8. Jess

Chapter eight

Jess

I jarred awake with the realization that my hands and feet were bound by rough ropes that scored my wrists. Panic welled within my chest, and I tried to wriggle free of my bonds. My only reward was angry redness that burned beneath the braids.

My captors drove the horses hard, making my uncomfortable position, slung like a sack of grain onto the back of one of the beasts, nearly unbearable. Both saddle and buckle dug into my stomach with each bounce. I was sure bruises spread across my flesh.

The moon was bright, casting an eerie glow across the landscape. I tried to orient myself, to find some clue as to where we were headed, but my vision swam each time I tried to lift my head. The smell of sweat and horse, mingled with the tang of blood on my lips, was almost as nauseating as the ride itself .

An arrow streaked high in the night sky, the screech of its whistler and pop of its flare marked our location for whoever might be pursuing us. My captors spurred their horses to greater speed, and the countryside flew by in a blur.

Another whistler launched some distance to the right.

I managed to raise my head. I scanned the horizon for those giving chase, but the land was void.

Memories played in rapid succession, a jumble of hazy and disordered thoughts.

Danym kissing me in the woods.

My father on his throne in full regalia, me standing to his right with my hand resting on his shoulder. His hand covering mine.

Feelings of warmth and love.

The view across mountains. Crisp air. The scent of pine. The taste of freedom.

Twisted masks of animals, birds, and men. Voices like grinding gears. Rough hands. Harsh words.

Emerald eyes. Familiar eyes. Eyes I loved beyond life itself.

The glare of betrayal.

Danym.

When the horses slowed and began to falter, the robed men called out to each other in a strange, guttural tongue. Moments later, the man in the lead pointed to his left, and the team veered off the road. If I hadn't been tied to the back of a horse, I would've been thrown as the beast turned sharply and traversed the uneven land. Each forward stride had my muscles throbbing and shoulders straining.

We entered a forested area and were forced to slow to a trot in exchange for the disguise offered by the thickening trees. One man left, then returned. I couldn't understand what they said, but one who appeared to be in charge spoke firmly. The others nodded, then dismounted and began setting up camp.

As almost an afterthought, one of the men dragged me down from the horse and tied me to a nearby tree, checking to ensure my hands and feet were still tightly bound.

Winter was now only weeks away; still, they refused to light a fire. I shivered in the darkness. I was tired, hungry, terrified, and sore. I was everything all at once. It was overwhelming.

One of the men forced a vile concoction down my throat. He held it before me, a liquid that glowed and swirled like its vial contained some living thing. It dulled my aching body and racing mind but not the torrent of emotions.

As I fought the drug, desperate to shake the fog, to remember exactly what had happened, Danym's smile appeared in my mind. That smile had always made things better, made me smile in return. Then reality slammed into my mind: Danym was one of them . How was that even possible ?

The world spun, and still, I fought to remain awake.

I vaguely remembered escaping from the Palace and getting Danym's help to flee the capital. My memories of our time in the mountains were hazy, but the emotional havoc we experienced in the town of Spoke was clear. Fragments of details flitted to the fore: the men in masks chasing us, the horses racing up, around, and down the winding mountain road, and the moment those horrible men had nearly stolen Danym from me in one frightful shot. I could still hear him moaning as the Healer removed the arrow and used his Gift to save his life. I could feel the fear again, hear my own cries for aid. There was so much blood.

My head swam. Memory fled. Consciousness escaped my grasp.

I woke sometime later. The forest remained dark and still.

I'd been tied to a tree, I realized. Now, I lay stretched out on the ground. Small rocks dug into my legs and buttocks. I tried to shift, but it was a pointless endeavor.

Two of my captors sat quietly on pallets ten paces away. One of them caught my movement and turned.

"Are you hungry?" His voice grated, raspy and inhuman.

I shook my head, immediately regretting the gesture. "No, but . . . I would like some water . . . please. "

The man retrieved a skin and kneeled beside me. He wore the face of a strange raccoon or ferret, something of the sort.

No, it's Danym, not some animal. The thought stung almost as much as sitting up to receive the flask. I flinched when he cupped the back of my head and brought the water to my lips.

I drank deeply, only stopping when tears made the effort fruitless. He capped the skin but remained kneeling by my side.

Tentatively, he reached out. My eyes widened as his palm rested on my shoulder in what I assumed was meant to be a comforting act. I smacked it off with my bound hands and sneered at him like the snarling beast he wore. "Don't you dare!"

The raccoon closed his eyes, nodded, and retreated to the fire.

"Wait," I whispered. "Where are you taking me? Tell me what's going on. I'm scared."

The raccoon stared down, and I thought something akin to pity flitted across his eyes before he left me staring across the camp at his back.

Something in me snapped, and I screamed, "Don't you turn your back on me. I am the heir to the throne. My father will take your head for this, Danym Wilfred! But not before my mother sees you flayed alive!"

Apparently, raccoons could laugh.

"I hate you!"

I turned away and wept.