Prisoners of Scythia Shifter Box Set

by Lisa Daniels

  Cursing, I sprang off the bed and began to ransack the house looking for medicine. These wealthy bastards always had antidotes and potions, ridiculous things they would never need. There had to be something I could use.

  A faint voice was calling to me, saying to just let it go and head to the safe haven. After throwing stuff out of cabinets in over two dozen rooms, I found what I needed. Running back to the room, I ignored whatever Braxton was saying.

  “Tell me, shifter.” I looked down at him, the anger barely contained. “Are you or your kind allergic to any kind of medicine?”

  “We don’t respond like humans, if that is what you want to know.” His eyes were closed, and it was obvious that he was barely staying conscious.

  “What would you use to stop the spread of an anti-coagulant?”

  His eyes fluttered open, “What are you talking about?’

  “If someone were to poison a weapon that made it so that your wound would keep bleeding, do you have something that would stop the poison from working?”

  His eyes closed again, but he said nothing. I watched as Braxton’s breathing became so shallow that it was difficult to tell he was still breathing.

  For the first time in my life, I found myself praying. Not to any of the gods that I had scorned, but to the man in front of me. In my head I begged him not to leave, told him if he wanted to continue alone that I would not stop him. He owed me nothing, if only he would survive.

  Chapter 9

  A Pointless Task

  I had managed to get the blood to stop flowing, but soon found that was not the only problem. What Braxton had managed to achieve that day was literally impossible. His lung had been punctured, which meant he had run with me on his back for hours with only one working lung and a wound that would not stop bleeding. I had no idea how to fix a lung. My father had never taught me anything that complicated, or perhaps he didn’t know. A punctured lung during war usually meant other equally serious wounds, any of which would be fatal on their own.

  The best I could do was to stop the bleeding and wrap the wound. Shifters were hard to kill, right? Maybe he would eventually heal? Whenever I tried to ask him, Braxton would simply look at me for a few seconds, then close his eyes. It wasn’t helpful.

  I was reminded of our other problem when there was a loud knock at the door. As tempting as it was to ignore the people outside, I knew that it was obvious someone was home. There was smoke coming out of one of the chimneys and a couple of candles lit in several of the rooms that I had torn apart looking for medicine. If it happened to be people from the guard, they would come barging in and find us inside anyway. They would owe the nobles whose door they destroyed, but catching an escaped prisoner would pardon them from such a transgression. That would make it well worth the risk.

  I quickly pulled off my dress and moved to the wardrobe. The dresses were stunning, and thanks to my time working with the ladies-in-waiting, I knew how to put them on. Hurriedly, I did the best I could without assistance as I hurried to the door. Grabbing a hat on the way, I shoved my hair under it to hide how messy and short my hair actually was.

  Drawing myself up to my full height, I opened the door and gave the small group of guards a haughty look. “And what, pray tell, could you think was important enough to disturb me during my bath?”

  The words had the desired effect. All five of them turned a different shade of pink, with one of them turning red all the way up to his ears. The one in the front gave a low bow, and the others followed. “I am very sorry, mistress, but we are trying to catch some escaped prisoners.”

  I blinked at him a couple of times, which he took as a sign to be quiet. “What does your ineptitude have to do with disturbing me?” I asked, my voice as cold as any noblewoman’s.

  “Well, we believe that the prisoners came this way. If you could let us—”

  “What? Trample through my home? Destroy my furniture, and kill my décor? Just so you can take a break from your search? Stop wasting the money of the king and go do your job.”

  “But you see, ma’am,” he bowed a little deeper than the first time, “there is blood on the wall here, which we believe could be from one of the prisoners who was badly wounded when they fled.”

  I pursed my lips for not being more careful when I had leaned Braxton up against the wall. I gritted my teeth and lowered my voice, “You idiot. That was from my husband’s hunting party this morning. The boys got a little drunk on their way back and stumbled against the wall with the carcass of their kill. Believe me, they will be punished by having to clean that up.”

  One of the guard’s eyes lit up. “Do you think we could—” I gave him a scathing look and he stopped talking.

  “Now, if you will excuse me, I must go monitor the preparation of dinner since my bath will no longer be enjoyable.” With that, I slammed the door in their faces. I moved to another room to watch them leave, all of them throwing looks at the place and grumbling about how the nobles never appreciate them.

  It was the first time that my haughty attitude earned me respect instead of scorn. Or at least it didn’t get me in trouble. Hurrying back to Braxton, I spent the next few days taking care of him. He began to run a low-grade fever the next day, and he barely woke up enough to eat or drink. It was not the first time I had taken care of someone I cared for. My mother would often require nursing after drinking too much or getting into fights with some of the women in the next town over. My father had been injured on a couple of occasions when the people in the town pushed him a little too far. The last time, he had sustained a broken leg, and I had supported him to and from work. It should have been my mother who helped, but she was pretty much hungover and useless around that time. The guilt had driven her back to the bottle, so I had stepped in to help.

  Of course, none of that could compare to this. Braxton had just entered my life, but he had clearly been looking after me for far longer. As I watched him sleep, I began to wonder if he had been the one to bring the food down for me. Frowning, I wondered just how long they had planned to keep me down there, and how long after the incident Mrs. Teasdon had turned on me. My premonition had started that night.

  “Does that mean that they left me down there to slowly starve?” I looked out the window, wondering. “Why was I ever born if this is how my life is always going to be? What is the point?”

  I pulled the band out of my hair and flung it onto the dresser. Walking toward the kitchen, I had no thoughts on what I was doing or why. I had put myself on autopilot. First, I prepared some food and drink for Braxton, then I coaxed him into eating and drinking before he fell back to sleep. When he slept, I mostly just stared out the window. For the first time in my life, I did not feel compelled to be busy or to try to drown out my doubts. Nothing ever seemed to work out for me. Now I couldn’t even send word to my parents about how I was—not that I could color my current situation to look good.

  Father, the word floated through my head like a whisper in the woods. I knew that I couldn’t just let him assume the worst if he didn’t hear from me. As cruel as it was, I would need to find a way to get him a letter pretty much telling him the truth. That I had found a man who wanted to be with me, and we had run off together. After the lies that I had told up to that point, he would think that I was being irresponsible and foolish, that I was no different than my mother. But I reasoned that it would be far kinder than pretending that I was still at the castle, than to never hear from me again.

  Cruel by necessity—he was the one to teach me that. Sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind. I had argued and argued with him over it, insisting that there was always a better way, that you just had to care enough, to look hard enough to find a way.

  Now here I was, learning that he had been right all along.

  I laughed when I realized that I was actually becoming more and more like him every day. It didn’t matter if he and I didn’t have the same blood, we were the same in every way that mattered.

  Getting up fro
m Braxton’s bedside, I went to find some paper and a quill to send a message. How I would get it to him was a difficult question, but I felt certain that even that would not be as bad as I thought. An image of running children passed through my mind, and a farmhouse not too far away from where we left the road. Braxton seemed to be stable enough. His fever was gone and though his breathing was labored, it was not as bad as it had been when we arrived. There was nothing more I could do for him—either he chose to live, or he chose to die. I could not make that decision for him.

  I sat at a small desk and began to write as my mind planned my next moves. If I left in the morning, I should reach the farm by the late afternoon. There was plenty of gold in the home that I could take with me to pay them to send the message north.

  The idea was almost fully developed when I realized just how risky that would be. Once the nobles realized that their place had been used, they would try to find someone to blame. Any link to them could be devasting for the family.

  “Then I guess I will just have to give them enough to move away,” I muttered to myself. “Even if I don’t go to them, the nobles will probably do something to make their lives worse. Raise taxes, or require payment for the items lost. The nobles don’t really care, and any excuse to exploit the people will be abused to the fullest.” Maybe what I was doing wasn’t much better. Maybe I was just looking for a way to justify my own poor choices. Guilt began to creep in.

  I set about collecting the items I thought would be the most beneficial while trying to think of something that would be the least disruptive to the family. First I would find out if the family wanted to move, and if they did, it would not be a problem. If they were resistant to the idea, I would simply need to keep going until I found an inn or other establishment that could send my letter north.

  That night, I prepared several meals for Braxton and placed them near his bed. He had already proven that he was well enough to feed himself, and he had used that strength to fight my attempts to keep him alive. I no longer felt that I could keep fighting with him. If he really preferred to die, I was just standing in his way. There were three large pitchers of water in the room too, to keep him from getting dehydrated. I had no idea what he wanted or if he even wanted to survive this. After our last exchange, I found myself believing that he had no intention of pulling through and that was upsetting. Worse, I had no idea if he even could, even if he had wanted to. I had no idea what kind of damage his body could sustain, and it was possible that I was just postponing the inevitable.

  To get my brain working, I began to clean up the worst of the mess I had made. There were a lot of rooms and bloody towels and sheets, but I had a lot of experience cleaning up worse. A few hours later, I had something that resembled a plan, though it did not extend past sending the note to my parents. “What does it matter? Maybe I’ll just cut my hair again and dress like a man. At this point, I may as well see how many laws I can break since they want to execute me.”

  It was as logical as anything else.

  Once everything was ready, I sat beside Braxton’s bed, uncertain how I should act. This was not at all what I had imagined as he took me from the dungeon. Part of me wanted to stay, to let him know that he had a reason to live. Part of me knew that it was pointless. Nothing in my life ever worked out; there was no reason to believe that this would turn out any differently. He had been so kind to me, had gotten me out of a dire situation which I was only beginning to realize I was in. I had thought what he wanted out of it was me, but perhaps he had known this would happen. It was possible that he had premonitions, too. He certainly seemed to know more about them than I had expected. And he had been reluctant to tell me why he had stayed near me. When I wouldn’t stop pressing him, it was possible that he had lied. He certainly felt guilty that he had been my first, and his words may have been a lie. That whole time, he may have been getting me to leave, knowing that it would get him killed. He had given me a reason to escape, he gave me hope for the future, and he had gotten exactly what he wanted—death.

  “But this isn’t what I wanted. This isn’t…”

  I looked down at him, torn between anger and sorrow. “I had really thought you meant it. That you wanted to be with me. I guess that just goes to show that I was right all along. A valuable lesson that I shall remember. You didn’t need to lie to me, though. False hope is worse than hopelessness, and now…” I couldn’t find the words to continue. I leaned over and kissed his forehead, unable to be angry at him. I put my head on the bed next to him and fell asleep.

  When I woke a few hours later, it felt like I had not slept at all. The premonition was intense, but for the first time I couldn’t remember what had happened.

  Rubbing my eyes, I decided now was as good a time as any to leave. If I stayed, there was the risk that I would talk myself out of going. I had cleaned up enough that the nobles probably wouldn’t notice that anyone had been there. The blood was cleaned from the outside, the door to the back fixed, and the rooms tidied. There was no further reason for me to stay.

  I placed my hand over Braxton’s. “Thank you, Braxton, for everything. I wish I could appreciate what you tried to give me.” A cold laugh escaped my throat, “I guess this is how you felt when the other shifters tried to protect you. But you are stubborn, aren’t you? I…” I looked down at his face, so peaceful in sleep. His hand was still warm, but if he was breathing, it was impossible to see. “I wish they had succeeded in keeping you safe. I was never worth being saved.”

  Turning, I left the room. Perhaps I would try to find a shifter after sending my letter. If Braxton died, he would deserve better than what would happen to him if the nobles found him there.

  I locked the door and stepped out into the cold, unfeeling light of day.

  Chapter 10

  What Next?

  I moved away from the home in case anyone passed by. There was now no sign that anyone was there, and I did not want to be the only cause for anyone to suspect otherwise.

  Once I was a safe distance away, I closed my eyes and imagined a path to the farm. It was one of the few good things about being cursed with premonitions—you could always find where you wanted to go. It made it much more likely for those premonitions to occur. My senses led me forward as my mind tried to shut down and just let whatever happen. For the first time in my life, I had no goal, nothing to strive for. My future was a barren wasteland, and I could not find the will to care what happened to me.

  This was proven when I encountered a couple of men on horseback a few hours later.

  “What have we here? A tasty little morsel that has gotten lost. What do you think we should do? Should we help her?”

  “Oh, absolutely. But first let us find out what kind of reward she will grant for our generosity.” He leered down at me.

  With a wave of my hand, I dismissed them without a word.

  One of the men brought his horse around in front of me. “Look, sweetheart, you are in no position to just dismiss us. If you—”

  I looked up at him, my ability to put up with such nonsense depleted, “I’ll tell you what I want and what your reward will be.”

  A crooked smile spread across his lips, “Oh, now we are playing nice, huh? Alright, what will it be?”

  “I want you and your sleazy little friend to continue down that road and forget that you met me. Your reward will be that I don’t kill you.”

  The men shifted in their saddles. “Those are big words from such a pretty little thing. But I don’t see anyone here who will take care of us for you. Do you, Ed?”

  “No, Phil, I don’t see anyone protecting her.”

  I felt the smile spread across my lips, “Do we even speak the same language? I didn’t say I would have you killed. The deal was you leave, and I won’t kill you.”

  The men drew closer, “Oh really, and how are you going to do that? Are you hiding a sword under that big dress of yours?”

  “Maybe we should find out for ourselves,” the other man s
aid, circling around behind me.

  “I did warn you.” It was a bluff, of course it was a bluff. I really did not care if they killed me or not. I would fight and die, or they would believe me and leave. On my own, I had no experience fighting, let alone against more than one person. But the words were no more out of my mouth than there was a bloodcurdling roar.

  The horses began to get jittery, their eyes moving around them like they knew what was coming. The men looked around them, then down at me. One of them pulled a sword out and pointed it at me, “You don’t scare me, witch. I’ll gut you and—”

  He never finished whatever threat he was about to make. An orange and black streak knocked him off his horse and seconds later, the man lay dead on the side of the road. His horse had run off into the woods. The other man screamed and began to spur his horse on, but he was too slow. A moment later, his corpse lay at the feet of the tiger, who shifted into a familiar form.

  Turning toward me, his eyes flashing, Braxton glared at me. “Just what do you think you are doing?”

  I blinked a couple of times, my voice momentarily lost. “You wanted to die.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, but froze as he seemed to be struggling with something. Impossibly fast, he strode forward and pulled me into his arms. “You had me so worried. Gods, so worried. It was like a nightmare when I woke and you were gone.”

  The momentary relief I felt quickly dissipated. Pushing him away, I continued to glare at him. “You told me that you wanted to die. Of course I left when it seemed that you were just going to let that happen.”

  Braxton put his hand on his forehead and closed his eyes. “I only said that to get you to leave me.”

  “What you had told me was all a lie, and you had meant to die—wait, what?” My anger was beginning to overflow, but his words caused me to stop.