Chapter 6
“Here.” The Northerner gestured at a large boulder on the riverbank, my numb feet stumbling as he wrenched me to it.
“Sit.” He inspected me as I wearily lowered myself onto the rock without argument, my limbs shaking with fatigue and cold.
His critical gaze never left mine as he squatted down at the river’s edge, cupping his hands in the water and drinking.
The entire day we had followed the Silver Feather River north, the rocky terrain leaving no footprints in our wake.
We had long ago left the familiarity of the king’s private estate, which extended for thousands of acres around the castle.
Grounds I had explored every day on Asta—though not once did he let me go on my own even within his boundaries.
Two or three guards were constantly with me, but that never stopped me from venturing to the edges of the king’s property, loving the thrill of finding a new spot or galloping wildly through the forest.
It was the only time I had “alone,” even if technically I wasn’t. I could forget the guards behind and lose myself as Asta ran freely, forgetting all the obligations and pressures of my position. It was the closest to flying I could imagine.
The thrall moved in front of me, inclining until his face was close to mine, his hands reaching for my belt.
I flinched back, a shot of fear spurting into my bloodstream.
He smirked as he untied the cloth bag from my belt, his nearness unnerving me, my hate burning in my throat.
He retrieved the bag and moved away, settling down across from me.
Opening the bundle on his lap, he picked through the remnants of last night’s dinner.
Popping a piece of cold fish in his mouth, his attention rolled over me.
“You know, you should be thanking me, kanin.” He tossed another portion in his mouth.
A snorted guffaw cut through the gag, the shock at his words breaking through my barriers for a moment.
He leaned over, his two fingers pulling down the fabric around my mouth. “You scream and I will cut out your tongue.”
There was no point. The rushing river would drown out my cries, merely wasting my energy.
I stared back at him, rolling my jaw, relieved to have the soggy cloth out of my mouth. After several moments of my silence, he eased back, assured I wouldn’t be bellowing for help.
He picked up a piece of fish, holding it to my lips, his cruel eyes glinting with amusement at my predicament. Did I continue to refuse food, grow weaker, but at least hold my dignity? Or let it all go? My head was dizzy, my legs shaky, and my stomach so beyond hungry, it gnawed on itself.
Need outweighing pride, I opened my mouth, taking the food pinched between his fingers.
I tried to ignore the revulsion when his fingers slipped between my lips, the chilled trout taking over my tastebuds.
In any other circumstance I would’ve gagged at the cold unseasoned fish, spitting it out on the ground in disgust. I was used to the finest dishes, presented by the best cooks.
Starvation shredded through everything, the bite making me even more ravenous.
He sniggered as I swallowed down, picking up another piece, holding it up for me. It took everything in me not to spit it back in his face, not to vomit when his fingers pushed past my lips.
“Just think the last time you had someone feeding you, it was your husband-to-be.” His low voice always sounded as if it was dragging through rocks. “You’re welcome.”
The impudence dropped my mouth open, the fish still between my teeth.
“And here I thought a White Raven would have manners.”
“What the fuck would I be thanking you for?” I swallowed the bite, snarling at him. “For murdering my best friend, for kidnapping me?”
“Because right now you’d be married to that pathetic piece of shit.”
“You think I should thank you for that?” I spat. This time, I leaned closer to him. “He’s a thousand times better man than you, Northerner.”
A barked laugh came from him. “And I thought you’d be a better liar, kanin.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Don’t forget, I had to witness that little display on the desk.
Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have been miserable being married off to him.
He couldn’t find his own dick if given a map.
” He picked up some berries, dumping the bundle in his mouth, finishing off the food.
“But I guess you like someone spineless that you can have on their hands and knees and order around. You two would’ve been perfect together. ”
“Fuck you.” My back straightened, the insult curling my lip, loathing hazing my vision.
His mouth twitched, his face getting right into mine. “Once again . . .” His breath slid down my neck, his nose almost touching mine. “Not if you begged me.” He grabbed my gag, tightening it back over my mouth before I could fight it.
He rose from the spot. “Get up—”
Dogs howled from the distance, halting his words. My head snapped toward the sound coming from a mountain slope behind us, instantly recognizing the familiar barks.
Iskald and Runa.
Hope flooded my eyes, knowing they were okay. The hounds I had known since puppies had followed my scent and tracked me down.
“Fuck.” He clutched my arm, yanking me to my feet. The rush of optimism at the king’s soldiers finding me burrowed my shoes into the snow, using my weight to fight against him.
“Faen!” His arm wrapped around the back of my legs.
“Noooo!” I fought, but he easily tossed me over his shoulder, taking off at a run. I tried to scream for help, ignoring the gag and how the river gobbled up my voice, hoping somehow the hounds would hear me.
He splashed into the river, trying to obscure our scent. The snowy water splashed in my face like daggers, forcing me to gasp for air through the material of my gag. The Northerner trudged in deeper, the white water climbing higher up the back of his legs. His steps faltered.
I sensed the moment he lost his footing.
The suspended second before we dropped under the current.
The shock of the bitter water ripped oxygen from my lungs.
Terror curled up my throat, my tied arms prevented me from saving myself.
Surging down the river, I kicked, trying to keep my head above water.
The soaking fabric around my mouth dripped water down my throat with every gasping inhale.
The Northerner struggled against the current, trying to grab me.
There was no other thought than trying to survive, inhaling more water the further we were carried downstream.
His arms and legs wrapped around me as he used his strength to try to keep my head above water.
But at every surge and bend, the weaker we both became, our bodies bashing against boulders, sinking as the water threw us forward.
The river flipped and twirled in front of us, displaying whitecaps, then disappearing.
“Fuck!” I heard him at the same time my brain understood what was about to happen.
The river dropped, plunging to the unknown.
I could feel him trying to swim to the shore, fight the pull of the current, but the river had other ideas for us.
He reached around, tearing off my gag. “Hold your breath!” he bellowed over the rush.
Panic pounded in my chest, but I didn’t have time to do anything more than suck in oxygen before we were plunged over the ledge.
My stomach dropped as my body fell. Tumbling and rolling, my body plummeted from the high waterfall to the rocky pool below.
Pain.
It became a distant sensation as I hit the rough water, the cascade battering my bones, the river whipping me around, pulling me under, until I had no understanding of up or down. The deep instinct to survive had me fighting futilely against the bonds tying my arms behind my back.
The river was a force which took no prisoners. My lungs filled with water, the heavy cotton of my betrothal dress pulling me down to my grave. The outfit that once represented a new beginning, start of a new life, would be my burial dress.
When someone dies in our culture, they are painted with ceremonial death runes, symbols marked all over their face and body, for our deities to accept.
They are dressed in a white burial costume of bones and feathers and sent down the Silver Feather River to the Forsaken Waters of the Veiled Lands, while mourners cry and wail with the sounds of our ancestors.
When the dead reach the island of the Veiled Lands, their spirits fly free with Huginn and Muninn to the kingdom in between life and death.
Ravens’ bodies can die, but our essences continue to live on, freed from this world and honored in the next.
It was considered a privilege to die in such a way, except I knew I didn’t deserve peace. I hadn’t earned the honor.
What happens when you aren’t worthy of their call?
My mind could no longer produce coherent thoughts, the fight leaving my body. A calm stilled me as I sank further. Darkness spread over my vision, the panic through my body quieting, the river enveloping me in its watery tomb.
Then the quiet was brutally ripped from me, serenity taken in a flash of light and sound.
“No!” A growl pulsed through me, dragging me from the depths of darkness. “Breathe!”
Pressure came over my mouth and chest, air being forced down my throat and pumped from my lungs.
Water exploded out of my mouth in a gush, jackknifing my body.
My eyes burst open, and hacking and choking, I fought for a shred of air.
The peace of my demise was overturned in desperation for my life, yet I couldn’t seem to break through the surface and find relief.
I gurgled with liquid, drowning all over again.
“Fuck!”
He rolled me on my side, my face scraping against rocks as I felt a knife cut at the bonds behind my back. The rope broke away, unleashing my arms and freeing something in my lungs.