My limbs were trembling as I looked up at the stars. My pants were torn, but I had no energy to change them. My mind involuntarily pushed rewind and took me through what happened in the city.
If I had magic, where was it? I would’ve been raped and probably murdered if not for Weston, and shouldn’t some magic have been kicked into gear to save me? Wasn’t that what happened when someone had magic but didn’t know how to use it?
Maybe everyone was wrong, and they were all after the wrong girl. I was weak and couldn’t even protect myself, let alone Alyria. I couldn’t be what everyone assumed I was.
I was only a girl in a man’s world.
My bottom lip stung when I licked it, and I remembered the man smacking my face, like a vision in front of me, as though it happened again.
A gruff voice interrupted it. “Leave like that again and I won’t be there to save you next time.”
That had been the fourth time he saved me. Why? I knew he was cold, so why save me? Shudders of something ran down my spine, but my body and mind were too exhausted to try to find out what it was. I gazed at the stars for a while, watching for a flash of gold, something to show me there was some good in Alyria.
There was a question consuming me until I couldn’t help but ask it. “Have you walked through the flames before?”
“No.” His voice was deep, and it had this natural way of slithering down my spine as if it were a physical presence.
“How did you know you could?” I asked to the night sky.
Silence met my ears, and when I looked over at him, his gaze was on me. His face was a perfectly constructed mask, but his eyes . . . they told me everything. And I didn’t know what to do with the information I took from them.
A cold sweat covered my skin as I met his heavy stare. I didn’t know him as he’d told me I wouldn’t.
When I realized that he hadn’t known he could walk through those flames, I knew he hadn’t done it to save me. He wouldn’t have done it to save a farm girl from Alger.
So why did he save me?
I knew the answer, but I wasn’t ready to admit it to myself.
I didn’t think I’d ever be ready.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
TRAPPED
Metal. The smell hit my nose and roused me from a deep sleep. Every muscle in my body ached as I sat up and opened my eyes to the rising sun.
I’m dead. I had to be.
I looked down at my blood splattered arms and imagined I was a ghost, only coming back so I could say goodbye to my grandmother.
A man’s glassy brown eyes looked me straight in the face. Later on, that image would haunt me with the words I caused this.
I’d never seen a battlefield, but I imagined this was how it would look.
I was lying in the middle of many bodies. A man lay too close for comfort, his eyes open and his throat cut. There was another lying close by with his neck at an awkward angle. Nausea washed over me as my eyes took in the rest of the gruesome scene.
If I wasn’t dead, then how had I slept through this? Two more men were steps away from the camp, with knives in their backs as if they had been trying to run away. Two more, too bloody to notice where the wound was, were next to the fire.
When my eyes landed on Weston, and slowly traveled up his bloody hands to his smoldering eyes, a shudder of fear went through me. The reason he didn’t drag the bodies away and why he made me wake up to this hit me like a ton of bricks. His face was hard and unreadable, but his eyes didn’t lie.
He wanted me to see this. Sympathy or guilt held no place inside him; the only glint in his eyes I saw came from pleasure. He wanted me to know what he was capable of.
Message received, I thought.
I watched his eyes blaze before I leaned over and threw up everything in my stomach.
* * *
I had seen him kill before, but this time it was different. The men were young and looked like they could be king’s guards from Alger. They weren’t, but it didn’t matter because a sense of homesickness and disgust had already hit me. They were clearly running away from Weston, and yet he had to kill them.
It made me nauseated and truly terrified around him for the first time. Maybe this was what he wanted: terrify me to keep me in line, now that I knew I was his pawn in whatever endgame he had planned.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up on end as I walked down to the nearby stream to wash the splattered blood off. The blood I felt seep into my skin and taint my soul. The blood I had caused. I might not have stabbed the knife, but my hands shook as if I had. I now felt like the killer farm girl from Alger.
I spent a long time at the stream, watching the water turn red before the clear overtook it.
I didn’t know from how far away he could hear my thoughts, but they were in such a jumble I didn’t think he would be able to understand them, anyway. The ones at the apex were my frustration of this entire journey, the illusion of safety being ripped from me, the determination I had to keep the seal closed, and thoughts of my own demise. They swirled around in no particular pattern or manner and made me almost sick again with their waltz in my mind.
I walked back to camp, which had been moved over a few feet so I didn’t have to trip over dead bodies.
I sneered how compassionate of him in my mind. But I might as well have said it out loud, based on the glare he gave me. I marched over to my saddlebag and pulled out my map. It took me only seconds to realize that we were heading in the opposite direction of Undaley City. My face was a blank mask while I looked at him with the map clenched in my fist. He returned the neutral look, his eyes showing how much sympathy he held. None. A shiver went down my spine.
I was tangled with a viper, his fangs in me deep, and I was scared my claws weren’t sharp enough for the fight.
* * *
A cold sweat covered my entire body as we traveled through the sparse woods the next morning, and I was sure Weston could hear my heartbeat. I didn’t know how I could get myself out of this mess if I couldn’t even have my thoughts to myself. I tried not to think of anything when my brain wasn’t forcing me to think of a plan. I was in complete turmoil between the two.
When we took a break, and I had some semblance of privacy, I let my thoughts wander. I wouldn’t run, because it would have done nothing but delay him for the short seconds it took him to catch me. And then, I would probably guarantee he would tie me to him like an actual prisoner. And that wasn’t something I could handle. I needed to do this smart. Needed to think it through and not react like the terrified girl I was.
I wondered where he was even taking me. Since he could read my mind, I was almost guaranteeing he knew everything about me.
I had no answers and too many questions.
I always wondered why he had changed his mind to escort me, and now I felt like the naive farm girl from Alger. I wished I could go back and never stop at his table.
I wish I could go home.
I was more than frustrated because a sense of betrayal hounded me. It wasn’t as if we were honest with each other, but I had trusted him to take me to Undaley.
He was my one safety net, and now I knew it was all a lie. Now, the net only felt like a death sentence.
I was caught up in it.
Trapped.
* * *
We stopped riding when the sun began to set; the air between us was not disturbed at all with words. I had nothing to say to him. And he never had much to say.
I was out of any rations my grandmother had packed, but hunger was the last thing on my mind as I sat in front of the fire. Weston disappeared, and I imagined getting on Gallant and taking off. But I wasn’t stupid. He could sense Untouchables a mile away. I didn’t doubt he could sense me just as far. It wasn’t the right moment.
When he came back with a couple of rabbits, I watched him skin them, forcing myself to keep my mind silent. I focused on the slice of his knife and the sounds of the crackling fire.
No wonder I hadn’t se
en men like him in Alger. He wasn’t human; at least, I didn’t believe he was. The presence he carried around with him wasn’t normal. It could physically draw you in in a hazy trance or get under your skin and have you itching to get away. I had felt both.
He looked human, if not so perfect that he appeared sculpted out of flesh and bone.
But he wasn’t perfect. He had scars aplenty, covering his torso, and even one from me gracing his bicep. The one on his lower lip didn’t take away perfection but magnified it. He might not have been perfect, but he was the perfect man. On the outside.
He turned his head and a heated gaze latched onto mine. I had forgotten he could read my thoughts. Or maybe I just hadn’t cared.
What a shame it’s wasted on someone with such an ugly inside, I thought. The heat in his eyes stilled to indifference before he looked away.
Stress was easiest to deal with when one wasn’t awake; that was why I fell asleep moments later.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
PAST CATCHING UP
A soft voice caressed my face. It rolled around my entire body, singing a song of such beauty that it overwhelmed all my senses. A satin fabric of such warmth and softness slid across my skin. Goose bumps appeared with every crescendo. An unexplainable sensual scent was the only thing I could smell. Colors pulsed, dissipated, and appeared in front of my eyes with the rhythm of the song.
No small voice warned me this time.
I moved deeper and deeper into the song, barely registering the sticks and rocks underneath my feet. Soft water took over the fabric; it was so warm as it trickled down my skin . . . and then became ice-cold. I cried out from the jarring transition.
The song was ripped from me, and it felt as though it ripped a chunk of my heart out as well. It left it bloody and raw, and I pressed a hand against my chest to try and keep the rest of my heart from falling to pieces. The colors consuming my vision dissipated, and a woman in a white robe stood before me.
The full moon accentuated the dark hair twisted at the crown of her head in an elegant braid. Her eyes were wide, and black liquid dribbled out of her open lips. I didn’t realize it was red until it dripped onto her white robe. My stare moved to the man behind her. An indifferent gaze stared back at me while the woman sank to the ground, a knife tumbling out of her hands. Her eyes remained open as the last bit of her life left in the red waves that covered her back.
My vision blurred with tears as the ache in my chest took over. It was eating my insides like acid and feeding on the air in my lungs as if to spread to the rest of my body. I choked on a sob, and when Weston wrapped an arm around my waist, I convulsed. My eyes rolled back into my head, and I barely heard the deep voice in my ear. “Sleep.”
I woke up as I was being set down on my pallet by the fire. My muscles were sore, but the intense pain I’d felt dissipated. I had been so sure that I was dying.
I stared at the fire blankly. The pain had been so consuming that I didn’t want to feel or think about anything until a deep voice interrupted the silence.
“It was the song. Her death made you feel the pain,” Weston said. My eyes met his in a blank stare. I was surprised he was voluntarily giving me any information.
“Why did you kill her?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“She was going to kill you.”
Always saving me. When would I be able to save myself?
My mind was void of much activity. It had a shield up after I had sworn I would die; a simple protective maneuver to keep me from losing my mind, and making awful decisions. My body was so exhausted from the pain that I fell asleep minutes later.
* * *
Over the next two days, I traveled obediently behind Weston. The only kind of contact we had was with our eyes. I looked at him with hatred, and he looked at me with indifference. I didn’t know how the silent communication seemed to be working between us, but it was as if we were actually talking.
He didn’t even have the decency to appear guilty about what he was doing. It made my skin heat with anger, and I focused on that, instead of fear and self-pity.
He never gave an explanation for where he was taking me, and I didn’t ask for one. The only thing that made sense was that he wanted the seal open, and he thought he knew where it was. Or he had a thing for blondes and was taking me to a bizarre, sexual torture chamber. I thought that little theory louder than normal.
His amused eyes said, I could sexually torture you right here.
I stopped taunting him after that. It was too playful even in a disturbing way. And I didn’t want to play; I wanted to hurt.
He didn’t even glance my way when I went to the stream to collect my thoughts and wash up. I wished he wouldn’t have left me out of his sight. Because that would have told me that he was worried about me escaping. But instead, his indifference said everything.
He could find me anywhere in this forest.
* * *
When we finally stopped in a metropolis of a city, thoughts of escape were on my mind.
There were enough people here that I should have been able to slip away easier than in the middle of the woods. When Weston paid for two rooms and left the inn, my wide eyes followed him out the door in disbelief. I didn’t doubt he had heard my thoughts of escape, and he would give me free rein in the city? It had worry gnawing at me, but I wouldn’t let it sway my decision.
The sun hadn’t set yet, so I walked down the brick streets to purchase a few things. I bought some more soap and a couple of shirts and pants. I used the money that I was going to pay Weston with. I amused myself with the thought that he wouldn’t get it anymore.
When I ran across a plain wooden building, I was drawn to it and couldn’t stop myself from going in.
A bell dinged as I opened the door and many different scents assailed my nose. They smelled like home. Like Grandmother’s herbs. A sense of melancholy hit me with them.
A young woman stood behind the counter, watching me quizzically before she smiled. “Can I help you find something?” Her smile turned mischievous. “Maybe a potion to help seduce a certain man?”
Did women purchase potions like that? Why not just find a man who wanted them? The woman walked around the counter. “Some women are not as beautiful as you; they could not have a man that you could.”
I grimaced. Oh, perfect. Another mind reader.
She smiled at the thought. “You know another one?”
“Unfortunately,” I grumbled. She laughed melodically, and it brought peace with it. My muscles and mind were too relaxed to be concerned about the sudden change.
“Do you know anything about olian soap?” I asked.
Her lips pursed in thought. “Ah yes, that is a Sylvian wedding tradition, is it not?”
“I believe so, but I’m not certain. An old woman made me wash with it, and afterward men were giving me strange reactions,” I explained.
“Sounds like a bored Sylvian woman,” she mused. “These men . . . some couldn’t leave you alone, and others couldn’t get away faster?”
My eyes lit up. “Exactly!”
“Well, if I remember correctly, the soap smells different to every man. It shouldn’t be detectable by other women besides the one who wears it. The soap shows a man whether he is compatible with you. It will smell rotten to someone not compatible, and will smell tempting to someone who is. The smell varies on the scale of compatibility. In Sylvia, brides wash with the soap before the wedding, and if the scent smells bad to the groom, the wedding is stopped.”
I took all the information in, and was relieved to have some answers. No matter how small they were. Weston and I were clearly on the far side of the incompatibility scale. I remembered his reaction and his disgust. It wasn’t as though I had assumed us to be compatible at all—I was his prisoner.
The woman watched me with interest as I pulled a book off one of her shelves.
Alyria’s History and Prophecies of the Seal.
I blew the dust off the top of the
leather bound book. It was too large to carry around, but I was itching to see what was inside.
“Mind if I look at this?” I asked.
“Be my guest.” She gestured to the corner of the room where a small wooden table and chair sat. I swore they hadn’t been there before, and I looked hesitantly back at her, but she only smiled.
I sat down at the table, and the old book crinkled while I opened it. Goose bumps covered my arms as I read the very first sentence.
The future of Alyria lies in the hands of one woman. The daughter of a king and the daughter of a whore.
A shiver went down my spine at the truth of my mother. But if I were the daughter of a king, surely I wouldn’t have lived in a cottage. I might have been a bastard, but a king’s bastard was still treated better than a common peasant.
Her hair as fair as the wheat in the West, her eyes as dark and expressive as Lake Clare and mind as strong as her body weak.
Another set of shivers went down my spine and I rubbed my arms. That hit home. I read another passage of when they believed ‘the woman’ was to be born, which wasn’t for about another two-hundred years.
But I supposed I wasn’t very patient.
I flipped to the page Supposed Locations. The entire page was blank. If no one had any idea where it was, then how did Weston know? There were hardly any details about what the seal looked like. Some believed it was protected by the Mountain People in the East. They were mute, and it was assumed they lost their voices so they couldn’t tell anyone about the seal, and were cursed so that if it was found, they would all die painful deaths.
What kind of life would you have if you couldn’t talk anyway?
I glanced over at the woman, and my stomach dropped as I forgot she could read my thoughts. I closed the book and carried it over to the shelf, reluctantly sliding it in between the others.
A Girl Named Calamity (Alyria Book 1) Page 12
