Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

Thalia

My hands are numb and my shoulders ache but those are merely my most prominent woes. I’m sore all over from being jerked off King’s back hours ago, and I’m terrified.

We rode hard for a few hours, but then Ferelith’s kidnappers slowed to a walk. This should’ve felt better to my bruised body, but that simply gave Snyder better access to torture me.

He did this by talking in a constant low murmur as I rode in front of him, describing in sickening detail what he planned to do to me once we camped for the evening. He also touched me, vicious enough I’m certain he left bruises behind. The first time he groped my breast, I slammed my head back into him. Unfortunately, I only got his cheekbone, but it earned me a punishment—his fist to the side of my head.

His hands wandered over me, pinching and squeezing far too hard. I know the insides of my thighs and breasts are going to be black and blue, but that’s hardly at the forefront of my worries.

Right now, I’m tied standing to a thin tree with my wrists bound behind it while my legs remain free. The collar is still secure around my neck, and periodically, I try to fire up my magic. It’s beyond depressing that I can’t even get a flicker against whatever power Ferelith soaked into the metal.

Two of the men are sent to hunt for food. That leaves Snyder and one other man, and I study them, their uniforms of midnight-black pants and shirts and knee-high boots. The patch on the upper sleeve portrays a red eye with a drop of blood leaking from the corner. I have no clue what the symbolism is, but blood is not a shocking element, given what we know about Ferelith.

Snyder is clearly in charge. After sending the two hunting, he orders the remaining man to build a fire. Snyder then sinks to the ground, resting with his back against a boulder.

He appraises me silently, chewing on the end of a blade of grass.

“What’s your story?” I ask, hoping at the very least to gather information that might aid in my release. “Have you been with Ferelith since the beginning?”

To my surprise, Snyder doesn’t seem offended by my curiosity. He shakes his head, tosses the piece of grass. Folding his hands over his stomach, he says, “I lived in Bell Tower. When Ferelith’s army advanced on us, we were offered the chance to surrender. I took it.”

Coward.

I try to keep my tone neutral and politely inquisitive. “Were you in the army?”

He lifts his chin and smirks. “First line, warrior caste descendant.”

There’s no hiding my derision. “My, how proud your ancestors must be that you surrendered without even trying to fight.”

The smile slips and his lips peel back in a feral snarl. He pushes up from the ground and stalks toward me, cruelty blazing in his eyes.

I want to be brave, but I’m scared out of my wits. With my magic nullified and my arms pinned, I have no means with which to defend myself.

Snyder stares at me lecherously as he approaches. I can’t imagine he finds anything sexy as I’m wearing jeans and a long-sleeved Henley I put on this morning to ward off the dawn chill. I’m covered in dirt, and my hair is a rat’s nest.

Just a few feet away from me, he reaches behind his back and pulls out a long knife with a curved blade and hooked tip.

I try to be strong, but I feel a scream welling inside. To keep it at bay, I babble at him. “I’m a prisoner, and there are rules regarding the treatment of such. Ferelith would not want you breaking the rules of war.”

Snyder’s laugh is cold, and he’s clearly delighted by my rising panic. “Empress Ferelith doesn’t care what I do to you. As long as you’re breathing and have most of your blood left. She’s sent out dozens of hunting parties like this to find you, and she’s promised untold riches as long as you come back with a pulse. I promise, I won’t make you bleed too bad.”

My stomach rolls as Snyder comes toe to toe with me, bending his head so his face is close to mine. I try to fight against my own gag reflex, which surges due to fear and my absolute disgust with how callous this man is.

Holding the knife in one hand, his other comes up to squeeze my breast painfully. “I am really looking forward to seeing how much fight you have in you.” His eyes burn with the promise of torture and pain.

Realization dawns that this could very well destroy me, and I know I have to fight with every bit of strength—physically and mentally—in my possession. “If you take off this collar, I’ll show you how much fight I have.”

Snyder sneers and squeezes my breast again. “Sorry, bitch… the iron stays on. But don’t worry. You’ll be screaming my name before too long.”

There’s nothing I can do to ease the violence he’ll inflict, so I’ll try to anger him into making a mistake. “Doubt it will be screaming. Probably laughing as I’ve realized that men like you who talk a big game usually have little cocks. The question is, when I laugh at it, will you even be able to get it up?”

Snyder’s eyes narrow, flickering with malevolence, and he holds the knife before my face. I’m so scared he’s going to cut me, I turn my head away and start chanting prayers to the gods.

The slice doesn’t come to my skin but rather to my shirt, which he rends apart with one swift motion.

I’m not wearing a bra as they’re not commonly used in Vyronas, and I don’t miss their restriction, to be honest. But now, as Snyder pulls hard on the material to expose me completely, I struggle to fight the building panic.

I look over to the other soldier and find him watching with interest. “Please… don’t let him do this.”

Snyder laughs, garnering my attention back to him. “He gets sloppy seconds, so he’s not going to help you.”

My head whips back to the other man to see if this is true. He grins salaciously, cupping his crotch and squeezing himself.

There’s no easy way out, but I refuse to go down without a fight. Snyder laughs as he takes in the other man’s crudity, and I use the opportunity to bring my knee up. I’m hoping a direct hit to his nuts will render him impotent for the rest of his life.

But the man is quick and jumps nimbly to the side. Snyder grips my face with one hand, squeezes hard, and leans in. “Go ahead and fight, little princess. I like it.”

And then he kisses me, and it’s perhaps the worst thing that’s ever happened in my life so far. I know worse is coming, but his attempt at intimacy is so perverse, I can scarcely breathe from fear. I’d bite him if I could, but his fingers dig into my jaw, holding me firmly in place so I can’t open or close my mouth.

In one swift move, Snyder releases my face, and with the knife cuts the rope binding my wrists. My shoulder joints shriek with agony and my arms fall uselessly to my sides. I try to hit him but the pain immobilizes me.

With a strong swipe of his foot, he knocks my legs out from under me, and I yelp as I fall onto my back.

Snyder is on me, gathering my hands and pinning them over my head. I kick and buck against him, but he’s heavy and I’m not able to move him at all. His erection grinds into me, and he grunts as he humps my body.

Tears well up from both fear and anger, but I’m not blinded enough that I don’t spy his knife lying on the ground. I struggle harder, trying to free my hands—if I get that blade, I’m plunging it hard into his back.

Suddenly, my hands are free, but I’m almost shocked into immobility as I realize it’s so Snyder can remove my jeans. His hands clumsily navigate the wonders of a First Dimension button and zipper, and in his fumbling, I make a move for the knife.

I roll hard toward the weapon and claw at the dirt to drag myself toward it.

Snyder laughs, grabs me by the hips, and pulls me back. “Come on, Princess. Got to do better than that.”

I screech in frustration as he rolls me back over and straddles my thighs. I punch and scratch at his chest, trying to reach his face, but his hands work with determination at the button of my pants.

“Come grab her hands,” Snyder growls at the other man, and as he approaches, I buck wildly while screaming out my panic.

The man bends and reaches for me, lust and violence shining in his gaze. And then… there’s a whizzing sound and a dagger embeds in his left eye. He falls backward, dead before his head hits the ground.

I hear a galloping horse, and Snyder looks up at something behind me. The horse is close enough, I feel the ground vibrating and whatever is coming causes Snyder to pale. He moves to rise, reaching for the sheath at his hip, but his knife is on the ground ten feet away.

It’s moot because something—no, someone—flies off the horse while it’s in mid gallop and crashes right into Snyder. He’s ripped off me, rolled roughly in the dirt, and as I struggle to sit up, I almost cry in relief to see Bastien on top of my captor.

I scramble backward, pulling my ripped shirt around me as best I can, and watch as Bastien punches Snyder repetitively with his right fist. My gaze drifts over to the other man, lifeless, the dagger protruding from his eye socket.

“Thalia,” Kieran says from behind me, and then he helps me to my feet as I clutch at the rags of my shirt.

Bastien hits Snyder once, twice, three times, and then he hauls him up.

I’m surprised that’s all Bastien is going to hand out because I know he’s got a deep sense of moral justice. Perhaps he wants to interrogate him.

“Don’t look, Thalia,” Kieran says as Bastien spins a disoriented and bloodied Snyder around.

“But… why?” I ask, my eyes pinned on the two men.

My question is answered when Bastien clamps his hands around Snyder’s head, and with one swift, violent move, he breaks the man’s neck.

Bastien drops the man without a second glance and strides toward me before Snyder’s body even hits the ground.

His expression is heated, and he looks mad as hell. I realize I’m trembling, and all my instincts tell me that Bastien is dangerous right now. I try to back away, but Kieran is a wall behind me.

I’m stunned when Bastien reaches out and pulls me into his arms. Crushes me against his chest with one hand around my back and the other cupping my head. My fear melts as I relish the comfort this man offers. The feel of his body, his smell, the way his chest rises and falls—it’s everything I need right now.

I wrap my arms around his waist and burrow into him, ignoring the slight tensing in his arms. But I take heart when he whispers in an unsteady voice, “Are you okay?”

The words won’t come, but I manage to nod against him. I close my eyes in rapture when I feel him press his lips to the top of my head, an intimacy I’m so starved for, my legs go weak.

“You scared the fuck out of me,” he grumbles. His arms tighten around me, and my heart soars. I don’t understand how magic—no matter how strong—could’ve ever made me forget how good it feels to be held by this man.

But my elation is short-lived as Bastien releases me. Expression once again grim, he looks at my ripped shirt I’m holding closed across my chest and frowns. “I killed him too quickly.”

Bastien pulls his own shirt over his head and helps me thread my arms through.

“There are two others,” I say, forgetting about Ferelith’s men who were off hunting.

“They’re dead,” he replies as I tug his shirt down. It practically swallows me. I’m grateful for him protecting my modesty when I wouldn’t have thought about it myself. Too busy shaking like a leaf.

Bastien lifts my chin, taking in the iron collar at my neck. His fingers move around it and he finds the hinge. It releases, and instantly, my magic fires up and sizzles in my veins.

“Ferelith imbued it with some type of magic that completely nullified mine,” I say as he examines it.

His eyes snap to mine with concern, because that’s unheard of. Sure… someone like me can have my magics contained briefly with spells such as what I was hit with earlier, but there’s nothing known in our histories that would completely deaden someone’s magic.

“Is your power back?” he asks hesitantly.

“Yeah… it feels fine. Came back strong the minute you took that off.”

Bastien nods and whistles for Greta, who trots over to him. He tucks the collar in a side pack, assuredly for the Conclave to study later.

When he turns back to face me, his expression is set into that flat impassivity.

Once again, he’s choosing to distance himself.