His two companions flanked either side of him, arms crossed and grotesque grins plastered on their faces. The brute in the middle snarled, his teeth glistening in the lamplight.
“I told you that you would pay.” He grinned as he stepped toward her. “Let’s see how feisty you are without your weapons.” He sneered as he picked up her satchel and quiver and flung them outside. She flinched when her gear made a sickening crunch as it landed on the cobblestone street.
Astraia stood facing her attackers, channeling whatever remaining resolve she had left as she squared her shoulders. “Your mothers must weep as they look at their shameful sons. Three men against one woman. Pathetic,” she taunted, scouring for her tether in the waves of her mind.
The middle brute growled, shoving the lantern into his companion’s hand and wrenching a cleaver from his back. “I’m going to cut your tongue from that pretty mouth of yours, and then no one will hear your screams.”
Astraia’s breathing quickened as she shoved deeper into the depths of her mind, pushing through the waters, desperately clawing for her tether. All that reflected back at her was darkness.
Panic set in. She could not flare without her tether. She would instantly burn out, killing herself immediately.
Her skills were with the bow and her bonds. She swore under her breath. Maybe if she had taken hand-to-hand combat training more seriously with Elion, she would be able to last longer. Now, she would be mutilated and likely killed or worse.
“Not so feisty any more are we, girl?” He edged closer, cleaver in one hand, his companions chuckling behind him as he advanced.
Astraia stood transfixed, a doe looking into the face of a hunter.
A wave of calm settled over her as her mind stilled. She would not die here, not like this.
She turned, slapping Orion’s flank. He jolted and ran out of the stables, just as Astraia refocused on the three men, a smile spreading across her face.
The gates of her bonds burst open.
Without a tether, the bonds heated instantly, rushing past her spine and directly for her hands. Pain, red-hot, seared through every sinew and muscle, burning her from the inside.
Astraia let out a scream, drowning in the white and blue light now erupting from all around her. The light blasted the men backward, slamming them onto the ground and into the walls of the stable. Horses in the stalls around her neighed and tried to break down the stall doors, ramming with their hooves.
Astraia’s bonds kept flowing, Power and Sacrifice as one. She could feel Sacrifice healing her as her skin burned and peeled away from her flesh. Power was stronger, white, crackling streaks of light burning everything it touched. The stables caught fire, unnatural ivory flames licking the sides of the building.
Two of the men lay still, blood pooling from their eyes and ears, claimed by Dominion. The maimed blond managed to crawl to his knees, holding his cleaver, blood oozing from his nose. Scorch marks had torn open his face, leaving bone exposed, and blackened burnt flesh clung to what was left.
Astraia could barely see through the white flashes, her body succumbing to burnout. More burnt skin flaked away from her body as Power continued to flare. The heat of the burning stables lapped at her feet, burning through her boots.
A sigh escaped her mouth as she closed her eyes and stretched out her hands.
I’ll see you soon, Elion, her mind whispered in the blazing inferno.
A coldness pressed over her hands, and suddenly her mind was blank, empty, a void.
Astraia opened her eyes, expecting to see her brother, only to find Draven shouting at her. At least, he appeared to be shouting, but she could not hear any sound coming from his mouth. A warm trickle ran down her neck below her ears—they were bleeding, muffling the chaos unfolding before her.
Blinking again, she looked down at her burned wrists, now encircled with metal manacles. The smooth iciness of the engraved iron hung limply on either wrist, silencing her bonds. Multicolored spots danced across her vision as the blinding white and blue lights were smothered.
Slowly raising her head, her eyelids caked with dried blood, she glanced at the bounty hunter.
“Traia, answer me!” he shouted again, his hands resting on her shoulders.
She blinked once, then nodded, her throat too dry and burned to speak.
Draven nodded back, then turned away from her, facing the last of the attackers who tried to rise from ground with his cleaver.
A flash of black metal gleamed in Draven’s hand—Astraia’s Celestial dagger. With one swift motion, he cut the brute’s hand off. Grasping the severed hand, he shoved it into the man’s mouth with a sickening crunch, breaking his jaw. The force knocked him flat on his back with a thud.
Muffled screams could be heard coming from the man’s disfigured face as he lay in the ashen dirt. Draven drew his broadsword from his back, putting a boot on the chest of the man to pin him down.
“You will never touch her or any woman again,” Draven growled, then slashed his broadsword across the man’s neck, severing his head.
Without a second glance, Draven strode over to Astraia, sheathing his broadsword and her dagger. He placed his hands around hers and looked into her eyes.
