12. Catandria

12

CATANDRIA

T he road is rough, the stolen carriage creaking with every bump. Javan, now in the guise of a dark elf merchant, handles the reins with practiced ease. I sit beside him, my wrists bound loosely, playing the part of a human slave. Inside the carriage, Kynor remains unconscious, bound and gagged.

“You’re sure about this?” I ask, glancing at the approaching checkpoint. Dark elf soldiers in dark armor mill about, their eyes sharp and suspicious.

“Relax,” Javan says, his voice smooth and confident. “We’ve got this.”

I shift in my seat, the rough rope chafing my wrists. “What if they search the carriage?”

“They won’t.” His tone leaves no room for doubt.

The carriage slows as we approach the checkpoint. A soldier steps forward, his eyes raking over us. “What’s your business?” he demands.

“Trade,” Javan replies, holding up a bag of coins. “And a little something extra for your troubles.”

The soldier’s eyes narrow. “What’s in the back?”

“Just goods,” Javan says, tossing the bag to the soldier. The clink of coins is loud in the tense silence.

The soldier catches the bag, weighing it in his hand. “Illegal goods?”

Javan smirks. “Is there any other kind?”

The soldier’s lips twitch in a semblance of a smile. “Open it.”

My heart races as another soldier approaches the back of the carriage. I hold my breath, praying he won’t look too closely.

Javan’s hand brushes mine, a silent reassurance. “We can’t kill every time,” he murmurs, his eyes on the soldiers. “We need to move fast. The ritual must be completed under the full moon in two days.”

I nod, my throat tight with worry. “But what if they?—”

“I told you they won’t,” he interrupts, his voice firm. “Trust me.”

Javan begins chatting with the soldiers like they’re old drinking buddies. His laughter mingles with theirs, and it grates on my nerves. I bite my tongue, my fingers digging into the rough wood of the carriage seat.

The soldiers barely glance at the back of the carriage, thankfully, as their attention is glued to the gold coins. “Generous of you, merchant,” one says, pocketing the bag.

“Anything for smooth travels,” he replies smoothly, tipping his head.

Suddenly, a scream pierces the air. I whip my head around to see a pregnant woman being dragged by her hair into the woods nearby. Her cries echo, filled with raw terror. My heart lurches, and I start to move, instinct driving me to help her.

Javan’s hand clamps around my wrist, pulling me back. “Don’t,” he hisses. “We can’t blow our cover.”

I struggle against his grip, fury and helplessness gnawing at me. "But she's?—"

"I know," he cuts me off, his eyes darkening with a rare hint of something that almost looks like regret. "But we can't risk it. Not now."

The woman's screams fade into the distance, leaving an eerie silence. The soldiers, distracted by their newfound wealth, don’t even notice. I bite my lip, the taste of blood mingling with my frustration. Javan’s hold on my wrist tightens, a silent warning.

“Javan—” My voice shakes with helplessness.

“They’ll kill you. We have a mission.” His grip tightens, his eyes boring into mine. “Focus.”

I swallow hard, the woman’s screams still ringing in my ears. Every fiber of my being wants to help, but I know he’s right. We can’t afford to be reckless. I force myself to sit back, my nails digging into my palms.

The soldiers wave us through, their attention still on the coins. We pass the checkpoint, and I let out a shaky breath. Relief is short-lived as a group of dark elves appears on the road ahead. At their head is a captain, his eyes sharp and unyielding.

"Stop!" the captain commands. My heart leaps into my throat, and I feel my palms grow clammy.

Javan pulls the carriage to a halt, his expression calm but alert. I envy his composure, wishing I could muster even a fraction of it. He leans forward slightly, his dark eyes fixed on the dark elf. "Is there a problem, Captain?" he asks, his tone measured and respectful. I hold my breath, praying to whatever gods might listen that we haven't been found out already.

The captain’s gaze sweeps over us, landing on me. “The girl. Into the carriage.”

My heart pounds as I slide off the seat, my legs feeling like anchors. Javan’s eyes flicker with something dark and dangerous, but he nods, his presence a grounding force in this tension.

I step into the carriage, the air inside stifling and heavy with unspoken threats. Kynor still lies, bound and gagged, his unconscious form a stark reminder of our mission and the peril we face. The captain’s eyes never leave me, suspicion etched into every line of his face, making my skin prickle.

He steps closer, his gaze hardening. “I’ll need to check the rest of your carriage,” he says, his voice a low growl that brooks no refusal.

This is it. I glance at Javan, hoping he has a plan. His expression remains annoyingly calm.

“Of course, Captain,” Javan says, dismounting with a fluid grace that belies his supposed weakness. “But you might find it a bit... crowded.”

The captain arches an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “Crowded?”

“Yes, I have some... sensitive cargo,” Javan replies, stepping toward the back of the carriage. His voice carries a hint of secrecy, a lure for the captain’s growing interest. “Perhaps we can discuss this elsewhere?”

The captain’s suspicion deepens, his eyes narrowing as he weighs the risk. “Open it. Now.”

I feel my pulse quicken, the moment hanging heavy in the air like a blade poised to drop. Javan's calm demeanor does little to soothe my anxiety as his hand hovers near the latch, the seconds stretching into an eternity.

The rope chafes against my wrists as I shift, trying to remain inconspicuous. My mind races, looking for any possible escape.

“As you wish,” he says, unhooking the latch.

Shit. What do we do?