Two arrows had pierced Raven's abdomen, wedged between ribs. Each breath burned, seeming shorter than the last, robbing her of air and time. The ambushers—disguised in Hudar robes—were temple guards, there at Khalimat's bidding. They would have but one objective, and she would not oblige them willingly.
Something snapped around her wrist. Numbness washed over her, then nausea and dizziness, all in the span of a blink. A charmed silver band, suppressing her magic, disabling her abilities. A spell of Khalimat's creation, the band had kept her in check for over a decade, and no amount of counter magic had worked to surmount it.
Gasping, Raven lurched to her knees. A fist connected with the side of her face. Pain exploded behind her eyes, whitewashing the world. She reeled but remained upright. Spat a mouthful of blood and scanned the looming faces, trying to decipher who had punched her. He would die first.
She hissed as her arms were wrenched and bound behind her back. Tolerance for pain, like stubbornness, had kept her alive over the years. Today was no different. Tomorrow would be no different. She would endure. But gods be damned, she was tired.
"Stop it, stop!" Alyssa screamed, rushing towards her.
Panic laced through Raven like cold steel. These men wouldn't hesitate to kill. Before she could draw a breath to shout, one of them cracked Alyssa over the head with a wooden staff. She jerked mid-stride and collapsed to the dirt.
"Bastard!" Raven snarled, thrashing against her bindings.
The man with the staff stood over Alyssa and nudged her motionless body with his boot. "Is this really the queen?"
"It is." The leader of these men Raven knew all too well. Rhet, a tall, dark shadow. Khalimat's most loyal temple guard. "Hopefully you didn't crack her pretty head open."
Her pulse pounded in her ears. Alyssa hadn't yet stirred, but her chest continued to rise and fall. She couldn't see her face. Gods, let her be all right. Punish me, not her. Punish me!
Rhet stood over Raven. "Hello, Prophet."
She spit at him.
He chuckled and knelt to meet her gaze. "I knew I'd find you here. This is the way to the high prairies, after all. Where your people spend their winters. What's left of them, that is." He grabbed the shaft of one arrow and yanked it out of her chest.
She winced, expecting more pain, but he held up the arrow to show the smooth, barbless tip. One meant to incapacitate, not kill.
"I can't have you dying. Your life belongs to Khalimat. She would be furious if anything happened to you." He jerked the second arrow, ripping a strangled growl from her. "Your wounds will heal just nicely. They always did. You've the scars to prove it."
Red haze colored the edges of the world, throbbing in time with her heart. Robbed of her magic, she suffocated in the void. "You will die," she said, eyes half-lidded with pain and rage.
"Do you foresee it, witch? Can you part the veil without your magic?" He snatched her chin and tilted her head side to side. "No, I think not. If you truly could see the future, you wouldn't have been caught. You're as helpless as the rest of us."
If only he'd loomed a little closer, she could have cracked his nose with her forehead. "We'll see."
"Indeed, we will." Rhet smiled and stood. "Get her on that white horse. As much as I'd love for her to walk the entire journey, we haven't the time. I want to make it down the mountain before nightfall."
"What about the queen?" the guard with the staff said.
Rhet glanced at Alyssa's still form crumpled in the dirt. "We've no obligation to return Kenos' unruly wife. Leave her."
"No!" Raven fought the two men who hauled her to her feet. She jerked in their grasp, trying to see Alyssa. "You can't—the entire country's looking for her. What will you tell them when you return with me and not her?"
"Come now, Raven. You're smarter than that," Rhet said. "No one knows we're here looking for you, nor will they know you've returned. You're going to a small, dark room for a very long time. And as winter drags on, the country will believe that you and Alyssa died on this godsforsaken mountain, never to be seen again."
O.O.O.O.O
Kenos barreled up the steps to the north tower and shoved open the door to a simple bedchamber. Late afternoon sunlight shorn through the stained glass window, painting the walls a cool blue-green. The prophet's room, containing just a simple bed, table and wardrobe, all scattered about. After the murder of Favir, guards had ransacked the place, looking for clues. They had found none.
Raven hadn't brought possessions with her from the temple. And despite the work she'd done for him, he hadn't thought to reward her with anything other than this room, overlooking the land she was stolen from. Had he been unkind to her? Of course, you fool. He had aimed to use her as a tool instead of respecting her as a human being. A tool now turned weapon.
He sat on the edge of the bed and rested his head in his hands. Rage had burned in his chest for weeks now, exhausting and unsatisfying. He wanted to hate Raven. To blame her for everything. Blame her for taking Alyssa. But truly, he didn't. The blame belonged to him.
He'd set his sights on conquering the road to the Spire long ago. When his own tactics failed, he'd contacted the priestess Khalimat, requesting use of the prophet. He'd ignored her warning against invading Hudar. Ignored her warnings about Raven. He'd ignored Favir's concerns of Raven living unsupervised within his walls. He'd grown arrogant and insufferable, and Raven had every right to despise him.
As did his wife.
Kenos sat up and studied the rumpled covers on the bed. How many nights had he spent away from his queen, screwing another woman? Too many to keep track. How could he begrudge Alyssa that same pleasure—especially with a woman? She had an eye for fierce things, and Raven, the Hudar witch, was nothing but that.
The throb behind his eyes grew worse. He went to the window. Far in the distance, the curved summit of Spire Mountain jutted into the sky like a demon's claw. Precious gems, metal and glory. That's what he'd been after, something no man was ever meant to attain. Regret and anxiety transported him back to childhood, always yearning for his father's approval. Always inadequate.
The entire country was on high alert now, looking for a queen who more than likely didn't want to be found. And all it if was his fault.
O.O.O.O.O
Cold, wet ground pressed against Alyssa's cheek. The back of her head ached. Everything swooped and swayed as she sat up and focused on the dusky mountain trail. The last glow of sunset illuminated the sky to the west.
The cloaked figures were gone. So was Raven. And their horses.
"No." She scrambled to her feet, unsteady, and scanned the trees in all directions. "Raven?" Her shout clouded the chilled air. "Raven!"
Which direction had they gone? Presumably east, back to Norr? South-east, towards the desert? She spun, locating the setting sun and oriented herself. It was too dark to find their tracks. Too dark to do anything.
Terror clenched her throat. Alone in the wilderness. Wet, cold and without supplies. Survival depended on making a fire and drying her clothes. Already shivers wracked her body as she shuffled through the trees, gathering the driest kindling she could find. Sticks, twigs, moss—and pine. Pine would burn wet. If only she had a little more light she would be able to find some.
Leather creaked behind her. Alyssa spun, dropping her armful of wood.
Raven's bay gelding stood in the gloom, still saddled and packed with the last of the supplies.
She nearly burst into tears. "Oh, here's a good boy." She slowly approached, relieved when he let her take his lead rope. "Such a good boy. We're all right." She fumbled with the saddlebags, teeth chattering. "We'll be all right. Just let me get changed and I'll make us a fire."
The contents of Raven's saddlebags included several pairs of black clothing, blessedly dry. She peeled off her damp, dirty riding clothes and slipped into the soft robes, struggling to properly adjust the ties and scarves. Raven's scent clung to the material, an earthy evergreen she could never get enough of—and might never enjoy again.
Dizziness struck. Her eyes welled. Raven was shot—twice. How many hours had she'd lain unconscious in the dirt while those brutes carted Raven away? How much distance had they put between them? Raven could be dead already.
"No." She clutched the scarves around her neck and stared at the dark sky. "Damn it all to hell. She's too mean to die. She's too mean and stubborn and fierce. Hold it together, Alyssa."
The gelding sighed.
"You're right." She un-cinched the girth and pulled the saddle off his back. "You're absolutely right. Priorities."
She rummaged through the bags for the fire steel, sat down and lit a fire. At dawn, she'd find the Norrian's trail. And those cretins had better pray she didn't catch up with them.
O.O.O.O.O
Since the queen's kidnapping, security at the gates of Olisgard had tripled. No one came or went without thorough questioning from armed soldiers. Melissah assumed the king hadn't forgotten about her or the package, but her gift at blending in hadn't failed her yet. With her hair tied in a scarf, dirt smudged on her hands and cheeks, she appeared indistinguishable amongst the common folk who regularly left the city walls to work the fields.
She'd acquired supplies for the road, as well as an efficient means of transportation. A stout, shaggy pony. As she approached the southern gate, she nudged the pony into a brisk walk. The weight of a dozen gazes made her squirm in her skin, but she kept her nerves steady. They were just men, after all. Nothing she hadn't seen, avoided or outsmarted before.
Four soldiers flanked the opened iron gate, while a handful of archers watched from the wall above. The closest on the ground, an old, crusty sergeant, held up a gloved hand.
"Hold it there, missy. State your name and business."
"Paige, my lord." She halted her pony and gestured beyond the gates. "I's to get to my pa's turnip patch. I's supposed to be there by dawn to help 'em. He'll beat me raw if I don't hurry."
"That'll serve you," he snorted. "You're more than a bit late. Go on, now." He waved her through.
"Thank you, my lord." She cued her pony forward. The next soldier in line caught her gaze. A young lad with black hair and . . . aqua eyes. A chill zipped down her spine. The soldier she'd ditched at the palace. Grayson.
His lips parted, eyes wide. "Wait." He blocked the way, hand clutching the grip of his sheathed sword. "Wait!"
Damn. Melissah swallowed the rock in her throat. She glanced to the open road beyond the gate. Would she make it out of the archer's range in time? Likely not.
"What is it, lad?" the sergeant said.
"I know her." Grayson frowned. "She's . . ."
She gazed into his eyes, pleading with every fiber. She'd preyed upon his kindness before. What were the chances it'd work a second time?
"She's what? Spit it out, boy."
"Please," she said quietly. "I'm sorry for any trouble, my lord. I just need to get to the fields. You understand? I need to get to the fields."
Tense silence stretched for eons. Grayson's brow slowly un-furrowed. He stepped back and shook his head. "Nothing, sergeant. My mistake. Carry on, miss."
Her shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank you, my lord," she whispered. "Thank you."
Grayson bit his lip and nodded, trying to hide his smile. "Safe travels, miss."
She nudged her pony into a brisk trot, heading down the muddy path towards the fields. When she glanced over her shoulder, she spotted Grayson still watching her from his post. Handsome and kind, Melissah admitted that the young man had caught her interest. If she ever made it back to Olisgard, she would have to find him again and properly thank him for this favor.
Melissah waited until the guards and the gate were hidden by the trees before she slowed her pony to a more comfortable pace and allowed herself to relax in the saddle. Her journey would take a week and she didn't want to exhaust her shaggy friend. She'd plotted and equipped herself well, but some things were beyond the limits of the best laid plans. Santiago had told her that, but it wasn't until she had been caught stealing bread by the Queen of Norr that the lesson had truly been learned.
O.O.O.O.O
Alyssa woke before dawn, saddled her horse and waited for the sun to light the way. Not a skilled tracker by any means, but surely she could pick up the trail of ten men on horseback. Instinct suggested she head south, picking her way down the wooded ridge on foot.
By mid-morning, her stomach growled and head pounded, but she'd navigated the mountain and stumbled out of the trees, into a wide, snow-dusted valley cut in half by a dark river. In the distance, Spire Mountain jutted towards the sky, a narrow, curving granite monster. And while foreboding, the scene struck a chord in her recollection. She knew where she was. With the mountain to her south, that meant the river snaking across the valley lead east, back to Norr, before turning south at the start of the desert. Anyone wishing to head to the southern province would have to follow the river out of the valley, where they would find the Spire mine route occupied by the Norrian Army.
Alyssa shielded her eyes from the snow glare and studied the horizon. No movement. No group on horseback. Just the eerie stillness of winter as far as the eye could see. She guessed the distance across the valley to be seventy-five miles or more. A full days' ride if she pushed it. Raven's captors had a generous head start. They could have cleared the valley already, putting them only three days from Norr's boarders. Time was of the essence if she intended to catch them, and the odds continued to stack against her.
"Well. At least the river hasn't frozen." Staying positive was paramount. Spiraling into despair would not do. Alyssa led her horse towards the water, stomping her feet to get the blood flowing. "How about a proper drink before we take chase?"
The nearest bend in the river had spent centuries eroding the bank, leaving a wide, rocky beach for Alyssa to lead her horse. He took straight to the river and drank while she filled her water skins. She secured them inside her saddlebags, and her fingertips brushed something smooth. A small glass jar of honey. She salivated at the memory of sweet clover and wildflowers. Hunger demanded she indulged. It had been too long without a decent meal, and this small handful of sustenance would relieve some of her pains. But wisdom argued the journey for Raven would only get harder. She returned the jar and pulled out an empty bag that once contained dried meat. Careful inspection revealed several crumbs that she eagerly consumed.
The gelding had moved from the river to eat the dormant grass peeking from the snow along the bank. A shame she couldn't subsist on grass.
"You need a name, beast. Raven shirked that duty, didn't she? Let's see. Something strong and reliable." The wind cut across the valley, sending waves through the tall dead grasses, like an endless army with upturned spears. A field of spears . . . There was a name for that, in old Norrian. What was it? "Ah ha! Garfield."
A sound caught her ear over the rabble of the river. Rhythmic drumming of hooves. Alyssa turned towards the ridge.
Two figures on horseback raced towards her, black robes billowing.
"Shit!" She scrambled to her horse and launched into the saddle, cueing him into a gallop. Had the men changed their mind and come back for her? Why only two? She risked a glance. The riders had gained substantial ground on her, but still too far away to identify. She urged Garfield faster. "Come on, boy. Come on!"
She steered him closer to the river, where the snow was thin and he'd have easier footing. Shorter and lithe, he was faster than Avarice, but another look back proved he wasn't faster than the riders. What manner of horses were they on? Their speed was unbelievable! Like they rode with the wind . . . A different fear took hold. What if they were Hudar? What if they were Za'hava? They'd take one look at her and skewer her dead, even if she wore Raven's robes.
Her dread deepened when a third rider appeared up ahead, racing to intercept from the left. It only took a few seconds to realize she'd never make it past in time. Gods be damned. Ambushed by Norrians and left for dead, only to be ambushed by Hudar. What luck.
The thunder of hooves behind grew louder. The figure in front closed in. Alyssa crouched low against her horse's neck, scanning the path between his ears. She thought of the moment when the highwaymen had attacked her outside of Jamestown. When she willed something to stop them. Willed so strongly a tree came crashing down atop them. Alyssa focused on the rider up ahead. She was in dire need for a tree.
An enormous wave of snow and earth erupted from the ground, crashing over the rider just moments before Garfield galloped past. A strange electricity hung in the air and zipped down her spine. "Holy flaming hells!" How had she managed that? How could she will things to happen?
The other two riders had slowed, circling their third comrade wallowing in a dirty mound of snow. Surely her miraculous offense would deter them from pursuing further.
When her gaze returned forward, her heart catapulted into her throat. The two riders appeared right along side her, out of thin air. One yanked the reins from her hands, slowing her horse. The other snatched the front of her robes and jerked her out of the saddle.
She went airborne for eons and slammed into cold, wet snow. The air was punched from her lungs, leaving her stunned. Movement did not happen, no matter how badly she willed it now. All plans of escape fizzled away as the breathless seconds dragged. Perhaps her time had come. She'd made an effort to survive, hadn't she?
A hand grabbed her shoulder and flipped her onto her back. Alyssa stared at two looming figures while stars danced in the periphery. They'd lowered their hoods and scarves, revealing pale skin, long black hair and dark eyes. One man, one woman. Both tall, slender and poised to end her sorry existence.
The man leveled a curved sword at her throat and barked an order. While the foreign words meant nothing to her, the message was still received.
Air finally reached her lungs, and Alyssa gasped, showing them her palms. "Please—don't kill me—not your enemy—please."
"Sii va dos?" The man repeated with a jab of the sword. "Sii tu dos mavek ha lokitas?"
Why hadn't she made Raven teach her more of her language? She scrambled, trying to remember something. Anything. "Uh, ah—whatsit? Nav opa leesah. Ah . . . Drea makka . . . sira kavi?" What on earth had she said? No speak sorry, I make exchange without words? Idiot.
The Hudar exchanged a look. The woman stepped closer, middle aged, with sharp cheekbones and stern features. "You're a long way from Norr," she said in flawless Norrian.
Alyssa's throat tightened. Somehow the idea of common language did not make the situation any less terrifying. She nodded, hands still raised. "Yes, I am."
"Why are you wearing the robes of my people?"
"They belong to my companion. She's Hudar. We were attacked on the ridge and she's been kidnapped by a group of men. Please, I am not your enemy."
The woman lifted her chin in a gesture she'd seen Raven use. "How did you move the earth like water?"
Alyssa glanced to the man, still holding the sword inches from her throat. She swallowed. "That . . . that I can't explain. I was scared for my life. I thought you were coming to kill me."
"We were." She tilted her head, then said something to the man. They exchanged a few heated words before he sheathed his sword.
Alyssa took that as invitation to sit up. Her back had stiffened, adding to the throbbing in her head, the ache in her gut and the cold seeping into her bones. She'd never wanted a hot, soothing bath so badly before.
"You were going to kill me." She hoped the woman understood the concept of past tense.
"That's what enemies do, isn't it? Your people have bloodied their hands for some time now."
It wouldn't be prudent to inform her new friends that she was married to the man responsible for that blood. Though, she couldn't really blame them if they did kill her. Not after Kenos' ridiculous campaign. She had stood by and let it happen.
Alyssa licked her chapped lips. "I am truly sorry. What the king has done to Daskis, to your people and land is inexcusable. I'm ashamed to call myself Norrian."
She studied Alyssa with wolf-like intensity for some time. "You spoke of sira kavi."
"Yes." Tightness in her chest made it difficult to breathe. "I know it well."
"You're following the men dressed as Hudar."
A jolt of adrenaline lit her senses. "You've seen them? How long ago? Which way did they go? They kidnapped my—" Her love. Her partner. Her everything. Tears pricked her eyes. She was losing so much ground. "Please, just let me go. I have to find her."
"We saw them at daybreak. They made it beyond the valley." The woman nodded to the east. "There's a company of soldiers stationed on either side of the river."
What little warmth Alyssa held onto drained away, leaving her nauseated and horrified. The men would return Raven to Dominic Kenos. He'd have her tortured for days. Weeks. He'd do terrible things to the woman she loved. And Alyssa could do absolutely nothing to stop it. By the time she made it back to Olisgard—if she made it back—the damage would be irreversible.
The Hudar man said something and gestured to the west. The woman nodded. "It's going to storm. You're coming with us."
She almost laughed. "Why? Just leave me here to freeze. It's more than I deserve. Why don't you check on your third man over in the snow? See if he wants to bash my brains in. It's only fair."
"No harm will come to you," she said. "Not until the elders hear your case."
Alyssa blinked. Case? This short conversation had demolished her understanding of the Hudar people. "I don't understand. What case?"
The woman smiled. "The fate of your life."