“Lies, pretty peasant.” They headed for the lights.
“I’m not...”
“You were speaking to something in the labyrinth. Only witches commune with the darkness and dirty freeman that can’t tell a horse from a rock. Either way, Savadon, the last bastion of humanity, has no use for either. If you were smart, you should have wed and stayed out of sight. You know what happens to the idiots of the kingdom?”
Aldora remained silent.
“They’re gotten rid of. Or...” The man stopped to look at her from head to toe, taking a moment to encroach her space and palm her breast. “Or pretty ones like you spread their thighs and learn to like it.”
She tried to wrench back but his hold on her tightened. She buckled and screeched, kicking her legs back in hopes of landing a blow to his knees but the thick leather of his boots shielded it all. The Laslite chuckled and wrested her around to hold her from behind, his armored chest pressed heavy against her back. He groped her harder, keeping her in place with one arm banded around her midsection while moving his other down to cup her sex.
She froze from shock until he pressed his erection into her back. Aldora wrenched away from him and he let her go. She didn’t even make it a yard before the Laslite took hold of her again and continued walking, a jolly, whistled tune on his lips.
If he was trying to break whatever last threads of courage she had left, he was doing a good job of it. The pinch of his grip on her arm made her sick with apprehension, but try as she might, the rope binding her wrists remained excruciatingly tight.
It wasn’t until they came upon the first house that she realized they were in Thetras. The lanterns lighted the path far sooner than she would’ve liked.
Her gaze darted everywhere at once, hopeful in finding a friend, or someone who did business with her family. They would come to her defense—she hoped. It would be nothing but the power-hungry Laslite’s word against hers. The Laslite didn’t live here, they traveled the kingdom, watchful wanderers, and judges that spoke on behalf of the capital. The odds were against her, but it didn’t stop her from hoping.
It was only those who had become “true sacrifices” that no one stood up for.
It was late at night, and no one she knew was out at this time. Those they passed only looked upon her with open curiosity. The same kind of curiosity that led her into this predicament to begin with.
Aldora sensed them following.
“Almost there, witch,” the Laslite said.
She knew. She heard the commotion emanating from the tavern long before it came into sight. Shadowy figures meandered in the alleyways leading up to it, shady dealings, whispered arguments, and the grunts of bad sex met them before the rough, carved doors she knew so well.
Aldora had no idea what would happen once they crossed the threshold. She locked her legs and twisted toward her captor. “I’m not a witch,” she begged. “You don’t have to do this. You know there’s no proof. I’ve lived here my whole life and many in this town know me, they know my family, know how hardworking and law-abiding we are. I am!” She raised her head and met the Laslite’s eyes, seeing them clearly for the first time. “I’ll do anything,” she finished on a whisper. She would if it meant all of this would go away.
If she could be back in her family’s fields tomorrow, with no one the wiser but herself about what had happened, she would doanything.
Her resolve turned to stone as she stared at the patroller. Aldora knew she couldn’t get away from him. The bindings on her wrists were too strong, and even if she did manage to escape, fleeing back into the forest and slipping away, she’d still be bound, leaving a trail of blood for the wolves.
Were she to make it safely home and remove the bindings, she wouldn’t be able to stay.
I could do it, I could survive. For how long, though?She was a farmer, not a hunter nor a soldier. She was better at planning than she was at fighting and she knew it.
But I am a hider.
My body is strong. I can endure...Her eyes shifted away from the Laslite.
I canpretend.
“Pretty words but not pretty enough for me, witch. Do you want to know something? A secret perhaps?” The tavern doors knocked open and a laughing couple poured out and walked by without a glance. The lute playing within grew louder. He dragged her inside and leaned toward her ear. “During our final year of training to become a Laslite, witches are set upon us throughout that time to test us, witches enslaved by the king. That shocks you doesn’t it?” He didn’t give her a chance to respond. “They could come upon us at any time, anywhere, whether it was during field training or in the middle of the night, whether it was a whore at the tavern just like this, or a servant taking away your plate. We had to stay vigilant, watchful, but we could not assume. To assume was to be paranoid, and a paranoid Laslite was worthless. But each witch had something in common, something only a Laslite could recognize, and why nothing you say could ever change that. Do you want to know what it is?”
Aldora shuddered and nodded, peering at him nervously through the candlelight. She shouldn’t care what her captor had to say but she wanted to know, wanted to know what damned her so entirely in his eyes.
“You all smell of fruit.”
Aldora narrowed her eyes and her brow furrowed.Apples.He turned on his heel and tugged her toward the door.
“But I work in an orchard,” she argued, wrenching back. “You saw the apples in my bag.”
Hehumphedand they were suddenly surrounded by sticky mead and honey music. “I heard you talking to something beyond the barrier.” His words were drowned out by the sudden uproar of laughter and cups being slammed and shuffled on tables. Everyone looked up and tracked them with their gazes as they passed. She heard the tavern door opening and closing several times as those who had followed them from town entered the establishment. Some of the noise dulled as she was hauled toward the back of the room, wincing as chairs and table corners banged into her sides.
With sudden violence, and before she could fight him off, her captor picked her up and threw her across the table. She landed on top of the steaming bowls of soup and goblets of liquor, directly in front of the glazed-eyed Master of Thetras, Nithers Emen.
