by Donna Hatch
As the night darkened, Jeniah pondered the hopelessness of her situation. Her fate seemed certain. She was to be delivered into the hands of the king of the savages who had ruthlessly slaughtered her entire family. What humiliation, what pain, would she suffer before the Hanoran king had her executed?
Jeniah curled up. She would die alone, and her people would remain enslaved. She’d failed them.
She sank into utter despair.
Chapter Twenty-One
J eniah woke to the sound of terse whispers nearby. She silently scolded herself. She shouldn’t sleep; she should watch for an opportunity to escape.
“No, Kryspyyn, you heard the commander. She’s not to be harmed.”
She opened her eyes to see Dayel standing nose to nose with another soldier.
The other man glanced her way with an open leer on his face. “I’m not gonna harm her, just enjoy her a bit. She’ll stay in one piece. More or less.”
“Kryspyyn!” The commander’s voice rang out over the camp. Boots thumped heavily on the frozen ground. The commander strode to Kryspyyn with fire blazing in his eyes. “I told you to keep away from her. The king wants her brought back untouched, do you hear me?”
“Why untouched?” Kryspyyn demanded.
“How should I know?” The commander said angrily. “Maybe he wants her for himself before he kills her. It doesn’t matter. Your job is to obey orders.”
“But we’ve been on the trail for moons with no companionship. She’s young, probably nice and—”
A resounding crack rang out, causing Jeniah to flinch. She stared openly as Kryspyyn staggered back and fell under the force of the commander’s blow.
“Question my orders again and I’ll tear out your heart and choke you with it!” In a towering rage, the Hanoran leader stood over the man on the ground.
“Yes, sir,” Kryspyyn gasped, but his eyes glowed in defiance.
“I’ll take next watch over the prisoner,” the commander said more quietly to Dayel and Carnea. “Go get some rest.” Then he called, “Bael, you’re with me.”
Her guards went to bed down as another soldier got up. Those who’d been awakened by the noise settled in again, and soon the snoring resumed while the perimeter guards continued to circle.
Terrified, Jeniah lay wide awake, her pulse throbbing. Someone approached quietly and Jeniah snapped her head up.
The commander crouched next to her, his black eyes unreadable. “Sleep, Princess,” he whispered. “I won’t let you be harmed.”
She blinked, surprised to find that she believed him. “Thank you.”
He gave her a brief nod, then stood and walked away. Strangely comforted, Jeniah relaxed. Despite her desire to remain awake to watch for an opportunity to escape, fatigue dragged her down to the irresistible lure of sleep.
The Hanorans were up when Jeniah awoke. They ate hastily, and one of the younger soldiers, a mere boy, brought her a bowl and a cup. He never looked her in the eye. Hungry, yet cautious, Jeniah hesitated. Would they stoop to poisoning her? She glanced at the commander, who talked softly with Dayel.
No, the commander wouldn’t allow that. He wouldn’t poison his prisoner after saving her from assault. She ate the bland, steamed grain and drank the bitter liquid.
After breakfast, they broke camp. As they rode side by side, Jeniah often noticed the commander’s eyes moving to her. He watched without any hint of threat. He was decisive and authoritative, his men respected him, and he treated her with kindness. He certainly did not seem barbaric. In fact, with the notable exception of the one called Kryspyyn, these men were disciplined and efficient. Hardly barbaric qualities. They were different than the average Hanoran savage. Perhaps that was due to the influence of their fair and honorable commander.
What was she thinking? He was the enemy! What part of her home had he set on fire? Which member of her family had he killed? How many of her countrymen died by his hand? Horrified, she eased her mount away from him.
Without the protection of her sleeping fur, she shivered and her teeth chattered. The sun never broke through the cloud cover. The Hanorans did not stop for a midday meal but pushed along at a steady pace, traveling through terrain she had seen only a few moon cycles before when she and Kai had fled Arden. The land slept under a blanket of snow, but the Hanorans openly traveled the roads and burned fires without fear.
A fierce wind and heavy snowfall forced them to stop before sunset. By then, Jeniah had developed a cough. She curled up with her head down and wrapped her arms around her legs. Her feet were numb with cold. The commander brought a sleeping fur and placed it around her shoulders, while his men built a bonfire and cut down branches to build rough shelters like the lean-to Kai had made before they acquired a tent. The commander untied Jeniah’s ropes, handed her a blanket, and led her to the lean-to most sheltered from the wind and snow. Then he built a smaller fire at the edge of the shelter.
“Thank you, Commander.”
With a faintly curious expression, he glanced at her before he went back to his men. Two guards kept her in sight. After lapsing into a coughing fit, she opened up her fur in front to let in the warmth of the fire and stretched her feet out toward the heat. She glanced at her guards, whose eyes remained fixed on her. They would have to look away at some point. When they did, she would blur and escape. How she would survive on her own in the winter, she did not know, but she would rather freeze to death than suffer the fate the Hanoran king had in store for her.
After seeing to his duties and his men, the commander sat down next to Jeniah under the lean-to and held out a wooden cup with something steaming inside. She eyed him dubiously.
His teeth flashed white as he smiled, and a strangely incongruous dimple appeared in one cheek. She stared in astonishment. He was actually quite handsome when he smiled. She recoiled at the thought.
“You’re very cautious. Here.” He took a drink. “See? I’ve no reason to harm you. You’re far too valuable to me alive.” He held out the cup to her.
“Wouldn’t it be a terrible inconvenience if I died before you brought me to your wretched king?” she snarled.
He grinned again. “Quite.”
She glared furiously at him, which only seemed to amuse him further, and snatched the drink out of his hands. She sipped it. It was almost hot enough to burn her mouth, but it tasted of sweet herbs and slipped so comfortingly down her throat that she drank it all. Warmth spread through her body and soothed her throat.
“Thank you.”
His mouth pulled to one side, showing that dimple. “How do your wrists feel? Still sore?”
She looked down at them and nodded. He unwound the strips of cloth he had used as bandages and treated the skin with ointment before rewrapping her wrists. When dinner was ready, he brought it to her and sat next to her as they ate. Jeniah never looked at him, but she found his presence less intimidating. “We’ll cross into Arden in a few days,” the commander said.
Jeniah nodded, oddly anxious to go back to Arden. She was the Hanorans’ prisoner, and she knew their purpose in returning her to Arden was to execute her, but relief swept over her at the thought of returning home. The fire crackled and sputtered, sending out a glowing ember to one side.
“You surprise me, Commander. You’re nothing like I expected.”
His black eyes fixed upon her. “You mean for a Hanoran?”
“Yes. For a Hanoran.”
She wondered if it were only in the heat of battle that Hanoran warriors turned vicious enough to have invaded Arden and massacred her family. At the moment, she had trouble picturing this young man doing any of those things.
“Perhaps I’m different.”
“You treat me with kindness.”
“I truly mean you no harm.”
She leaned in and lowered her voice to a desperate whisper. “Then please let me go.”
He stiffened. “You know I cannot.”
“You are taking me to my death.”
“I must
take you back. There is no alternative.”
Anger flared. “Were you part of the invasion?”
His black eyes bored into hers. “Do you really want to know?”
She hugged herself and squeezed her eyes shut but could not block the images swarming through her thoughts: gaping holes in the walls; the broken, lifeless bodies; Mora dying right before her eyes; fire, death, fear . . .
A sob escaped her mouth and she pressed her hand over it.
The commander’s voice grew cold. “I’m a ruthless monster, Princess Jeniah. The sooner you accept that, the better off you’ll be. I’m only keeping you comfortable so you won’t get sick and slow us down. Or die before my king can execute you publicly.”
She bit her lip and swallowed her tears. The commander remained unmoving, his face giving no clue to his thoughts. He silently tied her hands in front of her and nodded to the guards who watched her. The commander moved to speak with Dayel, who Jeniah had discovered was his first officer. Neither man glanced her way. She recalled the warning Commander Lalen had made when Kryspyyn defied him. None of the soldiers under his command seemed to have any doubt that he would carry out his threat. Perhaps he truly was capable of the violence she had witnessed in Arden. Of course he was! He was Hanoran.
Jeniah rolled up and burrowed inside the fur. She felt the commander’s eyes upon her, but when she risked another look, he stood thoughtfully staring up at the moons.
The next morning when she opened her eyes, Jeniah saw the commander lying next to her, wrapped in his own bed roll. Asleep, without the weight of his responsibilities hanging over him, he looked serene. And young. He must be a very skilled warrior to have achieved a position of leadership at such a young age. His features were strong and square. Any woman in Arden would have considered him attractive—provided he wasn’t pointing a sword at her and threatening her family.
He opened his eyes. He said nothing, merely fixed his unreadable gaze upon her.
Jeniah buried her face in her sleeping fur and smothered a round of coughing, wincing at a pain in her chest with each cough.
They ate and broke camp. Clearly, Commander Lalen took very seriously his duty to return the princess to his king. There were never fewer than two pairs of eyes upon her, making escape impossible. As they traveled, he kept her tied up unless she was eating. She never even had a moment of privacy to attend to personal matters, which made her increasingly irritable. The commander continued to bring her the tea of sweet herbs for her cough, and it brought temporary relief. Sometimes, however, a searing pain tore through her lungs as she coughed.
The soldiers talked softly and laughed among themselves, perfectly relaxed in this barren, inhospitable winter environment. Jeniah despised the soldiers. She hated the way some of them looked at her with triumph in their eyes, the nonchalance with which they were bringing her to certain horror and death. When their language became objectionable, something the one called Kryspyyn often instigated, Commander Lalen would silence them and ride closer to her, almost protectively. His presence was actually reassuring.
When he probably thought no one else was looking, Kryspyyn would leer at Jeniah as if he enjoyed watching her cringe, but he made no move toward her. Once, the commander caught him staring at her and glared with such warning that Kryspyyn slunk away, his hand moving to his heart.
After Kryspyyn left, the commander put a reassuring hand on Jeniah’s arm. She realized then that his actions had nothing to do with orders from the king, but rather from a sense of honor. Who would have thought any Hanoran possessed honor?
One night, as the men set up camp, Jeniah’s moment to escape arrived. For the first time during the journey, no one appeared to be watching her. She blurred, projecting an image of herself sleeping and bound. She had never tried to project a muffling sound before, but she tried, not knowing if she would succeed. With her hands and feet bound, she struggled to a seated position. The first thing she needed was a blade to cut her ropes.
How she wished for a knife! She eyed the guard’s dagger but knew she would never manage to get it. If only she could project something real, something solid, instead of only illusion. She stilled. Hadn’t Thenisis told her she could create reality when it mattered most? Jeniah couldn’t recall the high priestess’s exact words but knew she had to try. She concentrated on a knife, the feel of the handle in her palm, the sharpness of the short blade.
She started. She did feel a smooth handle in her hand. She craned her neck to look behind her and saw a small, curved dagger in her palm. Elation and wonder rippled through her. She sawed the ropes with the dagger. The awkward angle of holding a knife with her fingertips while trying to cut ropes around her wrists made it difficult, time-consuming work. Finally, the rope made a tiny snap. Jeniah froze. The nearest Hanoran guard glanced at the ground just below her, apparently seeing her lying asleep on the ground. He looked away, stifling a yawn.
She kept working the ropes until they fell away. With her hands free, she worked on the bindings at her ankles. When the ropes fell free, she sprang to her feet. The Hanoran guard looked up at her, but his gaze passed over her. She turned and darted into the forest.
She never knew what gave her away. Perhaps her projected illusion faded once she ran out of sight, or her feet crunched in the snow, or they saw her very visible footprints, but only seconds passed before someone shouted and several men began running, following her tracks.
Cursing, the commander came after her. Jeniah stopped running and flattened herself against a tree, trying to silence her breathing. He followed her tracks right up to where she stood. She held her breath and froze. His eyes followed the line of the tree trunk, his eyes passing over her as he searched. He looked up into the branches, but they were clearly too high to be climbed.
He moved so quickly that she did not have time to react. One minute she was standing a hand span in front of him. The next, she lay on her back in the snow with his body pinning her.
He swore viciously. “You’re a sorceress!”
“No.”
“Explain yourself!” His eyes blazed with such hatred that she thought he would kill her that moment.
She braced herself for the fatal blow.
He swore again. Still trapping her with his body, he reached inside his tunic and withdrew a heavy silver chain from around his own neck, then draped it over her head. Though only warm from his body, it almost burned her skin.
The high priestess in Darbor said she used metal to lessen her power in order to shield her mind from the noisy thoughts of others. Jeniah wondered how the Hanoran commander would know metals had a dampening effect on magic. Then she remembered that the Hanoran king was reputed to be a dark sorcerer. A man Commander Lalen served.
Still staring at her with open hatred, he said, “You are deceptively innocent-looking for a magic wielder.”
Jeniah caught her breath. Did he believe only an evil person could use magic? If so, did he see evil in his king?
The commander shifted his weight, grabbed one of her arms, and roughly turned her face-down in the snow. He sat on her and tied her hands so tightly behind her back that the ropes bit into her flesh. She let out a cry that brought on a coughing fit. He bound her feet, gagged her, and pulled her roughly to a stand, disgust and loathing so strong in his gaze that she shrank from him.
“If you even think any magical words, I will knock you unconscious.”
He scooped her up like a sack of grain and carried her back to camp, where he dumped her on a blanket. She did not dare move. Lying in between three guards, Jeniah watched the commander stalk the perimeter of the camp, snapping at any soldier foolish enough to speak to him. He repeatedly looked up at the moons and muttered.
Jeniah knew that as a man of honor, the Hanoran leader would continue to shield her from men like Kryspyyn, but he would never again look at her with kindness. She had lost him as an ally. That knowledge brought an unexpected loss, and an insufferable gloom permeated her spirit.
&
nbsp; In a few days, these men would turn her over to their hateful king. She had no doubt he would sentence her to torture and death.
Chapter Twenty-Two
N ine days after Jeniah’s capture, Kai carefully surveyed the landscape. The last mountain pass before the northeastern border of Arden lay directly ahead. The pass snaked, long and narrow, between sheer cliffs that rose so high that the sky could barely be seen above—the perfect place for an ambush. He was amazed that they had made it this far without being challenged.
Kai reined. “Hold. We wait for the scout.”
Behind him, the company of knights halted and waited silently.
The Hanorans transporting the princess had made no effort to conceal their trail. Did they lie in wait? Or were they truly so confident in their success that they did not bother to ensure they could not be followed?
Flanking him, Garhren shifted in his saddle, looking as uneasy as Kai felt.
A large, tawny feline loped toward them. As it approached, it slowed, its body shimmering and melting into a woman. Zayla stood, brushed her hands off on her leather breeches, and flipped her golden braid over her shoulder. “They did pass through here and moved on without stopping. They made camp further on in the forest only yesterday. No signs of doubling back.”
Confident in Zayla’s scouting abilities, Kai gave the signal to continue on. King Farai of Darbor had agreed that it might not be too late to save Jeniah. King Rheged would no doubt wish to publicly execute the princess with much ceremony, in revenge for the embarrassment she caused them by evading them for so long. The sorcerer-king would probably use her as a victim in one of his brutal blood sacrifices. Kai’s heart nearly stopped every time he thought of it.
