15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Why didn’t you tell me your strength had returned?”
They’d spent the day travelling through a narrow mountain path before descending into another wooded area for the night. Although it had been an easy climb, the uneven, rocky terrain had been hard on Alena’s blistered feet.
Putting one foot in front of the other, she’d tried to ignore the painful friction of her boots against her skin. If she slowed or stopped, Scorilo would curse at her, whip in hand. As he liked to remind her, the caravan did not stop for anything or anyone.
By nighttime, a mix of dirt and blood covered her bandaged feet. She gritted her teeth and peeled back the linen cloth, revealing the angry red flesh beneath. Taking a deep breath, she doused her blistered feet with water from her cup, and a hiss of pain escaped her.
“I wasn’t sure at first,” Katell answered, offering her own cup. “I could still sense my magic. It felt like a small flame within me that I was unable to reach. Like something simmering under my skin or in my blood, yet out of reach. But I sensed it grow stronger with each passing day.”
Alena covered her blisters with bits of moss to staunch the bleeding and help them heal faster. “But how is that possible? Did Kurush stop blocking your magic on purpose? Did he forget?”
Her sister shook her head. “I don’t know, but it still hasn’t fully returned. Either he’s helping us for some reason, or my Gift has found a way to overcome his. Perhaps my magic is stronger.”
Or Alena had been right before, and it was a trap, but neither of them wanted to admit it out loud. They needed to believe that escape was possible. They were already facing impossible odds, and Katell’s strength was their only advantage.
Alena bandaged her feet again with care before slipping on her worn leather boots. Soon, Scorilo and Titus would lead them out into the woods to relieve themselves, per usual, and that was the moment Katell planned to attack.
Alena didn’t agree with her sister’s plan and had tried to argue, but it had been an impossible task under the slavers’ constant watch.
Regardless of Katell’s deal with Leukos, Alena would never leave her behind. They’d promised each other to stick together no matter what, and in her mind, that included escaping their captors.
The slavers left to feed the Non-Humans, and Alena searched for Leukos in the line of prisoners. He was propped against the grooved bark of an ash tree, and his eyes were closed. Wrapped in his dark blue cloak, the sharp angles of his face seemed to be chiselled from stone under the pale moonlight. Black strands of hair tumbled across his forehead and bestowed upon him a beauty that left Alena captivated.
Leukos was painfully handsome, and his guarded demeanour only heightened the sense of intrigue that surrounded him. How had the son of a Silver Shield ended up caught by slavers?
Berating herself for ogling while he napped, Alena turned her attention to the night sky instead. Through the thick canopy of trees, the moon cast an eerie, silver glow on the camp.
“Kat, look! It’s the full moon.”
Her sister stopped spying on the slavers and followed her gaze.
Alena leaned back against a damp log, searching the stars. “Do you think they’re getting ready for the lunar festival back home?”
It was still painful to talk about Camp Bessi. Their only home that now wanted them dead.
“I suppose,” Katell answered with a shrug. “I doubt anything has changed since we’ve left.”
Alena smiled. “Like the men discussing their flocks while the women do all the work?”
Her sister scoffed. “I’d bet my sword that Demetrius and Scylas’ father are arguing right now about who has the fattest sheep this year.”
Alena let memories of Camp Bessi’s lunar festival envelop her. The smell of mutton stew filled with lentils and onions. The sweet taste of honey and goat’s cheese cakes that guests from Camp Lukim always brought. The sound of bells and harps that resonated in the air as the Freefolk sang and danced around the campfire.
Her father had always loved the excitement within the camp during the festival preparations.
“I would kill for a taste of mutton stew right now.” A hint of a smile crossed Katell’s lips. “And one of Elder Yorn’s tales about her journey to the Freefolk camps. She always had the best stories.”
The old woman had fled from Achaea to Camp Bessi years before they’d arrived and had developed a friendship with their father. Her final words in the elders’ tent echoed in Alena’s head. “She knew our mother, you know.”
“Who? Elder Yorn?”
“Yes. Before she died, she said our mother was a formidable woman. She was the one who got the necklace back for me.”
“She was always close to Damocles. I guess she must have known about his secret.”
Alena tensed as Titus rummaged around the supply cart. “We need to retrieve that necklace somehow. It’s the only clue we have.”
Katell stared at the slaver, her deep green eyes reflecting a steely resolve, unwavering and determined. “We’ll find a way. Even if they take it, trust me, we’ll get it back.”
Once again, Katell was set on sacrificing herself to save her family. She’d done so for years, taking any opportunity she could to leave camp with Scylas and the other hunters, unaware of the tears Alena always concealed.
“I’m sorry about Scylas,” Alena found herself saying. “I wish he’d come with us.”
Katell gave her a tight smile. “Scylas’ place was always with his family. The camp will look to him now that the elders are dead. He’ll join the Council and lead soon enough.”
“I wish we hadn’t left the way we did,” Alena said with a heavy heart.
“Me too.”
Shouts rang out, and the slavers approached the lines of prisoners, ready to lead them into the pitch-black forest for the night.
Alena’s heart quickened as they stood. It was time.
The plan was simple. Under the cover of darkness, Katell would attack Scorilo and Titus and lead the others away while Alena and Leukos escaped.
“It’s time,” Katell whispered, reaching for Alena. “Wait for my signal and don’t be afraid. I’ll keep you safe, little star. Always.”
Alena’s mouth ran dry. She grasped her sister’s hand tight one last time. Katell’s words had done nothing to appease her fears, but Scorilo and Titus were already upon them, barking orders.
The woods were a cacophony of loud slavers, chirping insects, and croaking frogs. In the mountain valley, ferns and moss thrived in the humid air and weaved a lush carpet on the ground, a blessing to Alena’s blistered feet.
She walked ahead of Katell, following a skinny, dark-skinned Parthian girl who spent most nights crying herself to sleep.
When Alena passed by Scorilo, his beady eyes lingered on her, and his mouth curved into a yellow smile. Chills erupted across her skin. He was planning something.
They headed deeper into the woods, farther than usual. The path was almost pitch-black, save for the torches the slavers carried at the front and back of the line.
Risking a peek over her shoulder, Alena spotted Titus trailing Katell.
Her stomach dropped. The slavers never stood so close to them. Did they suspect something? Had they been betrayed?
She tried to catch her sister’s eye, but Titus came between them, one hand on the pommel of his sword while the other dropped his torch to the ground.
The line halted.
Alena’s pulse roared, and her skin broke into a cold sweat. She scoured the back of the line, but the brightness of the flames stung her eyes. When she opened them again, she came face to face with Scorilo, knife in one hand.
“Hello, sweet girl.”