23. Tiana

Chapter twenty-three

Tiana

I woke with a slow, aching struggle.

I'd been in a drug-induced sleep for more than fifteen hours, and it hurt to move. The compartment below the cart where I'd been stored like sacks of grain allowed just enough room to roll over and stretch out, but there were no pads or blankets. Days of bouncing against the hard wood had battered me in places even a Healer wouldn't think could bruise. Thankfully, we had left behind the frigid mountain air, which had been replaced with autumnal notes of warm sun and only hints of coolness on the breeze.

The sickly-sweet drug they gave me kept me knocked out for all but an hour or two each day. My head swam during waking moments, still clouded by the powerful liquid. In a strange way, I was thankful for the drugs. They kept me from the uncontrollable fear I felt on that first night of my captivity. I couldn't imagine being lucid and making such a long journey trapped in the bottom of a rolling coffin.

I lay on my back, searching for a crack in the boards wide enough to see through. If I craned my neck just right, I caught the bottom of a boot or robe. I had better luck when rolling onto my right side. The slats of the side wall were not as tightly fitted as those of the top, granting a slim view of the passing landscape. Gone was the smell of pine and steep slopes. Now, all I could taste were fields of grass and wildflowers, all I could see were flashes of lush green meadows and fields of gold.

One of the first things a new Healer was taught was to never Heal one's own wounds. The magical theory behind that sacred rule claimed that the Light of a person could not be "folded onto itself." Doing so would create a magical collision that would injure the Healer rather than repair what ailed them.

Five days in a bouncing wooden box convinced me to test that theory. I wanted to ease the pain of my bruises, not actually Heal anything. I hoped such a distinction mattered to magic.

I placed a palm over my arm and closed my eyes. Light sputtered at my call, inhibited by the sleeping draught. I pushed harder, and it brightened enough for me to send a trickle into my aching muscles.

"Oh, Holy Spirits," I cried.

The bolt of searing heat that shot up my shoulder was magic's reprimand for breaking the rules. Tears welled in my eyes until the drug forced me back into a fitful sleep.

There would be no Healing.

I woke sometime later. The shock of my failed Healing had somehow cleared my head, giving me time to think—something I wasn't entirely sure was a blessing. I'd replayed my capture a hundred times, blaming myself for walking alone at night or not fighting harder . . . or a million other things I could've done. My throat clenched as terror took hold, and I relived the feel of rough, angry hands grasping and stuffing me into the cart's bed.

Then my mind drifted to my escape in the mountains. Fear mingled with desperation—and a sliver of hope—as I ran through the woods, stumbling to find protection in the wilderness. I saw the Ranger—Donny, yes, that was his name. His face was fuzzy in my mind, but I could still see his smile so clearly. He'd coaxed me from my hiding place and taken me to the safety of his station. He'd been so kind.

His chivalry had been his undoing.

When sounds of furniture crashing jarred me awake, Donny lay bleeding across the room, arrows protruding from his chest, and a look of pain and sadness marring his gentle face .

He'd died for me.

He'd died for nothing .

The bastards who'd killed him recaptured me and continued their journey as if nothing had ever happened.

Hopelessness and guilt flowed through me, and tears fell.

Then I felt guilty for feeling guilty.

That made me laugh.

My father had raised a proud, strong, self-sufficient woman who didn't need to feel sorry for herself. When he'd died, it had been my strength that had kept his practice running, my resourcefulness that had convinced the guilds to grant me a building in the center of town for an infirmary.

What was I thinking?

Sure, I'd been kidnapped, drugged, and hauled to another country in a wooden box, but I could find a solution. I had to find a solution.

Think, Ti, think!

I gathered my resolve and wiped my eyes. I would figure a way out of this mess.

Then he popped into my head.

I pressed my hands to my face, rubbing my eyes to focus, but Keelan's brilliant blue eyes still stared back at me. In my mind, he smiled, and I shivered. I saw him walking across the parade grounds of the Guard Complex in his crisp blue uniform, so tall, so strong, so . . . perfect.

C'mon, Ti. Stop that. He's not here to save you. You're gonna have to do that yourself.

But there he was again, stumbling through my infirmary door with goofy Ridley under his arm. Ridley's visits to my infirmary over the most trivial injuries were comical. His pretending to be in excruciating pain was even more so.

A woman knows when she's being flirted with.

Spirits, a rock could've seen Ridley coming. It was flattering and sweet, and he was cute, but Keelan was something else altogether. He filled a room simply by walking through the doorway, and not just from his massive frame and equally massive muscles. He had a presence that drew every eye, an air of command that made people want to follow him. I couldn't explain it, but his magic lay not in any Gift but in his warmth and often awkward charm.

And then he'd smile, and the world would tilt.

He didn't mean for it to. He wasn't even trying to flirt or impress. Perhaps that made it more endearing.

What was it about Keelan that caused my heart to flutter and my head to swoon?

He was so serious most of the time, almost to the point of being morose. Then, out of nowhere, he'd crack a joke or say something sweet . . . or just smile. He captured me more with that smile than anything the masked men could ever do .

I gave up attempting to concentrate and opened my eyes to peer through the crack at the passing fields. In different circumstances, with different company, this would've been a wonderful adventure. I'd always wanted to travel; though, the bottom of a cabbage cart had never been my preferred mode of transportation.

The cart slowed.

I could make out a house off the road, surrounded by farmland. A few cows and a large wiry dog wandered in a fenced field nearby.

It reminded me of home.

The cart pulled to a halt, and an old man in rough clothes hobbled out of the house, wandering in and out of my sliver of a view. The man in the bull mask hopped down to meet him. I couldn't hear what was said, but the farmer motioned around behind the house. A moment later, the cart was moving again.

We pulled into a large barn I couldn't see from the road. A chill streaked down my spine as wooden doors squealed in their grooves and slammed shut. A few moments passed before the cover to my prison was lifted, and dim light flowed across my face. The figure with the snarling wildcat mask helped me out and steadied me when I wobbled.

"It'll take me a minute to clear my head and get my legs under me. First Class isn't what it used to be." I'd decided to try to charm the beasts since nothing else had worked.

The man didn't speak, but his eyes grinned at my quip .

I glanced around the unremarkable building and found it similar to ones in my corner of the world. All barns were the same, it seemed. A few stalls for horses and a large pen for smaller animals were lined with old blankets nailed to the walls in preparation for winter's arrival. The opposite side was filled with bales of hay, stacked neatly to the bottom of a landing that wrapped around the structure, forming an upper level. The smell of sweet feed, the musk of animals, and the tang of dung thickened the barn's air.

Before I had time to look for exits, the bull approached. He held a sharp-looking knife before him. I tried to stagger back, but the wildcat held me firmly.

Panic flooded my body.

"Stop squirming," the bull rasped as he sliced through the ropes binding my hands.

I rubbed life into the angry marks that scored my wrists. It felt good to be free of my bonds, but I doubted that would last.

The wildcat led me to a set of rickety stairs and motioned for me to climb. Several thick pallets lay on the floor beside a wooden table and chairs, while brass lanterns with glass faces cast a warm glow on the small nook. My stomach grumbled at the smell of seasoned meat that wafted from the table. I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten a proper meal.

I startled when a frail voice spoke from a darkened corner .

"Please sit, Mistress. I'll take care of those wounds."

The gaunt form of an ancient woman shuffled into the light. Her back was bent, and she wore the brown robe of the Children but no mask. Several strands of colorless hair fell into her milky eyes. She swatted them back in annoyance.

"I usually keep this mess in a bun, but we didn't expect ya till the morning. Sorry for lookin' such a mess, Mistress." She offered a rusty curtsey.

I stared, baffled.

The woman reminded me of a kindly old grandmother—but she wore the robes of my captors. My mind told me to be wary, but my heart had run out of fear.

I tilted my head. "Why do you keep calling me Mistress?"

The wildcat stepped between us and glared down at the old woman. He shook his head once and stepped back to the railing to observe.

"Sorry, Mistress. That's not for me to answer. Come, let me look at ya. Ya must be starvin'. I scraped together some chicken and veg. Sorry, there's nothin' more tonight."

I sat where the old woman motioned and scanned the table. My stomach wasn't shy and made its thoughts known again.

The woman shuffled around and kneeled beside me, wincing as her aged knees reached the floor. She shook her head. "Used to run for days. Now kneelin' feels like a trip over a mountain. Don't get old, Mistress, whatever ya do."

I gave her a tight smile but said nothing.

I wanted to like the woman, but how could I like anyone who helped keep me captive? I remembered stories from my training where kidnap victims would develop feelings for their captors. There were no magical treatments for mental conditions, but I'd learned to spot the signs so a vicar could be called to help. Now, I was feeling affection for the woman helping my abductors.

Don't be stupid, Ti. Stay on guard.

"I'm Bet. Just sit still, and I'll try to help ya feel a little better."

Bet took my wrists one at a time and placed a palm over my rope burns. The familiar Healer's glow flared from Bet's palms. In seconds, the angry marks vanished. Without a word, Bet placed her hands on the sides of my face and Healed my clouded mind and bruised body.

The crone sat back and lowered her head, waiting for a response.

I rolled my neck and probed the clarity of my mind. It felt wonderful to think and move without everything hurting. I braced myself with a hand on the table and stood, putting tentative weight on my legs.

"Feel all right?" Bet struggled to her feet, gripping my arms for balance.

"Much better. Thank you. "

Bet turned toward the stairs, but I reached out. "Wait. Please let me return the favor."

Bet quirked her brow but sat and watched as I placed my palms above the woman's withered knees. The brilliant Light that flared from my palms startled the old woman. It was the brilliance of a rising sun next to the dimness of Bet's dawn Light.

As I completed the Healing, I leaned in and whispered, "Why are you helping them? Please . . ."

Bet's eyes darted to the wildcat and back. She shook her head, and fear flashed in her eyes. I thought I saw a tear forming and decided not to press.

"I can't return what age has stolen, but there was some damage I could Heal. Try standing now."

Bet accepted my hand and slowly rose to her feet. A smile burst from her lips as she bent and straightened her knees. "There's no pain when I bend, Mistress. Thank you. You're such a blessing!"

Bet squeezed the breath out of me with a surprisingly strong hug before scampering down the stairs. I smiled as she vanished from view. There was nothing in the world like Healing to lift my spirits.

That's when I noticed Wildcat staring at me from the railing. My heart sank again.

He pointed to the food and made an eating gesture, then crossed his arms. I was a bite from finishing my meal when the bull's head rose above the stairs. He strode to the table and sat on the opposite side.

"When you have finished eating, change into the clothes on the cot." He pointed to a wooden cot in the corner I hadn't noticed before. Spread across a colorful, fluffy quilt were a neatly folded pair of brown trousers and a light-blue shirt.

The bull tilted his head. "Do you not like them? I was told blue comforts you."

The comment was so absurd that I laughed, spitting a little of my chicken onto the table. "A Healer's smock is blue. I suppose, if that's what you mean, then yes, I like it just fine."

He nodded once, the matter settled. "Wear those tomorrow. Finish eating, then sleep."

Before retreating to his own pallet across the landing, the bull placed a vial of familiar liquid on the table and motioned for me to drink. Were it not for the wildcat still watching, I might have been tempted to pour the potion through the slats. By the time I finished the chicken and downed the potion, I could hear light snoring from behind the bull's mask.

The drug wore off in the middle of the night .

I scanned the loft with foggy eyes, trying to process where I was and how I'd gotten there. Reality was slow to return but felt like a punch to my gut when it did. I could see the wildcat and the bull stretched out on pallets in front of the stairs that led down to the barn's floor.

I sat up slowly.

I feared the spinning of my head almost as much as my captors.

No one stirred.

The men had neglected to retie my wrists and ankles, so I decided to try standing. My head swam, and I had to brace myself on the corner of the cot.

I gritted my teeth and wobbled to the table, feeling more like a newborn deer than a world-class Healer. They hadn't cleared the table, so I ate the few remaining scraps and found myself more thankful for the half-full pitcher of water than the hours-old chicken.

Still, no one stirred.

The water created an entirely different problem as my bladder pressed against places it wasn't welcome. There hadn't been cause to find a place for relief before now, so I had no idea where to even look.

It's a barn. Where would a horse pee?

I smiled at my ability to maintain some sense of humor in the middle of a kidnapping, but the same amusement that lifted my spirit also gave urgency to my bladder's call for relief .

I took a few careful steps toward the stairs, and the old boards under my feet groaned. I froze, waiting to see which of the men would wake. Fear mingled with my need to pee, and I had to resist the urge to dance the feeling away.

The men hadn't been rough with me. In fact, other than tying me up and forcing me to ride in a rolling coffin, they had been almost respectful.

What are you thinking, Ti? They kidnapped you and are taking you who knows where to do who knows what?

I decided my fear was healthy and stoked its embers.

Then I took another cautious step, and another.

I stood directly beside the wildcat, only a few feet from the stairs. I could hear his slow, rhythmic breathing and was confident he remained asleep. I kept my eyes on him and took another step.

This time, the blasted board screamed, and both men bolted upright.

The wildcat asked, "What are you doing, Mistress?"

I shrank back.

He glared, unfazed, so I did a childish pee-pee dance, trying to make sure they knew I wasn't trying to run. "I have to go. Please."

He stood and motioned for the bull to go back to sleep, then led me down the stairs and into a stall strewn with hay. The smell of manure made me gag .

"I'll wait here." The wildcat closed the stall gate and walked across to the other side, turning away to give me privacy.

When I called out, "I'm done," he walked back over and opened the gate.

An impulse struck, and I grabbed his wrist, allowing the flow of Healing magic to burst from my palm.

What happened next astonished me.

My magic poured into the wildcat, but there was no darkness of the body's interior. There was no fumbling to find damage or familiar organs. There was no feeling at all.

In fact, my magic found nothing but an empty shell.

Then something flashed, and my magic rebounded like a child's ball against a wall. The shock knocked me off my feet.

When the stars cleared, the wildcat loomed overhead.

"Thank you for trying, Mistress. As you could see, there is nothing to Heal."

He gave me that awful, blank, amused stare. "Time to go back to bed. Morning will be here soon."