Chapter Eleven
Isla
You should have listened to me, Isla. You shouldn’t have asked so many questions. You should have trusted me. You promised you trusted me,” Oliver spits.
Confusion sweeps my body; panic claws up my throat. Why is he here? Why isn’t he helping me? When did he get here? He looks down at my back and visibly shudders. I open my mouth to speak, but words won’t come. Oliver shakes his head in disappointment.
“Now look at what you did. You’re ruined. You didn’t listen, Isla. You should have listened.” His voice doesn’t sound right. The look of anger on his face isn’t familiar. Oliver delicately slides his knuckles over my cheek. “Why did you make me do this?”
Before I can ask him what he means, he lunges. My heart dips as I fall.
“Isla, wake up! It’s time. Get up,” Raia keeps shoving my shoulders gently, trying to rouse me from the terrors that swim in my sleep. I swat at her hands as I lay on my stomach. The pain from my back slowly easing from a week of being in and out.
“What time is it?” I mumble.
“It’s time to go. Get up. I need to help you get dressed. I heard the guards discussing us being moved today. Your back is healed enough; they want to get a move on.” Raia pushes off the damp floor.
She sighs.
I wish I could say my goodbyes to Healer Sibley, to thank him for his kind heart and his teachings, for taking a chance on me.
Dream Oli’s words keep echoing in my head.
Guilt threatens to swallow me whole as the feelings of mistrust have leaked their way in during talks of the rebellion.
I shake the dream from my thoughts, willing myself to ignore the lingering dread it brings.
Keys clang against the cell door. Guards bark their orders. Raia and I are led down to the jolly traders’ carriage. Every step is a step closer to my death, like a march to the hangman’s noose.
“Just keep going. One foot in front of the other. We’ll figure this out,” Raia whispers under her breath.
Ever the optimist, my best friend believes with every fiber that we aren’t going to be sold to the prince’s flesh market, that somehow, we’ll get out of this.
All I feel is numb.
Every promise and whisper from Oliver is now a mere dream, a long-lost memory that will never come to be again. But wasn’t it always? Isn’t that what I told him? That I was tired of waiting for him?
I stand with Raia amongst the small contingent set for the castle.
Does he know I won’t be here when he gets back?
Will he send for me? Rage against his family?
See this as a betrayal? A million questions swim in my head.
Duke Alastair and Henry speak to the six guards that accompany us to the castle.
“I didn’t realize he would spare so many men for this?” I look at Raia who tries to glare holes into the coach in front of us. If her eyes could light a fire, the entire thing would be in flames.
“The Duke is scared of the Hood. Why wouldn’t he protect his investment? His gift to the crown?” Raia scowls. I shake my head and nudge her.
“Raia,” I hiss. Mention of the Hood is a sore spot and this close to the Duke’s family, there would be hell to pay for speaking his name.
“Listen up, lassies,” a toothless, greasy trader demands on top of his dark bay horse.
“It’ll be a four-day journey to the castle.
My name’s Milo and my fancy partner over there is Horace.
You’ll listen & listen good, d’ya ‘ear me? There will be no back talkin.’ You’re at the mercy of us now,” he snarls as his horse nervously paces.
Horace grins from the top of the carriage. He winks at me, sending a wave of nausea through me.
“Move Isla,” Raia gently pushes me towards the carriage.
I take a deep breath, ignoring the dull ache in my back, and make my way inside the dark room.
There’s another young girl traveling with us.
She’s entirely too skinny. A baggy brown, woolen dress hangs from her small frame.
Her pale skin is mottled in yellowing, old bruises.
Another snap from the Jolly trader has my attention turning back to the coach in front of us.
It feels like a funeral procession as we load the coach.
Bitterness and resentment emanate from Raia, but dread keeps her quiet and obedient.
The coach pulls away from the estate, barely giving us time to settle.
I take another deep breath, attempting to compose myself.
My eyes are closed as I feel Raia grip my hand and squeeze it.
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “We’ll make it to the castle, and I’ll get word to Oli. He’ll fix this. I know he will.” I reassure her. I try to keep repeating the words in my head, over and over, but every foot farther away from the estate, causes my heart to sink more and more.
Several hours later, the young girl speaks up. There’s a small tremor in her voice. “Where are they taking you two?”
“The castle, you?” Raia asks.
“A brothel two villages from here. Milo, the trader missing the two teeth, explained that they’re trading me there. Apparently, there’s a mistress looking for a younger crop for her house.”
“Ho-how,” I stutter, my chest a ball of nerves. “How long have you been in this trade?”
“Only about two or three weeks now, I think. The Duke of Kensington sold me into the trade as punishment for my parents’ crimes.
They joined the rebellion to fight the growing taxes.
It was the only way the prince would grant me mercy for my relation to my parents.
” The girl stares vacantly in the distance.
There’s no light in her eyes. She’s completely resigned to the life she was dealt.
“The Prince?”
She sighs.
“They didn’t want to join. They fought and tried to sell everything, but the taxes were too steep.
Everything was too much. The taxes, the curfew, the strain in the village.
So for punishment in not instilling enough loyalty to the crown, Prince Cailean raised the taxes to an unbearable amount.
It did the opposite of what he wanted though.
The rebellion only grew. I’m not sure what happened to them,” she explains, her voice barely above a whisper. A tear runs down her face.
“What’s your name?” Raia asks tenderly.
“Maisie,” she whispers.
“I just don’t get it,” anger rushes through me. “If Prince Cailean is actually enslaving his people and attacking villages, how can this rebellion continue? How do they have hope?”
Raia rolls her eyes, but before she can respond, Maisie speaks up again. “The Hood and his men guide them.”
“But Oliver—“ I start.
“Oliver lied, Isla. He’s been lying the entire time,” Raia snaps. I want to ask more, to ask how much she knows, but both of my coach mates shut their eyes and turn towards the coach walls, finishing the conversation for now.
∞∞∞
My bones are achy and stiff from sitting still the entire day. The dull ache from my back now screams in a pounding pain. While my wounds have healed enough, they’re not bleeding, they’re still tender to touch. The hours have dragged on, until the coach slowly stops.
“Well, this be it. We’ll stop here for the night.” One of the traders explains. He opens the door and motions for all of us to get out.
“Why are we stopping here?” Raia asks.
“Grove ain’t safe at night. Best we sleep here.” Horace replies. The trader turns away from us, untying the crates from the back of the coach. He looks back over at us.
“Come on, move. Camp won’t set itself up!
” He barks. Wind whispers through the leaves of the old oaks while the sun quickly dips under the trees.
I pause, waiting for the familiar caress of the trees, only to feel the throbbing pain from my lash marks.
We stay on the well-travelled trade routes through the forest. The road is well worn and wide.
An hour later, the tents are pitched and the fire is started. The full moon hangs in the sky, casting a peaceful glow over the trees. Raia and I keep close to each other, huddled together, eating the dried cod that was thrown at us. “We have to get out of this,” I whisper to her.
“We need to look at your back. I only have a little salve left. We’ll never be able to run in your condition,” she reminds me. A pitiful look crosses her face in the firelight.
“Please, sir. Please,” Maisie cowers next to Milo. He grips her arm roughly, as his nose slides against her temple. His tongue scrapes her pale skin.
“You’re coming with me,” he wrenches her roughly to him. Anger rushes through me, causing me to jump up from my seat, ignoring the pain pulling at my back and Raia tugging at me.
“Hey! Leave her alone!” I shout.
“Isla!” Raia whispers. “What do you think you are doing?”
Milo instantly releases the girl and in three large steps, he grips my throat.
“And just what are you going to do?” His hot breath feels sticky against my cheek.
“Would ya like to take her place, eh? Volunteerin’ for ya first job, eager to spread ya legs?
Or do ya just think you’re so invincible since you’re marked for the crown? ”
I struggle in his grip, making him squeeze tighter. Black dots dance across my eyes. “I’m going to show you just how untouchable you are, right here. Let’s show ya friends what to expect. Time to learn the trade, bitch.”
No. All the reasoning leaves my body as rage fills it up.
“Fuck you,” I spit.
Milo raises his hand, but before I can feel the sting across my face, a pfft pfft pfft sounds from the trees. He reaches for his neck as an arrow slices through it.
All I can focus on is the gargling of blood and panic in his wide, soul-less eyes. How familiar the sight of it is. The haunting, lifeless look in his eyes, so reminiscent of my papa.
My ears ring as men are shouting. More arrows land in the guards that are with us. I stand there and watch the life bleed out of the greasy skin trader at my feet.
“Isla,” Raia grabs me. “Isla! Run! Go!”