by Vicky Savage
“Dude! That hurts.” I push his hand away. He smiles with that hauntingly perfect mouth and my heart contracts inside my chest.
“Ah, I see you are going to be difficult,” he says. “I regret your pain, but you must hold still. I wish only to staunch the wound on your forehead, Princess. There will be dire consequences if I do not return you in perfect condition.”
Princess? “Who are you?” I ask.
“Ryder James Blackthorn, at your service, Your Highness.” He bows his head.
“Are you making fun of me?”
His head flies up. “Of course not. I am concerned for your well being.”
“Why? What am I doing here?”
“You are here because I have need of you until your mother can be persuaded to, uh… accede to certain reasonable requests.”
“My mother?” Okay, I must be dreaming or hallucinating. I close my eyes and try to think. I have a dim recollection of a storm, but then… nothing. My mind’s a spilled jigsaw puzzle.
The cold stinging is back on my forehead. “Stop that.” I shove him away again.
“This is necessary to prevent infection, Princess. If you allow me to tend to your injury, all will go smoothly. If you do not, I shall be forced to restrain your hands, and I do not wish to do that.”
“What’s that thing you’re putting on my head?”
“A healing wand. See.” He shows me a small slender metal rod with a rounded tip that glows white light.
“It hurts only for a moment, and it will close your wound, if you will be still,” he says.
I’ve never seen an object like the wand before, but it looks relatively harmless and he seems to want to help me, so I let him touch it to my forehead again. It burns intensely for about ten seconds—icy and hot at the same time. Then the pain fades to a cool, dull throb. Not so bad, really. I relax a little.
“Better?” The corners of his mouth turn up, and a fraction of my fuzzy brain is pleased that I made him smile. I open my mouth to ask how I got a gash on my forehead, but my weary eyelids droop involuntarily and I nod off.
When I come to again, Blackthorn is still sitting at my side watching me intently. I peer over his shoulder into the dimly lit room, but I can’t make out anything. The air smells weird in here, though, like wet dirt and old gym socks.
“Where am I and how did I get here?” I ask.
“That is not important at the moment. What is important is that you are safe, Princess. No harm will come to you regardless of the outcome of our negotiations with your mother. I give you my oath on that.”
His words are obviously meant to reassure, but they send a shiver of fear through me. This guy may be breathtaking, but he’s either a nut job or he’s got the wrong girl. Either way, I think I’m in trouble.
“Do you even know who I am?” I ask. “My mother’s dead. She died last year in a car wreck.”
He considers this. “I do not know what you mean by car wreck, but I know who you are. We were introduced years ago at a Coalition Meeting at Warrington Palace. You may not remember me, but I have not forgotten you, Princess, and I happen to know your mother is very much alive.”
Huh? “You need to get a clue Blackthorn, or whatever your name is. The only palace I’ve ever been to is the Ice Palace in Hartford to see Disney on Ice. I was five. I doubt you were there. And quit calling me Princess!”
“Do you prefer Your Highness?”
I scowl at him. “Worse.”
“What then? Jaden?”
He knows my name?
“Victoria?”
And my middle name? He has my complete attention now.
“Surely you do not wish to be called Hanover,” he says lightly. “Lady Beckett, perhaps?”
I’m still a little bleary, but he definitely said my name—my full name—Jaden Victoria Hanover Beckett. Nobody knows my full name. Not even Liv. God, it’s too embarrassingly pretentious to ever tell anyone. I try to sit up, but the room starts to spin, so I ease back down.
“How do you know my name?” I ask.
“It is a wonderful name. It suits you.” He brushes his fingertips along the cut on my forehead, and I feel a slight crackle of electricity.
“I told you. We have met, and by now Queen Eleanor will surely be anxious regarding your whereabouts. Since your wound is looking much better, I must make certain my messenger is on his way. Please excuse me.” He stands and I’m able to see him completely for the first time.
Whoa! The guy’s huge. He’s at least six foot five. His size makes it hard to guess his age. Twenty, twenty-one, maybe.
He snags a piece of black leather garb from the floor, puts it on over his head, and buckles himself in. It looks like the body armor my cousin wears for downhill mountain biking. An enormous sword is strapped to one of his hips, and a wicked long knife is sheathed on the other. He looks Terminator-dangerous, except for that amazing face. A flicker of hot fear slices through me. This guy’s no angel—a fallen angel maybe, or maybe something more sinister.
“Can I trust you to mind yourself and not try to escape?” he asks.
I nod meekly, and he turns to go. A brown and white bird feather on a beaded cord dangles from the back of his hair. It doesn’t fit with the rest of his outfit, but hell his whole look is straight out of Lord of the Rings, so I guess anything goes.
“Wait,” I call after him. “Does my dad know where I am?” He must be insane with worry by now, coming home from his shift at the hospital and finding me gone.
“Your father?” Blackthorn seems taken aback by the question. “It was my desire to avoid involving your father in this business, since he has always been a friend to the Unicoi. But you are right… uh, what am I to call you?” He raises a questioning eyebrow.
“Jaden,” I say.
“You are right, Jaden. He is certain to be drawn into this one way or another. Once we are securely outside of Domerica, I shall send word to the Enclave that you are safe and will remain unharmed. It would be callous of me to cause him unnecessary concern.”
He bows slightly and strides away on his mile-long legs, stopping for a moment to speak with a group of really big guys standing near a fire. No, not a fire—more like a pile of glowing rocks. Glowing Rocks?
I don’t understand why everything is so freakin’ confusing. My head throbs like a churning caldron of kimchi, and my eyes are collecting data that my brain can’t process. Who is this mind-bogglingly gorgeous madman? He seems kind of nice, but he’s holding me prisoner for some reason. He’s speaking English—kind of formal English—but I can’t make any sense of it. All I know is that I need to get home before Dad and Drew get too worried.
I close my eyes, trying to think. Mom always used to say that the best way to approach any problem is to use logic. Okay, the logical approach is for me to take stock of my surroundings. Maybe something will look familiar or give me a clue about what has happened to me.
I’m lying on top of soft blankets spread out on a stone bench that seems like it was carved out of a stone wall. Slowly and carefully I slide my legs off the side of the bed and sit up. I rest my head in my hands until I have my equilibrium. Through blurry eyes I examine the room—if you can call it a room. It looks more like a cavern, with rough stone walls and a dirt floor.
My bed is in a cool, dark alcove separated a few feet from the rest of the cave. On one side of the room is a makeshift table—just a board, really, propped up on some stones with papers and scrolls scattered across the top. In the center of the room is the fire pit with the weird rocks that give off a soft yellow glow. Several large men dressed in leather armor with big swords similar to Blackthorn’s are clustered around that area, talking and laughing.
Logical conclusion: I’m being held captive by a bunch of giant-sized psychos who like to dress up in creepy outfits, tell jokes around a fake campfire, and hang out in caverns. Great.
My eyes find the cave entrance where a tall, willowy girl, about my age, stands gazing out into the rain.
Her sable hair is pulled back in one long braid, with a beaded band around her forehead. She’s wearing the same leather armor as the guys, only in a lighter russet shade. A small sword hangs at her side.
Logical conclusion: escape isn’t going to be easy, but this woman is the most vulnerable target in the group—and she controls the door.
I sweep my eyes around the rest of the room, taking in more details. I’m shocked when I happen to glance down at my legs and notice for the first time that I’m also wearing unusual clothing. My pants are a buttery leather, streaked with dirt and split at one knee. My top, which is also caked with dirt, is made of a soft white fabric with a lace-up front. The problem is, I don’t remember changing out of the jeans and hoodie I had on last night.
Up until now I’ve managed to keep my panic in check, but nausea swells in my stomach, and I think I’m going to be sick. Did these people change my clothes while I was passed out? Or worse, have I lost a chunk of time, a block of memory that would make all the pieces fall into place?
“Where are my clothes?” I say out loud.
The girl turns and glowers at me, folding her arms over her chest. She has Blackthorn’s golden skin and high cheekbones, but her eyes are a deeper, stormier blue. She’s over-the-top fabulous-looking, and it crosses my mind that maybe I’m being punk’d on TV and these people are a bunch of actors.
“Do you have a complaint?” she asks, marching to my bedside.
“Where are my clothes?” I say, a little intimidated.
“Those are your clothes.”
“This isn’t what I was wearing last night.”
“Those are the garments we found you in. They became soiled and torn when you hurled yourself from the cliff.”
“But they’re not mine,” I insist.
“Their ownership is of no concern to me, and I will not be drawn into a discussion regarding your wardrobe. This is not Warrington Palace, and I am not your servant. You shall remain in that clothing until you are safely stowed away inside of Unicoi. Whining will change nothing.” She turns and stalks away muttering “pampered little princess” under her breath.
I want to scream at her to stop calling me Princess, but I get the feeling it’s not in my best interests to anger this Amazon just yet. I need to stay chill if I’m going to find a way out of this live-action spin-off of Dungeons and Dragons.
These lunatics have obviously kidnapped me under some crazy-ass notion that my mom’s still alive and they have something to gain by holding me. Maybe this whole thing has something to do with one of the cases mom presided over as a judge. It’s possible one of her rulings angered these people. But what do they want? Revenge? Ransom? My heart sinks at the thought. God knows Dad could never scrape up enough money for that. And why are they dressed so strangely? Are they part of some cult?
I have a zillion questions, but no answers. Logic is getting me nowhere fast. What I need is a plan of action. My best chance is to stay alert and wait until a path becomes clear. Maybe I can steal a cell phone or a weapon, or slip away while everyone is sleeping, or eating, or doing something else. Maybe they’ll let me go when they find out my mom really is dead. Maybe my dad and the police will be able to find me. Someone has to be searching for me by now. Although I don’t even know how long I’ve been gone.
All this stressing is making me tired, and I bury my face in my hands again. I thought my life reeked to high heaven before—this is a whole new level of putridity.
If I ever get out of here, I’m going to appreciate what I have—cramped condo, ghetto school, whatever. Be it ever so humble… and all that.
“Princess,” a soft male voice says.
I’ve had just about enough of the ‘Princess’ thing, and I’m about to snap off the head of the unsuspecting speaker, when I glance up to see a slight, middle-aged man with wire-rimmed glasses holding out a cup for me.
“Tea?” he asks.
I hesitate before accepting it. “Thanks,” I say.
He smiles kindly. His looks are markedly different from the rest of the group. Besides being normal-sized, he wears no armor or weapon. Instead he has on a tan shirt, the same shade as his sandy-colored hair, a taupe vest, camel pants, and brown boots—he’s a study in earth tones. Only his pale blue eyes lend a hint of color to his appearance.
The tea smells okay, so I take a sip. It’s delicious. The sweet, warm liquid soothes my churning insides and makes me feel slightly better.
After I’ve drained my cup, the man asks, “More?”
“No, thank you,” I say, feeling a little like I’ve taken candy from a stranger.
“I’m Ralston,” he says with a slight British accent. He makes a little bow and reaches for my cup. As he takes it, he slips a small, folded piece of paper into my palm. I look at it curiously, and he briefly touches his index finger to his lips, with an infinitesimal shake of his head. Okay, I get it—keep my mouth shut.
When he leaves, I lie down on the bench with my back to the room so no one can see what I’m doing. I unfold the paper, and in the dark I can barely make out the message: I will help you escape when the time is right. Be patient. Do not do anything foolish.
A tiny flame of hope ignites inside me.
“Jaden, are you awake?” Blackthorn has returned.
I crumple the tiny piece of paper, discreetly pushing it into a dark corner of the bench. I roll onto my back and meet Blackthorn’s bottomless blue eyes.
“Yes?” I say.
“Are you feeling better?” He sits down next to me again.
“Yes.”
“The rain will cease in ten minutes. Then we must be on our way.”
“On our way?” Panic flares in my gut again. I’m pretty sure my chances of escaping or being rescued are much better if we stay in one spot. Plus, the prospect of getting into a car with these yahoos and moving to another mysterious location makes me a little crazy.
I glance at the opening of the cave. It is dark outside and still raining heavily. “I don’t know,” I say. It looks pretty socked-in to me. I think we should stay put for now. That rain’s not stopping anytime soon.”
“Yes it will. It’s nearing five o’clock,” Blackthorn says.
“So?”
“So, the rain in Domerica always ceases at five.” His dark eyebrows knit together. “Are you certain you are well?”
“No! No I’m not. I don’t understand any of this. I want to go home.” My voice echoes shrilly in the cave. “Please don’t do this. Please let me go.”
A flicker of emotion darts through his eyes. Concern? Guilt maybe? I don’t know. But he sets his jaw and turns away from me without response.
“It is time to move,” he tells his men.
FOUR
I sit on the edge of my bench-bed while my captors break down the camp. They pack their stuff, including the glowing rocks, into leather saddlebags. Blackthorn assigns the cranky Amazon to babysit me while this decamping is going on. She stands with her back to me, impatiently shifting from foot to foot.
I may not know much about my present situation—where I am or why I’m here. I do know one thing, though: I’m not going anywhere with these guys! I’ll find a way out of here somehow.
Amazon Girl doesn’t realize it, but she makes an easy target with her back exposed like that. I know I can take her down with a few simple Tae Kwon Do moves. She’s taller than I am, but her height is no match for my black belt. My problem’s going to be making it to the door. The big burly guys will be all over me in a red hot minute, unless I can figure a way to bob and weave my way around them—under the table, over the rock pit to the door. I’m pretty fast, and the element of surprise will be on my side.
I begin to plot a strategy. Most of the big boys are clustered to the left near the rock pit, so I’ll stay to the right. I scan the room for something to use as a weapon. Before I come up with anything, though, the man with the wire-rimmed glasses steps directly into my line of sight. His eyes laser into mine, and he gives a nearl
y imperceptible shake of his head, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. It creeps me out, yet it’s enough to make me abandon my half-formed plan. He’s definitely a strange bird, but he may just be my ticket out of here.
The rain stops at exactly five o’clock, as promised, and the men begin carrying out the bags.
“Get up,” Amazon Girl orders. I stand, and she shoves me roughly toward the opening of the cave. “Move quickly. Do not attempt to escape.”
