Chapter 35
MYRA
"This was not the plan," someone nearby hissed as Myra slowly regained consciousness.
Her head spun as if someone had tossed her into a barrel and rolled it down a hill.
She blinked, trying to rid her vision of the darkness that enveloped her, but it did her no good.
When she opened her eyes again, shadows still consumed her vision.
Her heart rate kicked up, her memory of leaving the inn returning.
A large lump was forming on the back of her head where her attacker had hit her.
She attempted to steady her breathing, to overcome the rising panic.
Slow, quiet breath in.
She focused on her surroundings, the things she could feel.
Shadows did not blanket her; rather, someone had tied a soft cotton fabric around her head. As she exhaled, the heat of her breath came back into her mouth. Her tongue brushed against a rod.
She kept going, assessing the situation, taking in whatever details she could.
Her wrists burned, and something rough and itchy dug into her skin. She wiggled her fingers, and the pads scraped against a rough material she could only assume was the bark of a tree. Had they tied her to a tree?
She was blindfolded, gagged, and restrained.
Myra tried to recall what the man had said.
This was not the plan.
What wasn’t? What was the plan if not to knock her out and tie her up? Who even were they? How many were there? Their voices were completely foreign to her, but so far, she had only identified two unique ones.
Why had they even taken her? Her mind reeled with the possibilities.
Tears pricked her eyes. Drool dripped from her mouth, dribbling around the gag and down her chin.
Through the darkness, vibrant red tendrils of anger swatted around her. But there was something else there, something beneath the violent slashes of hate. It coated her tongue and was as sour as an unripe lemon.
"Look," the second voice said, "she was the first one who came out and the easiest to grab. There was no time to question things. They’ll come for her. I promise."
Beneath the blindfold, Myra’s eyes widened.
Fear wrapped around her neck, strangling her.
Panic vibrated through her body, but she didn’t dare move.
Instead, she thought of Kallie. When the Pontians had ransacked their carriage on the way to Frenzia the first time, Kallie had not panicked.
She had remained calm. She had discovered what their captors’ intentions were before she had made her move.
Myra let the scent of late autumn calm her nerves—the warmth of the leaves, the notes of pine hanging in the air. She could do this. She could be like Kallie. She could—
"And if they don’t?" the other demanded before Myra could finish building up her courage.
"They will," the first said. Although the man spoke with confidence, Myra caught a whiff of doubt, and her stomach twisted with nausea.
Perspiration coated her palms despite the cold air that brushed her skin.
Would Laurince and Rian come after her? While she considered them to be her friends, what if they believed she had abandoned them?
What if they didn’t know she had been taken until it was too late?
How would they even know how to find her?
Myra didn’t know how long she had been knocked out or how far they had traveled.
Once again, she was totally and completely useless.
"The woman promised they would," the man who had grabbed her added after a moment.
"Yeah, like you can trust a woman who sells drinks and beds for a living."
Myra went rigid. Did they mean the innkeeper? If so, why would she tell the men that Laurince and Rian would come find Myra if they took her? Why did they want—
They knew.
It was the only plausible answer. They knew Rian was the king. They were after him. And they were using her to get to him. She wanted to laugh, to cry. Her life was not worth the life of a king.
"If they don’t, we’ll just find out where they are going from her."
Even though she couldn’t see the men, she could sense their eyes turning to her. Their attention was sticky and latched onto every pore.
"And if she doesn’t tell us?"
"We’ll get it out of her."
The man’s promise sent a line of goosebumps crawling down Myra’s spine.
Who was she kidding? She wasn’t Kallie. She could barely even wield a sword despite Laurince’s efforts.
"I don’t hurt women," the other man whispered, vitriol staining his words.
"For this amount of money?" He huffed a laugh. "You’ll do whatever needs to be done."
Leaves crunched. Footsteps approached. A boot lodged into her side, the man’s toes smashing into her ribcage.
Agony surged through her, and Myra released a sharp cry.
One man grabbed her by the back of her tender head.
White splotches filled her vision as she tried to hold back a sob as his palm pressed against the fresh wound.
"For your sake, girl," he hissed, his hot breath searing her skin, "you better hope your friends come."
The tears that had been gathering on her lash-line fell, soaking the blindfold. The damp fabric stuck to the tops of her pale cheeks.
Myra stayed silent, though, not daring to speak a word. She refused to betray Laurince and Rian. No matter what the men did to her, she would not break. Not this time. Not again.
Never again.
So as her ribcage throbbed and her wrists burned, Myra was stuck between hoping Laurince and Rian would save her and praying they wouldn’t come at all.
She really regretted not taking that knife that morning.