“Evander, take Aurora to her tent and tie her up. Ensure that she doesn’t get away again.” At the order, Evander shrugs his pack and tent bags from his shoulders. One of the other wolves comes to collect them, taking the straps between her teeth.
Aurora takes a step back. “No, I, Conri, please?—”
Evander grabs Aurora, throwing her over his broad shoulder. She kicks and screams. My stomach churns.
“Don’t. Please. Conri, I won’t run,” she pleads. “I swear it, sopleasedon’t tie me up.”
Conri doesn’t turn—his eyes are fixed on me.
“Bardulf, take the witch to my tent, bind her, too, and then summon my generals so we can decide what will be done with her.”
CHAPTER 10
I will wearholes through the soles of my shoes if I don’t stop pacing. But this nervous energy is relentless and unbearable, and it’s not as if I have anything else I can do to relieve it.
As commanded, Bardulf took me to the tent of the wolf king and bound my wrists. Then, he tied me to the center tent post. I can spiral around it, winding my leash as tight as my nerves. But even when the rope has all its slack, I can’t reach anything.
Conri’s wickedness might be matched by his cleverness. He knew to have Bardulf remove my cloak and set it aside on the cot—out of my reach, but close enough to mock me. I am left in my simple, linen shirt. Loose-fitting and down to my upper thigh. It nearly covers the rips in my trousers from Bardulf’s claws. My clothing is still streaked with blood. I realize my hair is likely a mess, too. Mud is caked by the roots from where I smeared it across my face to try and mask my scent when I first tried to save Aurora.
What a sight I must be.
Not that I care for appearances in general. Being regarded as an oddity at best, and a freak at worst, has trained me not to concern myself with the thoughts of others. I care even lessaround these lykin. All that matters to me is getting my cloak, my supplies, Aurora, and then getting as far from here as we can.
If these knots weren’t so damn tight—old gods, Bardulf, did you seal them with paste?
I try everything I can think of, short of breaking my wrists, to free myself from the binding. I’ve lain on the canvas-covered ground, stretching out my toes after pulling off my shoe to see if I could grab my cape with my foot. When all that failed, I returned to pacing.
I’ve taken stock of everything here, several times over, looking for what might be used as a weapon against me. Or what I might be able to use as a weapon against them. Nothing stands out. Though, given that these creatures can grow fangs larger than my fingers, and claws the size of my hands, I don’t know what good seeing no weapons does me. And it’s not as if I have any real practice with combat. My strengths lie in my magic and summoning those powers depends on me getting my cloak.
Deflating to the ground, I heave a sigh and stare up at the heavy canvas of the tent. It’s dim in here, even in daylight. My eyes fall to one of the candles on the lone table near the bed, unlit, in its holder.
An idea strikes me like lightning. I fish into my pocket and retrieve the tiny shards of brick and clay pot. Not all of my spirit links were stitched into my cloak. How had I not thought of this earlier?
Returning the pot shard to my pocket, I hold just the piece of brick and whisper, “Folost?” Nothing. I stand, moving as close as I’m able to the candle, focusing on it intently, willing it to ignite. “Folost, please, if you can?—”
The candle sparks to flame. Two tiny eyes are barely discernible in the little flicker.
“Folost!” I keep my voice to a hush, hoping he can hear me. “Can you go find Aurora, please, and tell me if she’s all right?”
One blink. I can’t tell if the candle is too small a form for him to be able to speak, or if he just doesn’t dare risk alerting anyone else to his presence. Either way, I choose to take it as a good sign when the candle extinguishes itself. He’s going to find her. There must be some kind of candle or lantern in every tent—something for him to alight upon. And he can communicate with her wordlessly as I saw them do the first night.
I can’t stop myself from pacing again as I wait. It seems to take forever, but is also only a moment. I rush to the end of my tether when the candle lights again.
“Is she…” I start my question and abandon it.
One blink.
I heave a sigh of relief. There are no shadows on the outside of the tent. I’ve heard movement and distant discussion this entire time, but nothing too close.
“Can you speak in this form?” I dare to whisper, keeping my voice as low as possible.
“Yes.” The word is little more than the sound of candle flame flickering in the wind.
“Can you tell me where she is? Are you able to discern it from traveling to her?”
“She is—” The tent flap opens and Folost is snuffed on the breeze. Or he flees willingly. A small, thin trail of smoke is the only thing that betrays his presence, but it’s gone in a blink with barely an aroma.
The wolf king doesn’t seem to notice either. His eyes are solely on me. Fixed. Purposeful.
