Chapter 21
P ain seared through Alora’s neck, over the entire expanse of her back, and down to her ankles. And if she wasn’t being constantly tussled, maybe she could bear the discomfort. But the heavy steps of the horse, which they had slumped her over, shot torturous sparks through her shoulders.
Lungs on fire because of her crushing weight, she steadied a shaken breath through her nose, only to be met with a strong male stench laced with the sweat of the horse, molded leather, and a mess of damp moss, grass, and bark.
It wasn’t Garrik. A sharp pain stabbed through her heart.
He wasn’t who she had followed for so long. For so far.
Through her sweater, she felt the warmth of a broad hand on her lower back, holding her in that horrendous position like a sack of wheat. Not soft or gentle. His fingers gripped mercilessly, digging into her fiery skin like daggers. Possessive. Demanding.
Where Garrik’s hands had been. Where he had claimed her and run his fingers.
But this touch. This male touching her ...
Bile burned her throat. Get your hands off me. She wanted to scream it. Take the sword sheathed to the male’s side and shove it through his disgusting throat, but then he’d know she was awake. And that couldn’t happen.
Not yet.
It took every ounce of strength in her to remain silent.
The element of surprise would be her only ally. Remain motionless. Allow them to think she was still unconscious while she gained as much information as she could. Once she conjured a plan, it would be easier to escape. If they didn’t have a purpose for her, surely she would have been killed … or worse by now.
Every step of the horse carried her further from camp. And without a clear path back, she’d be running in circles all night once she slipped from their hands.
If she even managed to.
How long had she been out? How far and where did they plan on taking her?
They— another important question. If she were to escape, how many were there she’d have to fight?
Alora struggled to open her eyes, but the moment they slit—darkness … with specks of light like the stars.
Blindfolded.
At least they couldn’t see she was now awake. Couldn’t tell she was listening.
Listening! Until now, she hadn’t been listening.
“… concealed until we’re over the mountain.” It was her rider speaking.
A younger male voice, maybe five feet behind them, snarled, “I may be new here, but I know what I’m doing, Kyr. Worry about your own damn job.”
Her rider’s hand pressed deeper into her back as if in response. He deepened a breath, but another voice ahead of them called back, “Both of you shut up. He’ll be looking for her. I’d rather him not hear your fucking mouths. I don’t plan on dying today.”
“That won’t happen.” Yes, it will. When Garrik finds us— “I’ve taken care of it. We can speak freely,” the male behind calmly noted.
It seemed to satisfy her rider enough that he bent forward, calling to whoever rode in front. “What will it be this time? The Pass or Lord’s Markets?”
A heavy, almost bored sigh resounded in front of them. “I’m not waiting. We’d have better luck in the markets. Silas won’t be doing pickups right now. He’s too busy kissing royal ass until next week.”
One of them laughed to her right, voice rough and laced with sheer male arrogance, while another snorted behind.
“Then again…” her captor—rider— prick said. The horse's steps in front slowed. A hand brushed across the back of her head, and she fought off the urge to steal her rider's sword and cut it off. “A white-haired will pay triple. Likely more. She’s rare.”
A burst of embers rippled through her veins, speaking about her as if she were a specially bred beast for sale. So that was her purpose? To be sold to the highest bidder to make them a little coin? And by how they spoke, she likely wasn’t their first victim.
Another voice called from the left. It sounded like someone had slapped a shoulder before his voice rose in excitement. “He’d petition Ladomyr to make us lords for this prized bitch. No one has seen a white-haired in over five hundred years.”
Alora stiffened. What?
Leather gloves gripped her thigh. “Our prize pony is awake,” he hummed. A sinister laugh echoed before her rider shifted in his saddle. Then she heard the pop of a button and felt a burning sting shoved into her neck.
Something settled in her head. Like slowly drifting further into a darkened tunnel.
No, no, no!
Sucking in a breathy hiss, she attempted to slow her racing heartbeat. Desperately willing her mind to do something, to make her arms move or her legs to kick— anything . But the darkness convinced her body otherwise. Rolling in a burning wave from her neck to her toes. Welcoming her back to its comforting world without any of the pain and fear, no matter how badly she begged it to allow her to stay. To fight.
No. This darkness was ruthless and carried her away.
At last, when her eyes fluttered open, she was no longer slumped over a horse blindfolded. No longer moving. The darkness wrapped around her eyes had been traded for a star-gilded night sky peeking through a canopy of trees.
The first thing she realized was how incredibly cold the ground was. Kneeling on packed dirt under a tall ash tree, it was freezing, devastatingly hard, and forced unforgiving pain into her knees. The next thing she noticed was the pounding in her head. A heavy fog clouded her eyes, too, making it incredibly hard to focus.
Alora tried to lift her arms, but they felt so heavy, wrists still shackled behind her. Pinpricks danced up and down from her fingertips to her shoulders and made them as numb as her lips.
Forcing herself to blink, to focus, an ember sparked in her gut at what waited in sight.
Don’t panic.
Cages. At least four.
Spread around a campsite that had long since been set up. Pathways were worn into the tall grass of a small clearing. Her position against the tree was worn down to dirt, telling her she likely wasn’t the first to be forced there. A fire flickered down to embers, smoldering enough smoke to burn her nose, and five large tents, as large as Garrik’s, had been erected in a semicircle beyond the fire with five horses tied behind.
Alora stifled a whimper.
Through the heavy fog inside her mind, she continued calmly scanning. The males with unknown faces weren’t there, but their horses were. Which was a pity because, as she struggled against the shackles, a scorching sensation rippled through her veins. Reminding her who she was.
Who she was trained to be.
Their first mistake; luring her into the woods and believing her to be a female fit for ballgowns. One that couldn’t fight. Who cowered and allowed brutal hands to manipulate and command and imprison her.
Although, she couldn’t blame them. Males always acted superior, like they owned the realm and could take whatever they wanted without repercussions.
Alora gritted her teeth as scorching heat sunk into her bones. She hadn’t gallivanted around screaming to the skies that she had starfire.
That was something they were going to learn. Painfully.
Their second mistake; the fools had bound her hands behind her. She could’ve laughed if it weren’t for needing to remain silent.
Thalon’s voice barreled through her.
She pictured his monstrous figure towering above her, along with twelve others, as she had squirmed in coarse ropes tied to her feet and wrists by a mountain stream one blisteringly hot afternoon.
Presenting careful instruction, he had paced. Face stern in front of his line of willing captives kneeling before the pines while her High Prince had stood, arms crossed over his chest, observing.
‘Don’t put yourselves in a position to be caught off guard. Always bind the hands in front.’ He had knelt and pulled Alora’s wrists forward, scanning the swelling before carefully dropping them to her lap and offering her a reassuring smile. ‘If bound in the back, it makes it impossible to see the hands.’
A twisted smile contorted her face. These fools had done just that.
What they also didn’t know was those months of extensive Dragon training in weaponry and strategy not only taught her how to fight and move and plan, but Garrik insisted that each of his Dragons learned the art of lock picking. Oh, how her High Prince hadn’t been satisfied until the invaluable instruction on the effectiveness of pressure positions, and escape measures when trapped in cells, locked doors, and shackles was seared into memory.
No stranger to bonds from Kaine’s abuse, she’d quickly become exemplary at it. Years spent picking locked doors and sneaking from the manor. Only she didn’t know that her Dragon training had started years before she joined them.
Plus, having starfire made escaping ropes incredibly effortless.
‘Use what you can use.’
Alora smiled. Thanks, Thalon.
Too bad they had shackled her in iron. It meant she required a little more effort.
Within minutes, the standard Raven’s shackles resounded in a metallic click, no louder than a whisper. The irons hinged open. Releasing her screaming wrists in relief as she soundlessly laid them on the dirt, then made quick work of the ankle shackles.
Two tents fluttered to her right. No one sat by the fire, but it would be unlikely they had left her alone without a sentry posted.
So, Alora listened. Waiting for the snap of a branch or the crinkling of leaves. But nothing came. If someone was out there, she couldn’t determine their position, and that made escaping even less likely.
If only she had Garrik’s powers, then maybe …
Sapphires widened. Forges pounded in her heart.
Can you hear me? she called on that silver tether … called across that endless sky and darkness. Please be listening. Please.
Like at the lake, when she had heard his voice trailing so far away until it was nothing at all … silence answered.
Burning tears collected in her eyes, but she fought them back. Now wasn’t the time.
How far had they taken her if Garrik couldn’t hear her? He would’ve answered her call. There was no doubting that. Maybe she’d been passed out for far longer than a few hours. Maybe days?
If she couldn’t reach him, that had to be the reason. And if it had been days, then she needed to move. Right now .
Satisfied with one last scan, Alora slipped behind the tree and tore off into a choppy sprint. Tripping over her boots as her vision narrowed in and out.
Camp. Her friends— Garrik. Garrik was out there.
She only had to get to them.
They were headed northwest toward Kadamar. Toward the Blackstone Mountains. She only had to work out her position and head southeast. Either that or find her way to the border. Find somewhere to rest and wait. But would Garrik move the army without her?
Trees glitched by as she battled the urge to look back. It would only slow her down and waste time she didn’t have.
She slammed into a tree and fingertips dug into the bark to steady her.
Had they hit her that hard? The wound on her head was dry. The effects should’ve worn off by now. The dizziness, the ache, and numbness in her fingers and toes. The dullness and fog spinning in her mind made it increasingly harder and harder to run, let alone find what she sought.
There had to be a way. The stars. A tree. A rock. Something.
Blinking, she shook her head once to fight off a wave of dizziness. Her eyes finally focused.
There.
Nearly ten feet in front of her. Growing on a boulder was moss.
A wave of hope bubbled in her chest. Thank every single star and Maker of the Skies . Thank her left boot if it had anything to do with it because there was a solid indication of what direction she needed to run.
Alora twisted to the southeast with a determined grit in her jaw and took off running.
Can you hear me? Please!
Shivers ruthlessly pricked down her spine when Garrik still didn’t answer.
Why can’t you hear me!? Frustration wanted to tear her throat apart, but she snuffed out her anger and threw it into what little strength her limbs still held.
She hadn’t run far. She knew that. Following the moon to her right shoulder, her movements were sluggish. Footsteps choppy. The ground moved like she swam against a merciless current, only gaining a few inches an hour.
The blow to the back of her head must’ve been a lot worse than she’d originally thought. What else could it be?
Cold air whispered around her hair, which whipped behind her like the tail of a shooting star. Pounding her footsteps into the leaves, pine needles scattered along the forest as trees flew by. One by one, she veered around them, brushing an aching shoulder or unsuccessfully avoiding cracking a knee when her reaction time couldn’t steady her legs.
Branches sliced into her sweater, bringing the warmth of blood soaking the fabric.
But none of that mattered. She didn’t feel any of it. Forced forward by pure determination and adrenaline.
Her legs refused to stop. Even when she saw a downed tree in front of her, she scrambled straight for it and jumped.
But the ground?—
It wasn’t there.
Unable to hold it in, Alora yelped as she fell. Rolling over rocks that slammed into her ribs, she desperately clawed at trees and bushes.
Alora plummeted further and further down a steep hill as the world attacked her body, catching glimpses of the sky as she was thrown around again and again.
Something was going to break. A leg or arm, so she pulled them into her body, giving up the hope of stopping herself.
Something cracked.
She continued to fall until the world finally stopped.
Alora had slammed into a pillow of grass, barely missing a rock a foot from her head.
She opened her mouth, loosening an agonized groan that brought wicked attention to her side. To that branch lodged below her ribs that sent white-hot pain spurting from the wound.
The branch—it wasn’t long. She didn’t need to snap it to avoid it catching on anything. But she couldn't remove it either. That could make it worse.
An animalistic growl snarled through her gritted teeth as she forced herself through the pain to sit up and roll to her shaking hands and knees.
This wasn’t how she would die. This is not how a lioness dies.
‘You are sunstorms and starfire. Refuse to surrender.’ Stars, hearing Garrik’s voice … feeling him there …
Pushing up from the forest floor, she attempted to steady herself, but the world seemed to press down on her shoulders and strike another blow. Any balance she hoped for was completely gone. Her only hope was to crawl.
Alora sucked in sharp breaths like shattered glass, spitting droplets of blood between her teeth. With each wavering press of her palms or step of her knees, Elysian seemed to laugh. Making it all but six feet before her body gave out.
In the fall … she hadn’t noticed a shadow moving. Hadn’t heard the footsteps.
Boots crowded her vision now.
Slowly, Alora struggled to lift her head. Her breathing uneven, a sliver of hope sparked inside her heart at the slow survey of the figure.
Black boots. Black pants.
The figure crouched over her, and she almost cried out. Almost .
A leather glove stroked blood-matted hair behind her ear. It traveled across the sliced flesh of her bleeding cheek to tenderly trace her lips before it fell to her neck and stroked there, too.
Tears of hope fell as she blinked and struggled to look up into the moonlit face dipping from the darkness.
That hand stroking her neck began to squeeze cruelly, cutting off what little air she could breathe before a horrifyingly familiar voice snickered, “Going somewhere, princess?”