The thought was so fervent, it could have been a prayer. She hoped somehow it would reach him.
The footsteps hesitated.
Vera held her breath. A bead of sweat rolled down her spine and the knife in her hands shook.
Tariq bit out a curse. The heel of his boot grated over the stone, and then darted away. With every beat of her pulse his footsteps faded, until all she heard was the pounding of her own heart. Tears pricked her eyes and the muscles in her legs cramped, but she didn’t dare move out from behind the barrels. She kept waiting for him to come back. To find her.
But though she remained alert with the dagger strangled in her shaking grip, he never did.
A shout jerked Vera from a troubled sleep. Panic sparked in her blood and she scrambled to grab the knife that had fallen into her lap while her gaze cut around for any sign of a threat.
Still sheltered behind the barrels in the grimy alley, all she heard were the sounds from the nearby street as people went about their morning business.
Her pulse still hammered, and she couldn’t relax her grip on the knife.
Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth half the night, and her swollen eyes itched; a combination of lack of sleep and near-silent tears. Her back was to the alley wall. She stretched out her stiff legs, ignoring the new stains that had leeched onto her dress overnight. Her sunburned skin throbbed even in the shade, and though she’d cut her bonds last night, her wrists still oozed blood. Shifting her hold on the dagger made the newly scabbed skin pull, ripping a gasp from her.
The flash of pain woke her fully, bringing the gravity of her situation into sharp focus.
She was alone in an enemy kingdom. She had no coin. No food or water. No shelter. She had no way of knowing if Clare was all right. And after her mad dash through Krid, she wasn’t even sure where the inn was.
She had no idea what to do.
Exhaustion bled through her battered body, reaching deeper than her bones. Her very soul was worn after spending weeks as Salim’s prisoner.
If she were in any Devendran city, she would find the nearest city guard station and enlist their help. But she hadn’t seen any uniformed patrols in Krid. Did Mortisians even bother with city guards?
She couldn’t risk approaching a stranger for help. After everything Salim had done, and after witnessing all the Mortisians who’d simply looked the other way when they’d seen the bound women in his custody, she didn’t trust any of them. If she asked for help, she was just as likely to be captured by some new criminal—if she could even manage to communicate with them, with her limited Mortisian.
Vera clamped down on the dread that clawed her throat. She needed to be calm. She needed to think.
Help was coming. Venn and Wilf had been tracking them since Clare and Vera were abducted. She knew this, because the Devendran soldiers who had found them in Sedah had said as much before Salim had killed them.
Venn wouldn’t give up. Neither would Wilf. Perhaps they were already in Krid.
Her heart beat a little faster at the thought, but despair quickly followed. Now that she was on her own, how would they ever find her? It would take a fates-blasted miracle.
Especially if she remained hidden in this alley.
The thought of leaving her shelter—however meager and dirty—terrified her. But the alternative was much worse.
Her stiff body protested as she stood and she winced as her feet took her weight. The blisters that covered her soles were a bleeding mess after all her time with the mercenaries. Now that she didn’t have adrenaline fueling her, the pain stabbed. Forcing that aside, she hobbled out from behind the barrels.
Every city had a main square. If there was one place in Krid most visitors crossed, it would be a central place like that. If she could find a sheltered place to wait there, she might find Venn and Wilf when they arrived in Krid. The fates had not blessed her with much luck lately, but if nothing else, she might find another Devendran. Someone she could trust.
She hesitated at the edge of the alley, casting a quick look down at herself. In her dirty and tattered dress that hung too loose on her frame, she knew she looked a sight. Her dirty hair spilled around her face in haphazard chunks, having slipped free of her hasty bun. There wasn’t much she could do about the dress, but she tucked the dagger into her pocket and used her fingers to rake her hair into a messy bun. She had no mirror or pins, but it would have to do. Glancing out at the crowded street, she wished she had a headscarf to hide her blonde hair—it made her stand out. Not to mention the sun was already blazing, and it would be nice to protect her head.
Her legs already screamed for rest, but she ignored that as she stepped onto the busy street. The uneven cobblestones bit through the thin soles of her worn-out shoes, but she was grateful to leave behind the stink of the alley. A few noses wrinkled as she passed people, though, and her cheeks burned as she realized the stink clung to her. She ducked her head and kept to the edge of the crowd, her eyes darting over every face she saw. She expected to see Tariq in every face, and every time she didn’t, the stab of relief was almost painful.
Just as anxiously she searched for any sign of Venn, and not finding him caused her to burn.
So many times during her captivity, she’d imagined him coming to rescue her. Every dream included him. His deep brown eyes, usually lighted with amusement. His strong jaw and upturned mouth as he grinned. His long nose, dark eyebrows, and long dark hair. The locks were soft and straight, and generally pulled into a ponytail or bun. His hands were broad, his fingers long and callused from years of training and fighting. His shoulders were wide and strong, and his tapered waist and narrow hips gave him the slim build of a runner.
He’d taken her breath away from their very first meeting, one year ago. He’d just started as Serene’s newest bodyguard; he was eighteen, and she had just turned sixteen. When they’d been introduced and his eyes fell on her, her lungs had locked. He, of course, had grinned easily. She didn’t remember what he’d said, but she remembered her cheeks flushing. The sensation had only worsened when her shyness had rendered a reply impossible. But—even with her embarrassing, blushing silence—his smile hadn’t faltered. In fact, it had deepened. Not harsh in any way—just with kindness.
He would never smile at her that way again, though. Not after she had rejected him so cruelly.
Her heart tripped as she remembered that awful morning in Wexon. The things she had said. The way he’d looked at her.
