesn’t need to know that.
The guard halts abruptly, his young face blanching. “Right. Right away, ma’am.”
I breathe a sigh of relief as he backs out of the tent. This is my chance. If he sends in the servant girl alone, I can get out of here.
I’ll take her uniform and put her into the bed in my place. Then I should be able to move around the camp without notice, at least until morning. If I can find my way to a boat, I can steal Octavia’s idea and use the shadows to conceal my movements.
My hand slips into the pillowcase and retrieves the sleep elixir, uncorking it and stoppering it with my thumb. I’m not sure if this is the type that can be inhaled or if I’ll need to force her to drink it. I hope it’s the former.
It takes a moment, but she finally enters carrying fresh linens, a washbasin, and another ancient nightgown. “Sorry to hear that you’re feeling poorly, ma’am,” she says. She fills the washbasin on the floor with her water magic. “It always happens at the worst times.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” I say, and she smiles at me. Just a little closer.
“Let’s get you cleaned up then,” she says, reaching for the key in her pocket to release my chains.
I’ll let her open the right shackle, and then I’ll shove the elixir in her face.
If she doesn’t collapse, I’ll drop my shadow and pour it in her mouth before she can react.
I hold out my right arm first, keeping my left arm with the vial concealed under the sheets.
She unlocks the clasp, completely unsuspecting. She’s muttering about how cold it is out and how she’ll need to heat the water on the fire, and I’m grateful I went for the sleep elixir, not the belladonna.
She reaches for my left hand. “I’m sorry,” I say, but just before I shove the elixir in her face, I feel something stir in my chest.
My shadows. The physical ones; they’re here. Which means—
“Griffin!” someone shouts from outside.
I shove the servant back with my shadows and reach into her pocket for the key as she cries out. I turn it in the remaining shackle, freeing myself.
I can feel him. Ronan is there. Godsdammit, Larus must not have gotten to him to tell him not to come.
Or he did, and Ronan didn’t listen.
“I love you, you absolute moron,” I say as I stride across the tent. As terrified as I am for him, I’m even more desperate to see him again. Knowing that he can sense me too, I tell him that through our connection.
I love you. I missed you. Please don’t die.
I tear back the flap and rush into the cool night air.
The camp is awake. Dozens of soldiers run about, shooting arrows and readying ballistae. They’re pointing and shouting up at the sky, and then I see them.
He’s falling. Ronan is falling from Kira’s back, and someone is still on the griffin. They’re all tumbling to the ground.
Oh, gods. They hit him.