Biyu’s lips trembled and she tried to inch forward on the saddle, but no matter how much she tried to put distance between them, the bumping of the road didn’t help. After a few minutes, she stopped struggling and leaned against his body. She could feel him stiffen, his back straightening, likely not wanting her touch. Her eyes stung and she squeezed them shut.
She had gotten caught so fast. Her freedom had lasted a measly seven days. And those days had been filled with misery, guilt, and anger—none of which helped her in any way but made her feel worse about herself.
And now Nikator had found her, and he glared at her like she was nothing.
Yat-sen had died to give her freedom, and she had gotten caught so easily. She should have run to the next city; why had she been stupid enough to stay here? Why hadn’t she realized that Nikator could break into Yat-sen’s mind and find her location? Why had she remained? Her heavy thoughts weighed her down more and more, until she was nearly drowning in self-depreciation and regret.
Her shoulders slumped forward. “Where are you taking me?”
“Where do you think?”
She swallowed down the fear climbing up her throat. Drakkon Muyang of course. Or more accurately, MuRong Muyang, heruncle. The man who had befriended her when he donned the mask and name Feiyu, and who had simultaneously ruined her life as the emperor. She didn’t understand him one bit, but she had no plans to venture into his reasonings.
“Please, you can’t take me back there.” She fisted the mane and held on tighter. “Please, Nik, you can’t?—”
“I told you not to call me that,” he snapped.
Her lower lip trembled and she said nothing more.
The more they traveled through the winding paths of the city, the more her mind jumbled with what she needed to do. Panic rose and she shook with uncontrollable fear. She remembered the chopped-up corpses of those guards who had intended ill will toward her, and she fought the urge to burst into tears at the thought of becoming like one of them. She imagined the mage towers and what they would do to her. She thought of all the horrible things that would happen once Drakkon Muyang had her in his clutches again.
She would die pathetically, alone, and without a single mourner.
32
Biyu attemptedto flee three times and all three attempts failed miserably. The first was when he had stopped by a stall to purchase horse feed. She had tried jumping off the horse, only to slip and nearly break her neck—Nikator had grabbed her before she could hurt herself. The second was when they stopped for some meat skewers. She had tried to sneak away, but he seized her before she could make it three steps away. The third and final time was when they had entered the woods out the outskirts of the city. She had tried to wriggle her way free by elbowing his face, but that had only earned another glare and a few curses.
All in all, she was no closer to freedom than she had been previously—if anything, she had only pissed off Nikator more than before.
Night fell and Nikator made camp in a clearing off the beaten path. They ate a meal of nuts, dried berries, and a stew he had bought at the market and heated up. Biyu forced herself to eat despite her lack of appetite; she told herself she would need the fuel for when she tried to run—again.
A fire roared between them. Nikator sat across from her on a fallen log, a long dagger in one hand and a plum in the other.He sliced off sections of the flesh and popped them in his mouth. The fire cast an orange glow over his face, making his eyes appear flinty.
Biyu set down her empty bowl a foot away from her and sat on the bedroll he had bought for her before leaving the city. She wasn’t sure how to feel about the small comfort; why had he gotten it for her? Didn’t he hate her? But she was too exhausted to think of a reason that made sense.
She wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged herself tightly. She had imagined so many ways she would meet him again, but now that this was happening, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She also didn’t want to run yet; she wanted … something. She wasn’t even sure what.
Nikator avoided her gaze, choosing to glare into the fire and eat his fruit in peace. He did that a lot now—refuse to look at her, as if her image disgusted him too much. And it probably did.
Silence stretched between them; the fire crackled and popped, and all the unsaid words remained thick in the air.
They were back to being enemies. Truly, this time. The tension between them was dense, and even though all she wanted to do was cross the distance and touch him, she knew that she was a stranger to him now. They could never go back to how things used to be. She had ensured that.
She couldn’t embrace him like she did a week ago. She couldn’t kiss him. She couldn’t engage in banter with him. She couldn’t do anything anymore.
And soon, he would toss her in the dungeons.
“How did you find me?” Biyu broke the silence and tucked her chin atop her knees to stare at him levelly.
Nikator, finished with the plum, tossed the pit behind himself and wiped his blade with a handkerchief. His expression remained neutral. “I put a tracking spell on you weeks ago, so all I had to do was follow it here.”
Her heart stuttered to a stop. “You didwhat?”
He finally looked at her, and there was only a wintry chill there. “I put a tracking spell on you.”
“Where?” Horror seeped through her wobbly voice and she pulled her sleeves up and inspected her arms. Tracking spells usually left behind some sort of magicked mark.
“Nape of your neck.”
