“I told her she could take it. The other day,” I’d lied.
The butcher was furious. “And why did you feel the need to do that?” he demanded.
“She’s hungry, is all. She shouldn’t be punished for just trying to live.”
Both the butcher and guards flew into a rage. They turned to beat me instead and the girl managed to escape. I would have lost my own hand that day had the butcher not known I would be worth more at market with two hands than with only one.
Brought back to the present by a sharp jab of pain from the gash in my hip, I find myself staring into the wild eyes of the same little girl. Only now, there is much more than mere terror trapped behind them. In the years that have passed since then, she looks as if she has suffered the cares of a thousand lifetimes, felt the pain of a thousand deaths. The only thing that has kept her going is that same vicious desperation, now masked by a bitter, driving anger.
And I can’t help but wonder what she must have gone through that caused such a change in her.
The realization of our connection is dawning on her face as well, and her colour drains. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “It- it can’t be!”
I open my mouth to say something, but quickly have to close it again. The intensity of the pain is making me sick. I clench my jaw, pressing my hand more firmly on my bleeding side.
“It was you?” She is angry now.
I can only nod.
A battle rages on her face as so many differing emotions clash over her tight features. She senses her vulnerably, and panic flashes through her eyes. Spinning around, she snatches up her helmet from the ground and bounds toward Fyra. She swings up onto the dragon’s back and they shoot into the sky, leaving me behind in the pit.
Chapter Ten
“W ait!” I call after them, but my voice is too weak to carry over much distance. “You can’t leave me here! Come back!”
It does no good. Within seconds, they disappear into the smoky haze far above me.
I collapse onto the ground and the pain of my injuries takes full hold of me. My fine clothes are soaked with seawater, sweat, and blood, and my throat aches for even one drop of fresh water. It takes tremendous effort to retrieve my knife from the dust, and with shaking hands I cut three strips from the hem of my cape. My hands are cumbersome as I wind a strip tightly around each injury to stop the bleeding, tying them off as best as I can. I barely manage to slide my knife into my belt before I fall sideways. It feels so good to be able to rest my pounding head, just for a moment. When my strength returns, I’ll be able to get up.
But my strength does not return. Instead, I grow weaker as the strips of crimson fabric are darkened by my blood. Black spots fill my vision whenever I open my eyes, so I leave them closed. The world is spinning around me without ceasing, and I am alone. All that I can do is hope that Bellator returns to help me before it is too late.
I don’t know how long I lie here half-conscious and immobile, sinking in and out of a fitful sleep. The sky begins to darken as the clouds thicken, and for the hundredth time I think that I see a shape flying overhead. The sound of flapping wings reaches my ears, and I feel a breeze as the dragon lands nearby. My eyes close heavily and I drift away.
Then someone is stroking my forehead, whispering something to me in a faintly familiar voice. I am lying on something very soft. Restless and sweaty, I turn my head from side to side on a fluffy pillow, batting my arms wildly, trying to push the hand away. But the hand remains firm and the voice grows louder. I cannot comprehend what it is saying. A calm comes over me as the voice continues a chant and I slip into a dreamless haze.
I awaken some time later, but all is dark. The air is too hot, and a warm, heavy bundle is pressed against my side. I turn over, everything about myself feeling heavy and languid. My eyes close.
The next thing I know, I am opening my eyes. The dim light hurts them, but my vision has finally cleared. Annalyn looks down at me with a relieved, yet anxious smile as she dabs my forehead with a damp cloth.
“You’re awake,” she says. “How do you feel?”
I bolt upright, gasping as a stab of pain shoots from my side, and take in my surroundings with a frantic glance. The room is mostly bare, except for the bed I am lying on, the nightstand beside my headboard – where Annalyn’s bowl of water is set – and a large wardrobe across the room from me. I must be in the third and final section of my triangle of apartments; the only one that I haven’t already explored. Other than Annalyn and I, the room is empty of any other people, which is a relief. It would be unnerving if Zeldek, or Uri, or – worse still – Bellator, were standing around me.
Annalyn gently pushes me back down. “You need to rest,” she says, and offers me a cup of water from beside the basin.
I let myself sink back into the soft pillows and allow her to put the cup to my lips, taking a gulp of water. It’s lukewarm, but it wets my parched throat and washes away the dust that coats the inside of my mouth.
“How did I get here?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
“We don’t really know. We found you in your bed two days ago, wrapped in bloody bandages and very dehydrated.”
“Two days?” I repeat, incredulous.
“It was mostly due to the fever, but the blood loss played a part as well. Your injuries are flesh wounds and will heal quickly without much scarring, but it seems you were bleeding for a while before we found you.”
Scarring is the least of my worries.
“Uri noticed you were gone in the morning when he brought you your breakfast, but he didn’t think anything of it until evening, when I came in to bring you supper and you still hadn’t returned. The Master was organizing a massive ar— er, search party to find you when Uri and I decided to check your bedroom again, and found you.”
“It was Bellator,” I say. “She did this to me.”
“We know.” Her tone is grim. “It seems as if Bellator also hadn’t been present for her duties, so the Master grew suspicious. She only turned up again yesterday afternoon, long after we found you, and admitted to what she had done. The Master was furious at her taking such rash and unauthorized actions, and they had a terrible argument. She is receiving punishment now.”
“You mean to say he didn’t put her up to it?”
Annalyn shrugs. “Apparently not.”
She offers me the water again and I down the rest of it. She seems to take her time setting the empty cup on the nightstand, and I can tell there is something on her mind.
When she speaks at last, she struggles over the words. “The Master has been worried sick about you.”
I remember the rift that is still unresolved between her and I, and the walls of tension are reinforced.
“He told you to say that, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” she admits in a very quiet voice. “He wants you to trust him.”
“Why? What does he really want with me?”
She pulls the cloth away from my forehead and rinses it slowly in the bowl of water on the nightstand. When she returns it to my burning skin, it is soothingly cool. But she avoids my gaze.
“I don’t know,” she says carefully, thinking over each word before she utters it. “When he sent me to observe you, he told me to watch for any sign that there was anything abnormal about you.”
“And was there?”
“Oh, there were many things right off. I’ve never met a— someone like you— before. I mean, I’ve seen slavery. None of it was new to me. Just, seeing it all up close...” She shudders. “I was impressed by you. No matter how the others treated you, you took it, but you didn’t let it affect you. You were kind. That’s why, when you collapsed, I tried to help you.” Her eyes implore me to understand. “I was genuinely trying to help you then.”
I find her words patronizing. Does she really expect me to believe that?
She doesn’t notice my doubt. “The way they were treating you was wrong. Pushing you around, starving you for no reason, piling blame needle
ssly on you just to see you hurt. It was nothing short of barbaric. Although,” she adds self-consciously, pushing a curl of hair behind her ear, “in the end, I was the cruellest of the lot. It’s because of me that you’re here now, after all.”
She looks down at her hands, her guilt genuine enough. “Apparently the Master was waiting for something supernatural to happen, and I only discovered afterward that he was expecting some spell he’d put over you to wear off.”
“A spell to hold back my powers,” I remark. “He mentioned that much when we last spoke. From what I’ve gathered, he wants to use me for something, but I don’t know what.”
“Well, if he’s come up with it, I guarantee it won’t be anything good.”
I knit my brow. “So, you too are against him?”
“Oh yes! He’s absolutely dreadful!”
I give myself leave to feel sorry for her. “The other day you mentioned you had no choice but to do as he told you.”
Her gaze is fixed on the folds of her apron, which she is smoothing out with her fingers. “Not everyone can afford to be as brave as you. No offence, but you haven’t got anyone. What I mean is, the only life you have to worry about is your own.”
I have to fight the urge to respond defensively. “Who are you protecting?” I ask.
“My parents. The Master took me from them when I was thirteen. He never told me why. For the past two and a half years, all he’s had me do is work in his scullery, cooking for him and his elite. But he has promised that if I remain obedient and do what he says, he’ll let me go back to them someday.” She pauses, finally looking back at me. “That’s why when he told me to spy on you, I did it. I thought that maybe, once I’d finished this task, he would let me go home.”
“But you were wrong.”
She sighs heavily. “When I returned, he merely congratulated me and sent me back to work. Only now, I also get to tend to you.”
“Have you ever tried to escape?” I ask, and the hideous recollection of the murdered little girl that Zeldek killed comes to mind. I quickly force it away again.
“Yes,” she replies, growing even more sullen. “On the first day I was allowed to walk freely about the castle after my capture, I made a run for it. I didn’t make it any further than the entrance to the palace before Bellator caught me and dragged me back to the scullery. I had to work in irons for a month after that, and Uri still won’t shut up about it. He was brought here a few months before I was, you see. He at least got as far as the lava pits when he tried.” She huffs, crossing her arms in annoyance.
“Well,” I say, thinking furiously, “is it possible that one could successfully leave Gaiztoak without Zeldek knowing about it?”
“I don’t really know how much Zeldek actually pays attention to the security of his palace,” she replies with a shrug. “The one you have to get around is Bellator. She’s everywhere, and if she isn’t, her men are. They inform her of everything that goes on, and she informs Zeldek. You make a wrong move, she’ll know about it. Besides, even if you were lucky enough to be able to escape Gaiztoak, there’s a band of outlaws waiting on the other side of the mountain to kill anyone who—”
There is a slam as the door to the room outside is opened, and she quickly falls silent. Loud voices reverberate off the walls, filling all three chambers with vehemence.
“Your incessant excuses bore me, Bellator!” There is no question the first voice belongs to Zeldek. “I only care that you appear contrite and stay your jealous hand from rising against him in the future.”
“Jealous?” Bellator sputters. Her voice is strangely ragged, but twice as rancorous. “I did what I did because I thought it’s what you wanted! If you would only explain to me—”
There is a dull thud, and then a choking sound. “I do not need to explain myself to a spoiled child!” Zeldek growls. “You will do as you have been commanded, or I will not think twice about breaking what little spine you have!”
A moment of silence, then Bellator gasps for air.
One set of footsteps starts toward the door to my room, and the other follows more reluctantly. Annalyn pulls the cloth from my head and quickly turns to rinse it in the water. A moment later, the door to my room is thrown open, and Zeldek enters. Bellator shadows him, seething, her helmet under her arm and her head bowed dejectedly. Her ragged hair falls in her face as she stares fixedly at the floor, and she doesn’t bother to swipe it aside. Zeldek gestures for Annalyn to leave. She curtsies, takes the bowl of water from the nightstand, and hurries from the room.
“You live!” Zeldek says to me, a fake note of cheerfulness in his tone. “For a time, I was afraid we would lose you.”
“I’m sure that you would have been devastated,” I mutter. The more I see of this man, the more I despise him.
He chuckles. “In a sour mood, are we?”
I shoot him a disdainful glare in lieu of a spoken response.
He waves his hand dismissively. “Ah, well. It’s to be expected from one back from death’s door.”
I sit up and throw aside the blankets. I notice with a start that I have been changed into a long black tunic and a pair of loose trousers, and I decide not to think about it too hard.
“What do you want now?” I grunt, placing my feet on the floor. My knees are wobbly and the wound on my thigh stings, but I manage keep my balance as I limp toward the door of the sitting room.
His cheerful disposition cracks, much to my relief. It was starting to unnerve me. “You will show me due respect, half-race! Face me when I speak to you!”
I stop with my hand on the door handle, and turn back to him. “What? It isn’t like you’re actually concerned about my well-being.”
Bellator glances at me, but only for long enough to shoot me a warning glare. My mouth almost opens in alarm when I see her face. Both it and her neck are streaked with dark bruises, and there’s a new cut on her right cheek to add to her collection of scars.
“I came,” Zeldek is saying, “to assist my general in apologizing for her rash and cruel behaviour toward you. I assure you, she will not be allowed near you in the future.”
Bellator fidgets with annoyance as he casts her a steely glare.
“She has,” he adds, “and will continue to be sufficiently punished for her heinous actions.”
“I can see that,” I mutter, and Bellator’s hand unconsciously goes up to cover the darkest bruise on her face.
“Now, just relax,” Zeldek says in a pleasant tone, ignoring once again that I spoke. It seems to be becoming a habit for him. “Your dinner will be brought up for you momentarily.”
At the mention of food, my stomach rumbles with eagerness, and I realize that I haven’t eaten anything but that roll and a gulp of wine for at least four days. But I remain stubborn.
“Listen,” I offer, “in Bellator’s defense, I was partially to blame in the matter. I chose to go along with her.”
Bellator’s gaze shoots up, full of its usual venom. “Do not defend me, half-breed!”
“Be silent, you stupid girl!” Zeldek bellows, and whirling around, he backhands her across the face.
A red welt forms across the whole left side of her face, but she barely even flinches. She gives him a cold glare, and turning on her heel, she strides out of the room. A moment later, the dining room door slams thunderously.
“But she is right,” he adds, turning back to me. “You must not defend her. You couldn’t possibly have known what she had planned for you, or that I had not authorized her visit.”
“She told me to jump off the tower and I did it,” I say blandly. “I’m pretty sure I knew what I was getting myself into.”
“Then you are more foolish than I assumed,” he says, a smile briefly flickering over his hollow features. “And she is a foolish child who can be very headstrong at times.”
Apparently, he and I see her very differently.
“I’ll break her will, eventually,” he continues, more to himself than to me. “I only hop
e it is done in time to stop her from doing anything too rash. I fear my trust in her has failed considerably since your arrival. She has always been vaguely rebellious, but never has she gone directly against my orders until now.”
“Your orders, sir?” I ask, hoping that he might be so generous as to share with me what they were.
I am disappointed. He merely nods, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.
“Now,” he says after a moment, “I trust you have had sufficient time to come to a decision about my offer. Three days at least.”
I blink. “But sir, I was unconscious for most of that time!”
His gaze hardens. “But you know what you want, don’t you?”
I grip the door handle a little tighter. It would not be wise to tell him my answer now, especially with me in such a weak state. I need more time; time to figure out some alternative, some way of escape.
Ducking my head, I mutter, “Give me a few more days, please.”
There is a long pause, and I steal a glance in his direction. He is staring at me with a hard frown.
“Fine,” he consents at last. “You have two days. But I will have an answer by then.”
With that, he turns on his heel, and exits the room by the other door. It closes behind him with a slam, and I let out my breath. I allow myself to slump against the door, and then slide to the floor. If I don’t figure out a way to get out of here before then, I’d rather pitch myself from the highest peak of the tower than discover what he has planned for me.
The door behind me is jerked open, and I fall backward onto the floor. Uri grins down at me through crooked teeth.
“Dinner’s ready,” he says.
Chapter Eleven
Z eldek was pouring over a thick, leather-bound book when the polished wooden door to his tower creaked open. The table around him was in disarray, scattered with a cache of papers that were both stacked neatly and spread out over every inch of the table. A page or two had fallen and lay abandoned on the floor, and a single candle burned low on the table, dripping wax over the papers beneath it.
Broken Arrow (Darkened Destiny Saga Book 1) Page 8
