20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Zadé

Z adé sat, as always, at the end of the bar. Close enough to order another round, but far enough to the side so she could keep her eye on the room. She hadn't been to this tavern before…she much preferred Westcliff. Judging from the sign on the door, the human barkeeper didn't want any elves or mages in his establishment, but her presence was technically his fault for putting his business so near the border. And her gold spent as well as anyone else's, as long as she kept her cloak pulled up to hide her ears. She smirked. Thanks to her aunt, she had lots of coin to spend, and this was as good an inn as any.

"Barkeep, another!"

He frowned and fixed her with a hard look.

Zadé stared right back as time stretched on. She sighed. Fine. She plopped a few more silver pieces on the counter. The man brushed them into his pocket. Thirty seconds later, five tall glasses appeared in front of her, each with a different ale.

She smiled. What this outstanding establishment lacked in customer service, it made up for in creativity. They named this after a boat of some sort… Ship? Skiff? Schooner! That's what it was, a fleet of schooners. Or maybe he'd said flight…but that was silly, because boats didn't fly. Whatever. The ales cost a lot, but the novelty was worth it.

Zadé took a deep chug from the glass on the left and let a loud belch rip.

Did this make her an admiral with her so-called fleet? She guffawed. Admiral Zadé. Wouldn't that make her aunt twitchy? She should get a hat. A big one, like the real admirals wore. But what use was a bunch of ships, or someone to command them, this far inland?

She tipped her head back and chugged the second schooner dry. Then the third.

The world started to go double on her. She smiled. Tonight would be fun.

She eyed the room and sighed. This place was boring. She needed some patsy she could con into starting a brawl.

The bartender scowled at her.

He must've caught the mischievous glint in her features. She rolled her eyes and the floor tilted sideways.

When the room righted itself, two familiar mountain elves stood in front of her.

"Elsan? I didn't realize you were twins."

His shoulders slouched, and he pulled out the adjacent stool. "Zadé, I'm glad I found you," he said in Elven. He took a deep breath. "But I need you…semi-sober."

She stuck her tongue between her lips and blew at him. "Why?" She pointed at the flight of ales. "I have half a fleet of schooners to drink." She leaned forward and put a finger to her mouth, speaking at full volume, "Then… Shhh! Don't tell, but I'm gonna start a bar fight!"

The barkeep crossed his arms and glared at her. She thrust her bottom lip out and ignored him.

Elessan waved the human away and grabbed Zadé's shoulder, turning her to face him. "Listen to me. Your aunt's dead." His throat bobbed and he lowered his voice. "The king sent your bard, Stephen, with a band of assassins and his Arcane Inquisitor to kill everyone in Filathas and kidnap Aliya. There's more to tell you, but not here."

Cress? Dead? She snorted. "Not likely. Cressida's a warrior-mage. She held the Shadow Mountains by herself for a whole week at the beginning o' the Human War, ‘fore reinforcements got there. No assassin could get the best o' her."

Something flickered in Elessan's eyes.

If only everything would quit splitting in two. Her head hurt. What else did he say? "Princess is gone? You sure she didn't find some cute elven lad and decide to move on? Lindir seemed pretty into her."

"Zadé!"

Oh. He was serious, then. She focused on her schooners and sighed.

He grabbed her arm. "If you don't give a damn about Aliya, you should at least care that they killed your aunt."

Something inside her heated until she couldn't breathe. Her vision turned watery as she shrugged free. "Why? That woman ain't had nothing to do with me in two centuries."

But she cared, alright. Even if she didn't want to. Of all her family, Cressida's refusing to stand up to General Raloven and the others in that officer's meeting had stung the most. They'd wanted her gone, so she'd left before they could reject her to her face. If her own kin couldn't be loyal, there was no reason to feel guilty about not reciprocating.

None at all.

She imagined smashing the lump of ice that had settled in her stomach to a thousand pieces and took a hefty swig of ale to wash away the shards.

Elessan ran his fingers across the surface of the bar. "I don't know what happened to you, or between you and your clan. But this is partially your fault—you're the one who told the human bard where we were going. Don't you think it's time you quit wallowing, and did something? Regain your honor?"

She wrapped her hands around the nearest schooner, staring into the drink, unseeing. She had nothing to reclaim, no coming back from her mistakes. Zadé Brightleaf would never be welcomed back into elven society.

"Please. Help me rescue Aliya. We can avenge Cressida and end this war once and for all." He swallowed. "I don't think I can do it alone."

Zadé's gaze flicked to Elessan, then back to her schooners. "Princess iz really in trouble?"

He nodded.

"And it's that human…Stephen?"

"Yes. Along with the Arcane Inquisitor."

She sighed. "Okay, Elsan. I'll help you." She chugged one of her ales. "But first, I need to hit somethin'. Meet me outside in five?"

His body deflated, as though someone cut a puppet's strings. "Thank you." He stood, pushing his stool back.

She smiled at his departing back, letting him get to the door before she chucked her empty glass across the room with a "Whoop!" Laughing, she flashed her fangs at the barkeep as she yanked her hood down, putting her semi-pointed ears on full display.

"Bar fight!"

The last bit of golden light disappeared from inside Aliya's wagon as the sun dipped below the horizon. She pulled her legs close and wrapped her arms around them. Tonight would be chilly.

The longer she stayed in this prison, the less likely Elessan would come rescue her. But even if he'd survived the Whisperer, why would he? He wasn't beholden to her…he served the elves and had every right to hate the humans.

She put her chin on her knees and sighed. He was so capable, and she made a mess of everything. She stared up at the barred window. Elessan could survive in the forest for years, if he needed to. Assuming he was still alive.

She was being stupid, hoping he'd lived, and that he'd come. There was a reason they said hope was always the last thing to perish. If she sat here waiting for him to rescue her, she'd die, too.

Outside, Brooks and Stephen were setting their camp up for the evening, judging from the clanking and swearing.

Aliya blinked, frowning. Elessan taught her a lot in the weeks they traveled together. She was skilled in lighting fires, and knew which plants and berries were safe to eat. If she didn't have to hunt or skin anything, she should be okay in the woods, too. At least, for a little while. Long enough to evade her kidnappers.

A loud thud sounded, followed by a string of creative curses.

"Stephen, what's wrong?" Annabelle's voice floated across the campsite.

"Tripped on a blasted tree root," he said, moving around from the back of Aliya's prison. "I think I dislocated my shoulder."

Aliya stood on her tiptoes, peeking out the windows of her cell. He limped into view, his right arm dangling at an odd angle. The joint was caved in as though someone had hit it with a hammer. Dust and leaf debris covered his clothes and hair.

Brooks rose from where he tended the tiny fire and prodded the other man's shoulder. "Yup. You did." Without warning, he grabbed Stephen's elbow and twisted.

A sickening pop echoed, followed by a scream.

"There. All better," the inquisitor said.

"Thanks." Stephen rolled the joint, testing it. "Damn, that smarts. Next time, at least give me time to bite down on my belt or something."

"Watch where you step and it won't happen again," Annabelle said.

The three assassins settled around their campfire on her right. The road to her left, and the woodlands on the far side, were clear. She glanced back and forth. If she was careful, she could keep the wagon between her captors and herself until she crossed the path and escaped into the wilds.

She stared at her wrists, now raw and blistered from the iron in the manacles. First, get free of these things. Then worry about everything else.

Stephen's injured shoulder gave her an idea. Technically, with enough force, any joint could be dislocated. At least, according to her father's physician.

Pushing her thumb over her palm, she yanked on one of the handcuffs. The rough edges scraped and pulled at her skin. She bit her lip until she tasted blood. The bone shifted and pain shot up her arm.

Aliya bit back her scream so hard, she choked.

The manacle slid off.

Oh. She wasted several seconds watching the bindings dangle from her other wrist like an idiot.

Bringing her newly freed hand to her face, she inspected it. Her thumb was pushed in toward her hand and throbbed in time with her racing heartbeat. She poked at the digit with her free hand. It should slide right back…

She grabbed her thumb with her other hand, clenched her jaw, and yanked. It snapped back into place, leaving her heaving and panting. The throbbing eased to a dull ache.

One down, one to go.

Several minutes later, Aliya stashed the manacles in the corner and faced the street. Her thumbs were swollen and painful, but still functional if she was careful. Changing her shape ever so slightly, she squeezed through the narrow bars and dropped to the ground.

Her captors were murmuring on the far side of the wagon.

She froze. Too bad they hadn't given her more than one canteen of water, so she could shift into something fast to escape, like a deer or mountain lynx.

The voices continued.

Keeping the cart between herself and the guttering campfire, she made her way across the road. Aliya raced as quickly as she dared while taking great care to not rustle any leaves or twigs.

Her heart pounded against her ribcage. Hurry, hurry, hurry!

She kept her ears on the quiet mumbling behind her, muscles tensed for the inevitable shout indicating her absence had been noticed. The forest loomed, its shadows dark and foreboding. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

A game trail cut through the foliage in front of her. It would be too obvious, and likely the first place they would look for her.

She could lay a fake set of tracks and run the other way. It hadn't worked very well with Elessan in Filathas, but the three assassins definitely lacked his wilderness skills.

Ahead of her, the path forked, one branch headed back the way they came, and the other continued in the opposite direction.

The logical, safest option was to return to the elves and try to find another teacher to finish her training. A sharp pain jabbed through her heart. Cressida was dead because the king hunted Aliya. Because she ran away from her problems instead of facing them head-on.

Maybe Elessan was right. It was time to stop running, to face Malkov, and deal with him like an adult. Before more innocents got caught in the crossfire.

The trail to the left would take her back to Filathas…

But she'd never forgive herself if anyone else died on her behalf when she could've prevented it. Without Cressida, the elves probably wouldn't welcome her back, anyway.

Behind her, the conversation wound down. It must be supper time, which meant she had only five or ten minutes before they brought her food and discovered her absence.

Her stomach growled.

In retrospect, perhaps it would have been better to wait to escape until after dinner, when two of the three slept?

But whoever was on watch would be semi-alert and waiting for her to try something like this. The last thing she needed to be doing was stumbling around the woods in the dark. There'd be no mountain elf savior popping into her camp this time.

No. Now was best, even if it meant she'd go hungry tonight.

She glanced back down the path toward Filathas and sighed. She'd never asked for her magic, or the crown.

But now she was queen, at least in name. Time for her to do something with the title.

She took a few strides down the left pathway and broke the end of a twig. After several more steps, she snapped another one. She bit the inside of her lip. How many should she break to hint she ran that way, without making the trick so obvious they wouldn't fall for it?

Probably no more. The signs Elessan pointed out when he tracked an animal were subtle. One final touch was all she needed.

Turning her back to the rest of the trail, she walked the opposite direction—to Malkov and her fate.

As she passed the fork in the path, she pushed her magic into the soil. Her footprints appeared in the dirt, heading back toward Filathas.

Time to put some distance between her and that cursed wagon.

Balling her fists at her side, she strode down the track, still being careful not to snap any twigs or brush any branches.

Behind her, a shout rang out. They'd finally discovered her absence.

When she was far enough away the sound wouldn't carry, she broke into a sprint. She couldn't waste the last bit of daylight.