She did not think. She grounded her weight, tightening her core, and threw her right fist toward his jaw.
A warm strong hand wrapped around her wrist mid-air, squeezing intensely, forcing her fingers to splay.
“You son of a—”
“Don’t flatter yourself. It isn’t personal.”
A deafening click resounded in her ears as cold smooth metal closed around her right wrist. Before she could blink, the second manacle snapped shut around her other wrist.
The flare at her fingertips was snuffed out, vanishing without a trace. Overwhelming silence coated her mind.
Astraia stumbled backward, her vision swimming as her legs gave out, and she fell to her knees. A wave of nausea rolled through her as she broke out in a cold sweat, her clothes suddenly too tight and the air far too thin.
She felt hollow. Empty.
“I hope you burn with Dominion,” she spat, raising her head to meet his eyes.
He knelt in front of her, the insufferable smirk lingering on the corner of his mouth. “As long as I get my cut, Starborne.”
As Draven tied Astraia’s shackled hands to Orion’s saddle, she clawed through the murkiness of her mind, aimlessly searching for her bonds to no avail. It was like screaming in an empty room with no windows, no doors, no one to answer her pleas.
Her captor did not utter another word as he tied a rope from Orion’s bridle to his own horse and set off on the road to Aquarian.
“You have no idea what you’ve done, bounty hunter.” She spoke barely above a whisper, lacing hatred in every syllable as she shot daggers from her eyes at the back of his head.
“I know exactly what I’ve done, Starborne,” he replied, peering over his shoulder.
“I’ve kept you alive.”
Chapter 7
One would hesitate to assume that eleven Constellations could be so easily toppled; yet, it is the opinion of several scribes, most notably Sophia Alquentias, that inner turmoil within the Stars is the only justification for such distraction, allowing Dominion’s assertion of supremacy.
The Decline and Fall of the Constellations
AQUARIAN DID NOT LOOK LIKE a prison with its stone roads and bustling markets, but Astraia had never felt more caged.
The length of the town ran along the Hydraneas River, with docks dotting the river’s edge, making easy access for rafts and small vessels. It was the heart of trade between Tenebris, Villeria, the Hollow City, and practically every outlying province of Astradeon.
The manacles stifling her bonds and the massive bounty hunter beside her drew too much attention. Between his enormous build, eyes like the sun, and menacing broadsword, he would certainly be a beacon for trouble.
She needed to find a way to get the cursed shackles off her and vanish into the crowds. Astraia had lost count of the number ofways she planned to kill the bounty hunter, but none would be successful with her hands bound.
She twisted in the saddle, biting back the thousand venom-laced words that wanted to claw out of her throat.
Draven rode just ahead, reins loose, his posture annoyingly at ease.
“So how does one stoop to the position of lap dog, bounty hunter? You must either be incredibly stupid or incredibly desperate to owe the king your allegiance. Willing to capture innocent Starborne for torture at His Majesty’s command.” Her voice was placid, hoping to elicit the undercurrent of rage she knew brewed beneath his icy exterior.
He did not glance back, but she could see him straighten in his saddle. He laughed—soft, bitter. “If you think innocence has anything to do with survival, you’re living in a fairy tale, Starborne.” He paused, casting a sideways glance as she rode beside him. “You think I owe him allegiance? I owe him nothing.” His teeth clenched, words clipped. “I have a skill of collecting things that bleed.”
His eyes met hers, unreadable. “You included.”
Before she could spit another curse, a scream pierced the air.
The people crowding the street stopped, heads turning. A hush fell over the people as the crowd parted like waves, citizens stumbling back and ducking into shops, covering their mouths with trembling hands.
A man stumbled forward through the gap of people, clutching his chest, his skin pale and hanging loosely over his thin frame. Dark crimson splotches mottled his skin, blood oozing from some of the open sores, his eyes wild as he spoke with a raspy voice. “Please, help. Please…”
