Besides the bread incident that led to my capture, it was my most foolish mistake—not grabbing my boots from their spot by the door that dreadful night, when the armies laid siege to the Seahaven peninsula. But there had been no time. Not for a cloak, or a store of food, or a pack of medicinal herbs that might’ve helped heal my injuries. The fire was swift, and the flaming torches from which it spread were held by cruel hands, itching for violence.
I close my mind to the memory of creeping flame, of roilingsmoke. Of clashing metal, of tormented wails. And of Eli’s voice, ringing out as he shoved me to safety.
Run, Rhya. Run like the wind.
I had.
Straight into the arms of the enemy.
Scythe sits bythe mouth of the cave, sharpening his sword on a whetstone. He does not look up from his task when I limp into the clearing. He does not acknowledge my presence at all save to jerk his head toward a nearby tree stump, where a coal-roasted rabbit sits atop a large linden leaf.
“Eat. Before you fall over.”
I tense at his curtness. My mouth opens to retort, but I swallow the urge. Fighting with him will do me no good and, in truth, I am hungry.Starvingmight be more accurate, really. During my bath, I’d run my fingers across my ribs, each protrusion a testament to how sparse my meals have been these past weeks.
The steady tanging of his blade on the stone never ceases as I walk over to the stump and pry off a piece of rabbit with my fingertips. It smells heavenly, and as I pop it into my mouth, I find it tastes even better. Any sense of hesitancy flees the moment the first bite hits my hollow stomach. Within the span of a minute, I devour it all—gnawing down to the bone like a stray hound would the scraps from a rich man’s dinner table. I might’ve sucked the marrow, if I did not have an audience. When it’s gone, I feel near to bursting, yet somehow still ravenous.
The hair on the back of my neck prickles under the weight of someone’s gaze. Mustering the thin remains of my dignity, I set down the bone I’m still clutching and wipe my fingers clean on the linden leaf. I turn slowly to find Scythe watching me across the clearing. The sword in his hands has gone still.
If my newly bathed appearance startles him, he does not remark on it. Beneath the helm, his dark eyes are moving over my face with an intensity that makes me shiver. For a long moment, we regard each other in silent stalemate. I will not thank him for feeding me; a bird in a cage does not sing for the man who put her there. Nor will he reveal where he is taking me, or what he plans when we get there; a hunter does not explain his motives to the creature in his snare.
The air goes stale as the quiet drags on. My chin jerks higher in defiance. Finally, Scythe clears his throat.
“I suggest you get some rest. We ride at daybreak, fever or no. You have already delayed us long enough.”
I bristle, filled instantly with blind rage. “Oh, forgive me, I’d hate to delay my own kidnapping.” My arm swings up to point accusingly at him, the movement sending a spasm of pain through my ravaged wrist. “Need I remind you, I wouldn’t be ill at all if not for you dragging me across the countryside to gods only know where?”
His dark brows quirk upward, though the rest of his face remains impassive. When he speaks, his tone is infuriatingly level. “I was beginning to think you were a mute.”
“Youwish,” I bite back before I can stop myself. “I was managing just fine before you hunted me down like some…some…some wild deer to stuff and mount upon your wall.”
He studies me for a long beat. “Is that how you recall it? Perhaps the fever addled your mind. Because, from my view, I saved your ungrateful ass from certain death at the hands of the Eldians.”
“No doubt only for your own nefarious purposes.”
He has the gall to snort.
“You…” My teeth clench. “You say we ride at daybreak—to where? Where is it you are taking me? What king commandsyou? Not King Eld, for you slew his men without blinking, though they seemed to take you for one of their own.”
He gives no answer.
“Tell me, damn you!”
But he merely stares at me, totally unaffected—a man carved from marble. I want to throttle him. I bite my lip to stop myself from asking anything more, though a thousand other questions sit heavy on my tongue. Fury swirls in my chest, a maelstrom beneath my rib cage. The leash I hold over my temper is thin indeed. Eli always said my moods were like a summer storm, arising in an instant and capable of inflicting great damage if one was not careful.
Unfortunately, the commander does not seem to fear me much. With an annoying amount of nonchalance, he sheathes his sword and rises to his feet. Pine needles cling to his breeches; he does not bother to brush them off. Even here, in this most hidden of places, he is battle ready. The leather chest strap across his tunic is replete with throwing knives. A dagger is strapped to his left thigh; another peeks out over the top of his boot. At full height, his helmet brushes the branches of a nearby tree. I think it must be permanently fused to his head, for I have never seen him remove it.
What kind of life is this? Armed to the teeth at all times, fully prepared to fight at any given moment? Constantly on guard against invisible enemies?
“Daybreak,” Scythe says, his hard voice shattering the silence. “Be ready to ride. I don’t care if you’re half-dead.”
“I’d rather be full dead than spend another day in your company,” I snap, tossing my hair over my shoulder as I stalk into the cave, ignoring the pain in my soles. My damp skirts swish around my ankles, a slap of fabric against bare skin.
It will be a cold night, sleeping thus. The low fire inside the cave offers only the slightest warmth in the face of winter’s encroaching chill. I make it a scant few steps inside before I hear Scythe mutter something under his breath.
“I think I preferred her mute.”
Chapter