I look up at him, my eyes burning. "She's likely already dead," I say. "That's who I was trying to save when you captured me." My voice is bitter. Angry. "She was executed this morning in Stonehill, at least according to the letter I received." And now I know why. Levi, that bastard, must have found out what she was and had her killed. I will destroy him when I find him, that I vow. But why Fen? Why was he killed too? He probably did something stupid in defense of her. Stupid man.
I will my tears away and stare at the other stupid man in front of me. "Looks like your people have lost your hope," I say, praying my words act as a dagger in his gut.
But he doesn't look upset. He looks mildly bemused, which just pisses me off more. "She's not dead," he says.
"How would you know?" It's a hope my heart still clings to, but I don’t trust my captor.
"Her magic yet lives. Those of us connected deeply to ourselves can feel the awakening. Midnight Star is alive. So your friend must be as well. I would know if she had died."
Our break is short lived, and he has me back on the horse and clipping along at a fast pace, presumably to make up the time lost on my near breakdown. "Truly?" I ask him again, for the fifth time.
"Truly," he says. "I may be a vampire-killing, princess-capturing bastard, but I am no liar."
I choke out a half laugh at his words. "At least you have standards," I say sarcastically.
But he nods gravely. "A man’s word should be trustworthy. For when we are stripped of all that made us what we were, we have only our word left." He turns again to look at me. "I promise you this, Princess… I will sell you to whoever will give me the best price. I'm not claiming to be a good man. But I'm no monster. I will protect you on this journey. I will not harm you or let harm come to you. And I will not lie to you."
"I could almost like you," I say, "if you'd just drop the part where you sell me to the highest bidder like a slave."
He turns around abruptly. "War breeds a necessary kind of evil in all it touches. It turns even good men into raiders, killers, thieves."
His words sound much like my thoughts of late, and I look down, memories of burning villages and crying children filling me with shame and sorrow.
We travel a few more hours in silence before stopping for the night. My feelings are spilling all over each other—spiraling into a cacophony of fear and hope. If Tavian is right and Ari is still alive, does that mean Fen yet lives? Did they escape? That's the only thing I can figure. Levi wouldn't have altered their sentence once he'd taken a public stance. Which means there might still be time. To help them. Save them. To do something.
I have to get back to Stonehill, and right now we're going in the wrong direction. I do my part to help make camp, which includes collecting dry wood for the fire. I could run now, but I would have no supplies. So I plan.
Later, as we sit around the fire, I pass Tavian his dinner, a stew made from fresh meat he caught cooked with vegetables I foraged.
And then I wait.
It takes longer than it should.
Perhaps I underestimated the dose. Tavian is a big man, all muscle and brawn. But eventually he begins to slur his words and slant to one side, unable to sit up straight. I move to him and help him into a sleeping position. Then, once he's fully unconscious—thanks to some herbs I slipped into his meal—I tie up his feet and hands.
Part of me hates leaving him here this way. Drugged. Tied up. Without a horse, since I will take his to get back to Stonehill.
But I shrug off my guilt. He's Fae. He'll find help. And he tried to kidnap me and sell me to my enemies. Surely he doesn't deserve my sympathy.
Still. He saved my life. Nursed me back to health. And he has treated me kindly. For that, I leave him some food, the bed roll, and his sword. He'll be able to work out of the knots eventually, leaving me enough time to escape.
I stoke the fire and add wood to it, to keep night critters from getting to him. As I do, my hand plunges too close to the fire, and I pull back, expecting the bite of a burn, but instead, I feel nothing. I see nothing. I turn my hand back and forth, waiting for the tell-tale redness and swelling to show, but it doesn't. As a blacksmith I've had my share of burns, and I know this should have hurt. I wave my hand through the fire again.
When the fire does not react to my skin, I plunge my hand deeper into the flames, then pull it out. I'm covered in sweat, but not from the heat. My hand is perfect. Not a mark on it.
I don't know what this means, but I don't have time to dwell on it now. Instead, I retrieve my sword, pack some supplies, and mount the horse. I've lost too much time already. I must be off before the drugs run through Tavian's system and he awakens.
It's slow traveling in the pitch of night, despite one of the moons being near full. The coverage of trees keeps everything cloaked in heavy darkness, and I have to walk my steed slowly to avoid breaking his leg.
So I hear it right away.
The crunch of twigs in the distance.
The sound of a large body moving through tree and brush.
The heavy breathing of an animal far larger than me.
And then there is a great roar, and the horse whinnies and bucks, throwing me to the ground as it darts off into the night.
"Blast it all to hell!" I whisper through my shaking teeth as I try to right myself. There's another roar. I pull out my sword and squint, trying to see something other than the silhouette of trees in the darkness.