“Why? I should think it would be nice to have my man know exactly how he’s making me feel at any given point of the day without having to so much as open my lips.”
“Penn isnotmy—” I scowl at the grin that splits her face. “You’re teasing me again.”
“Couldn’t resist. Carry on.”
“That’s it, for the most part. Penn did say it was possible for the Remnants to channel each other somehow. But seeing as I can’t control my own power with any kind of success, I highly doubt I’ll be able to handle something like that.” My scoff is scornful. “Perhaps the gods chose the wrong girl to fulfill their damned prophecy. This mark at my chest seems wasted on me.”
“You’re being rather hard on yourself.”
“I’m being realistic,” I correct. “Now, can we please talk about something else?Anythingelse. I’m not above begging.”
Carys studies me for a long time across the polished wood teatable between us. Her green eyes see far too much, all the inner facets I would rather hide away. With a familiar knowing smile still curving her mouth, she shifts the conversation into blessedly safer waters.
“If the baby comes a few days early, maybe I won’t miss the whole festival. I love fireworks more than anything. I would hate to be bedridden for the entire show…”
Chapter
Twenty-four
The rain has slowed from a downpour to a drizzle by the time I bid Carys farewell and start my sodden march back to the palace. The streets are empty as I have ever witnessed, the normal midday hubbub of the marketplace forced indoors by the elements. The vendor stalls are vacant. Even the chestnut roaster, who seems a steady fixture, is gone from his usual post.
I tromp through puddles, my skirts a damp slap against my legs. My cloak is soaked through. The constant patter of rain against the earth is the only sound except for my squelching boots. For once, I am eager to get back to the warmth of the tower, with its crackling fireplace and volcanic wall.
Cobblestones gleam orange and red, a sheen of moisture catching the flickering glow of the lamplight. The air is chill, but I barely feel it. My thoughts are directed deep inward as I hurry down the abandoned roadway, head bent to avoid the worst of the raindrops.
I am worried about Carys, worried Uther will not make it home in time for the birth, worried she will trip down the stairs and go into labor prematurely. I have half a mind to turn around and head back to High Street, just so she won’t be alone, but Iknow my absence at the palace will certainly be noted if I’m not there in a few hours when the maids pay their nightly call.
“Tomorrow, first thing, I will go back and check on her,” I mutter to myself as I walk past a row of parked merchant wagons. Next morning’s deliveries, piled high with goods. “I’ll ensure she does not overexert herself. And make her drink more of the healing tea she so loath—”
The fist comes out of nowhere.
It clips me across the mouth, hard enough to split my lip. I taste blood on my tongue, a rush of hot copper, and cry out in pain. The sound is swallowed up by a large hand that claps over the bottom half of my face. In a blink, a second arm bands around my midsection, hard as granite, and hauls me backward. I kick and claw as I am dragged between two parked wagons, but whoever has me in his grasp is barrel-chested, with arms like anvils. The speed at which I find myself subdued is laughable.
My eyes widen when I see where he is taking me. One of the wagons is open at the back. I know instantly that I am the intended cargo. My teeth sink into the fleshy part of his palm, hard enough that he loosens his hold for a moment. He hisses an oath as I drop low and twist away, falling face-first into a puddle when my wet skirts tangle around my legs. The skin tears away from my hands as I scramble for purchase on the rough sidewalk, dragging myself forward.
The instant I find my feet, I start running flat out. He chases me, boots pounding through the puddles so close, I can feel the splashes against my back.
Where the hell is Gower when I need him?
With each stride, the cold power at my chest coils tighter, searing through my cloak. I reach inward for the wind that might save me, but it slips uselessly through my fingers, dulled by thefear and panic overriding my senses. Resorting to more traditional methods, I shove one hand into my cloak pocket to retrieve my dagger while the other fumbles for the whistle hanging on the cord at my throat.
I’m not too far from the soldiers’ barracks. If I can signal for help, someone will surely hear me. Someone will come running. Someone will—
The whistle never makes it to my lips.
He clobbers me from behind with something much harder than a fist. It feels like a plank of wood or the hilt of a sword. Stars burst in my visual field, fragmenting the world around me into a kaleidoscope of colors. I go down in a heap of limbs, landing face down in a puddle. I feel the dirty water seep through the fabric of my dress, into my skin.
Then I feel nothing at all.
The wagon rollsalong an uneven road, jolting painfully each time we hit a divot. I am slumped on the floor in the back, hands bound with coarse rope. There is a gag in my mouth, so tight I can barely breathe. My tongue is parched as sand. My head throbs so fiercely, it is a miracle I am able to see straight.
Struggling into a sitting position, I gingerly probe the back of my skull and discover an egg-sized lump beneath my braid. No wonder my head hurts. I wipe the crust of dried blood from my lower lip with my damp dress sleeve. To my surprise, the split is already healed—as are my scraped palms. My enhanced healing abilities are well intact, at least.
Through a slotted window at the front, I can make out the back of my captor’s neck. He has not yet realized I am awake, focused as he is on steering the pair of mules who pull us throughthe gathering dusk. It is not yet full dark. A good sign. I was unconscious only briefly, which means we have not been on the road for long. We might even still be in Caeldera.
Pulse pounding, I press my cheek against the side of the wagon, trying to make out slivers of passing scenery between the splintered wood planks. I see no buildings. Only fields of barren, half-frozen farmland and pine trees piled with dripping snowmelt. The road beneath our wheels is not cobblestone, but hard-packed reddish dirt.
We are beyond the city limits.