by Denali Day
Shock drenched Erik’s voice. “What?”
“She left. Rode a lumberskid down the mountain. She’s probably made it to the forest by now.”
Hollen just caught his brother’s expression of open horror as he swung himself up into the saddle and began binding his legs within the stirrups. The silence that ensued went thick with mounting judgment. Hollen focused on his task.
“Why would she do that, Hollen?”
Ivan scoffed. “Why do you think?”
Hollen lashed his weapons to the saddle. Erik waited, ever patient.
Finally, when there was no other task, Hollen met Erik’s blue gaze. His brother and closest friend regarded him coolly. “You haven’t told her. Have you?”
Hollen drew a tight breath, then released it with a downward sweep of his dark eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Erik sighed, his disapproval tangible. “You’re a good man, brother. But you can be a real idiot sometimes.”
“And a bastard,” Ivan added.
Hollen grimaced. His own sigh whirled around his face in a puff of fog. “Yeah. I know.”
Empathy seeped into Erik’s voice. “We would fly with you if we could.”
Ivan grunted, the closest he’d come to confirmation. Maybe someday his middle brother would forgive him for perceived wrongs.
Hollen nodded. He had to go. He couldn’t waste another moment in well-earned self-condemnation. If his bride was alive, she needed him. He gripped his mount, and rose into the freezing air.
20
Out of the Frying Pan
Joselyn couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. She hadn’t even realized she’d fallen through ice until the skin-peeling cold fully saturated her heavy clothes. Those clothes had nearly drowned her. She’d shed them. Now all she had was her soaking tunic, pants, and boots. Her hair was beginning to freeze as she lay panting near the jagged chasm that had swallowed her whole.
The sun hadn’t yet risen, and already, she’d nearly died. She may yet. Joselyn rolled to her side. Her mind ordered her arms to support her, but they were quaking too wildly. A hoarse scream came sputtering from her throat along with a gush of freezing water. Her cry was enough to clear some of the fog from her mind. As she lay there shaking, she shamelessly hoped that Hollen had heard. That even now he was searching for her. Unlikely.
Fear shot through her. It was more likely some malevolent creature like the blood-seeker would soon find her. Joselyn craned her neck upward to scan the snow-covered ice. None of her provisions had survived, only the gneri blade still tucked in her pants.
She was without food, water, weapons, and most importantly, dry clothes. A wave of violent tremors wracked over her. She’d never been so cold. The frost settling on her had a bite that stung deep into her muscles. She wanted to writhe. If she weren’t so consumed with shivering, she would have.
Like a dream, a vision of Hollen finding her, scooping her into his arms and taking her back to Bedmeg assailed her. She imagined him wrapping her in furs and sitting her at the fire, his warm body pressed into hers. He’d never mention her family again, and she’d forgive him for pitying her. She smiled.
Get up. A voice hissed in her mind.
She couldn’t lay here still and wet in the snow. She'd be dead within the hour. She had to move, to get up! Coughing more water from her lungs, she forced her arms and legs beneath her. Joselyn bellowed as she pushed against her weight to lift herself on all fours. Every brush of the wet tunic felt like needles being dragged across her flesh. Agony. She gritted her teeth. If only she could rest.
Move now, or die.
The thought startled her. She couldn’t die here. Too much was riding on her and she’d given up too much to fail now. Joselyn pressed up and stumbled back into the snow. She growled as she finally got to her numb feet.
Joselyn looked around the clearing. Which way had she come from? It should be obvious. She knew that. So why couldn’t she decide which way to start walking? She looked up into the sky, searching for the moon. It wasn’t there. And the stars, which had previously numbered in the millions, now looked sparse in the night sky which was shifting from black to cobalt.
How long had she been out here? Joselyn wanted to press her forehead into her palms, but she couldn’t release her arms from around her trembling body. The chatter of her teeth echoed in her skull. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t decide what to do next. Why was this so difficult?
The mind-dulling fog began to regather. Before she could consider if it was the right decision, Joselyn skittered forward. Soon she was running through the clearing and toward the tree line.
With her arms still bound around her chest, Joselyn stumbled, skidding into the snow more than once. Every time the morbid hiss of warning returned.
Keep moving, or die.
No one would bury her. There would be no funeral procession, no army of mourners as was befitting a lady of her station. Her own father wouldn’t know the date of her passing.
Her father.
Despite the death-whispering cold, Joselyn's body felt hot. Her father. The man who’d given her everything, and nothing. The man who’d sacrifice his only child upon the altar of self-preservation. The man who’d do so without apology for the sins that left him no other choice.
Joselyn screamed into the night with no care for what might hear her. Her tears froze on her face even as they fell. No other choice? No choice for Lord Fury? The second most powerful man in Morhagen? A man with limitless resources? Rage sliced through her stomach like a searing sword.
The only one who'd been without a choice was her. From her father's decision to sell her to a madman, to a savage’s unrepentant abduction, Joselyn had been the victim of one man's will or another's all her life. And who had she to blame? If she’d refused her father, she wouldn’t be on this gods-forsaken mountain. She wouldn’t be racing against the icy fingers of death that even now were strangling the breath from her lungs.
But she hadn't refused him. She’d gone willingly. Like a little lamb. And for what? A hope that someday her father would think of the sacrifice she’d made? That he’d regret the years of contempt and neglect that preceded it? That his heart would suffer a measure of her pain? She laughed into the night.
Marcus Fury had no heart.
“I didn’t do it for you!” she screamed. “I’m the only one who can save our people. Not you. Not a son. Me!”
She’d stopped shivering. The thought made her giddy. That meant she would survive. Right? A voice in her head cackled at her. Joselyn picked up speed as she dashed through the forest. The stinging brush of pine needles kept her weaving through an empty path. Her gaze turned up to the sky now glowing with the impending sun. Hadn’t it just been night? She’d lost all sense of time. She pressed on, growing less and less aware of the cold. The pain.
Move or die. Run or die.
Out of nowhere, like a beacon on the shore, Joselyn caught the amber flicker of light creeping through a silhouette of trees. She slowed. A sound stopped her dead in her tracks. She heard voices. Human voices.
Fire.
The promise of heat started her running again. No sense of caution, no thought to investigate at a distance. She must get warm. If she didn’t reach that fire soon, she would perish.
Keep moving.
The voices grew clearer. Men. And they were speaking trade tongue in perfectly accented Morhageese. Her heart melted. Her countrymen were nearby. She was safe.
She stumbled into the clearing, awash in orange light. She was vaguely aware of the fur-clad men standing around the fire, but all she could think of was the dancing flame. She lunged forward.
“Skies! What in the swiving hells is a woman doing here?”
A man stepped in front of the fire. Joselyn wavered, stumbling into his arms. She looked up at his weathered face, his curious eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Please,” Joselyn gritted out. “Need to get warm.”
“What she sayin’, Gerald?”
“The li’l snow rabbit’s been drawn by the fire,” the man holding her said. “Looks like she fell through ice.”
The man called Gerald pulled her around to face the fire. She couldn’t feel its warmth. Why couldn’t she feel it? She tried to step forward but was held in place by the man standing behind her.
“Where did she come from?” someone asked from the other side of the ring. Joselyn squinted across the pit.
The speaker was a tall, spindly man whose furs seemed to swallow him up. He leered at Joselyn just like the two other men standing near him. Her shivers returned.
“Hells if I know,” Gerald answered from over Joselyn’s shoulder. “Maybe she be one of them dragon rider bitches?”
“You don’t believe that tripe do you, Gerald?” another man said. “Next you’ll be tellin’ us that your wife was carried off by one of them scaly beasts instead of running off with the ferrier’s son.” A rumble of laughter went up around the ring.
“Shut yer mouth, Bryant,” Gerald barked.
“The sun’s barely risen and we’ve made a catch,” one of the other men said. “Must be our lucky day.”
Joselyn’s brows knitted together. What were they talking about? Why wouldn’t this man let her go to the fire? She tried again to pull out of his arms, but his fingers clamped down, puncturing her numbness. Joselyn flinched.
“My name is Joselyn Fury.” She spoke as clearly as she could. “I require your aid.”
The man spun Joselyn in his arms and pushed his lined face into hers. “You require our aid? What are you prepared to give us for it?” He grinned a crooked smile and Joselyn tried to lean away. She was trapped against his arm encircling her back.
“M-my father is Marcus Fury of House Fury. He will see you rewarded.”
The laughter that rose up took Joselyn aback. What had been funny? Dawning realization fell far slower than it should have. They didn’t believe her. She gasped.
“I am Joselyn Helena Elise Fury, of House Fury. The only child of Marcus Fury. You will assist me.” Joselyn braced a hand against the chest of the man holding her. “Release me at once!”
Gerald wrapped his other arm around her waist and crushed her to him. Her elbow bent with a snap. She cried out in pain.
“Rabbits don’t tell the wolves what they will and won’t do, li’l lady.” He breathed the last word like a ridiculous joke.
Joselyn stared into his eyes. They blazed with something that took her a moment to identify. Instinct, rather than experience, put a name to it. Lust. She twisted against him. “Let me go!”
To his side, Joselyn caught sight of a fifth stranger. This one was far younger than the others, barely a man. He wore a bright scarlet cap. His eyes darted between Joselyn and Gerald. “What if she’s tellin’ the truth, Gerald? What if she really be Lord Fury’s daughter?”
Gerald and the others laughed again. “Don’t be daft, boy! Look at ‘er. She be dressed like a savage and icy as a witch’s tit!”
“She’s got a witch’s timing. Another hour and we’d be off on the hunt.” One of the other men said.
“Put her on the ground, Gerald. Hurry up before she freezes to death,” Bryant said.
Put her on the ground? She needed to stand by the fire. Before she could make sense of the words, Gerald pushed her to the snow. Her knees buckled under the force, and her back collided with the forest floor. Air rushed from her lungs. She tried to gasp, but Gerald’s weight held her. He straddled her hips.
No. No. No. No.
This wasn’t happening to her. Joselyn had imagined a hundred different scenarios in which she failed to return home. All had been the result of either a Dokiri’s interference or her own stupidity. None had included falling victim to her own countrymen.
She’d escaped. She’d made it down the mountain and found men who were Morhageese like her. Men she could rely on. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Her hand dove to her side, searching for the hilt of the gneri blade. Gerald’s thighs molded around her waist, blocking her.
“Stop!” Her cry only seemed to intensify her attacker’s pleasure.
Gerald stuck his nose into Joselyn’s face and breathed his foul breath over her. “Quiet li’l rabbit, do what I tell ya, and I’ll be gentle while I plow ya.”
Joselyn struck him across the chin. The laughter of those spectating grew as Gerald brought a hand up to his bleeding lip. A flash of hatred was all Joselyn caught before the back of Gerald’s hand crashed into the side of her face. Her neck cracked. Joselyn’s vision went black, her ears rang. She’d never been struck in her life.
When her sight cleared, Gerald was drawing the point of a steel knife up to her chest. Joselyn screamed. She tried to strike out again, but her wrists were caught up by one of the other hunters.
“Gerald, don’t! What if someone hears her?” the boy pleaded.
“Who in the bleedin’ skies is going to hear her? If you don’t want a turn then shut yer mouth and finish breakin’ the camp!”
With her arms pinned, Gerald lined the blade up with the top of her collar and slashed downward. Joselyn twisted and bucked to get free. It was no use. Without her arms and with the weight of a grown man upon her, she was helpless.
Gerald dropped the knife and tore along the line he’d scored. The ripping sound made her scream. Her pendant was pulled from her neck and tossed aside. Joselyn sobbed through gritted teeth as rough hands pinched at her naked breasts.
Gerald’s body wracked with a mock shiver. “I might as well bury my cock in the snow!”
“Go ahead, I’ll take over for ya!” Bryant laughed.
“Look at that scar!” another said. “Looks like someone’s been ‘ere already.”
“Daft savages!” Gerald pawed at her tanshi mark, stretching it for a better look.
“No!” Joselyn choked. Somehow she was surprised when her cry went unheeded. She had to make him stop. He must stop. She strained to pull her arms free, earning her a bruising squeeze. Joselyn wailed even as Gerald’s hands ventured lower.
“Be still, bitch. Or my cock won’t be the only thing I bury inside ya.”
Be still? Joselyn couldn’t be still. She had to keep fighting. Had to keep moving.
Move or freeze.
Move and he’ll kill me.
Tearless cries poured out of her. She was dead if she moved, dead if she didn’t. Joselyn prayed first to her gods, and then to anyone who would listen.
Regna, Helig, save me!
21
Hollen’s Wrath
Joselyn screamed. She screamed if only to drown out the sound of the men's cruel laughter. Gerald's meaty hands thrust into her pants. Joselyn wrenched to the side, desperate to get away.
Elbows pinned her shoulders against the earth. Gerald clasped his hands around her neck and squeezed. Joselyn choked. Her eyes caught sight of the sunrise above as the corners of her vision began to fade. A dawning sense of finality heralded in her mind. This was it. For all her fear of dragons and savages, this was the way Lady Fury was to die. At the hands of her own people.
A gush of air rushed back into her lungs. Joselyn gasped. She coughed, clinging to her life these men were so determined to steal. Gerald’s weight fell upon her chest in an unceremonious heap.
The men huddled around her went still. She sputtered for breath. All at once, her arms were free. Joselyn shoved against Gerald’s slumped body. He was too heavy. She wailed, pushing and kicking with all her might. It was useless.
Tears blurred her vision and she blinked them away. What was happening? She looked around. The men’s leering faces were gone. Joselyn craned her head toward the firepit. There, lying in the snow beside her, was Bryant. His eyes were glassy and unmoving. Lifeless. Joselyn tried to jerk away. She couldn’t move.
She turned her face back over Gerald’s limp shoulder. The shaft of an arrow protruded from his back. She knew that fletching.
Metal clanged nearby. Hope came roaring to life as she laid eyes upon the one man
she’d been determined never to see again. The man she’d hoped against reason would find her.
Hollen.
Towering over the others, Hollen brought his axe to bear and drew it across the stomach of one of her assailants. The man screamed and dropped to his knees. His arms shot round his stomach as though to hold in the blood that spilled into the snow. He fell into a gory heap, and Hollen turned toward one of his comrades.
Joselyn pushed against Gerald with all her might. She braced her feet into the snow and bucked her hips against him, trying to roll him off. This shouldn’t be an impossible task. Why was it so hard?
Another man screamed. Joselyn turned back to the carnage just in time to see Hollen’s fourth victim collapse, and a fifth drop to his knees, pleading for mercy. Hollen spared him not a glance as he produced a knife, seemingly from nowhere, and plunged it into the man’s throat. His cry was short lived. It turned to gurgling as he spurted crimson against the stark snow beneath him.
Joselyn’s heart pounded at the utter violence of the scene. When her captor turned his furious gaze upon her, it froze in her chest. His eyes burned black with rage. Blood streaked his face. His giant shoulders rose and fell on heaving pants. He was every inch the savage dragon-master. In three massive strides, he reached her.
Oh, skies! He’s going to punish me!
His hands plunged downward, and Joselyn’s eyes squeezed shut. Her entire body rocked as Gerald’s weight was yanked off her and hurled across the fire. The first full breath in what seemed like an eternity rushed into her lungs.
Joselyn’s eyes flew open. Hollen hovered on his knees above her. He swept his open palms down her body, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. She shuddered. What was he thinking? Her awareness was long gone, strangled in the mire of fear and pain.
Hollen met her gaze and she saw his horror. He blurted something in Dokiri. His words tumbled from his mouth like a desperate prayer. He was trembling all over and he stroked a hand across her face, brushing the hair out of her eyes. She coughed, her throat grating.
