“I’m sorry, my beloved.” His words tiptoe around in my mind.
“Get out.” I shake my head. I will not be entertaining any bond chatter. Not when I’m trapped in the wagon, put here like a child.
Hooves thunder around me as the others take off toward the trees.
I sink all the way to the rough wooden floor as the wagon shifts, Parnon grunting his way onto the driver’s bench and ordering the mules to get going.
My heart is gone, ridden off to do battle without me. “Stupid braids.” I fling my hair behind me and cover my face with my hands. Is this the way it goes with love? You get it, and then it’s gone? Dicked and ditched. Tonked and tossed. Boned and booted. Shagged and shunned.
“He just wants to keep you safe.” Parnon seems to read my thoughts, his gruff voice coming through over the creaking of the wheels.
I ignore him. He’s just as much a traitor as Gareth. I sway back and forth with the movement of the wagon. After a while, my tears dry up, and anger springs to life instead. After all, this ismyquest. Mine, damnit. Gareth didn’t even want to come here! I kick the nearest pot. It rolls away and bumps into the metal box of cooking utensils.
“Wait.” I get to my knees and scoot over to it.
Pulling the lid off, I smile and reach inside.
9
Gareth
She took it harder than I thought. I grind my teeth as we ride through the thin line of trees. Surely, she understands that it’s for her safety? Then again, the bloom of anger that just blasted down the bond tells me that no, she does not understand one bit.
Ash still falls, the scent of burning flesh heavy on the air. Chastain rides beside me as we plunge forward, the two hills Parnon described rising on either side of the road. At the top, there are some makeshift guard towers, but no one seems to be in them.
“Could be a trap.” Baralja peers up at the one on our right. “Maybe they’re waiting for us farther along.”
“Maybe.” I pull my makeshift scarf tighter.
“This place was already bad enough.” Chastain’s eyes are grim. “But there’s something even more wrong. This amount of ash?” He looks at the column of smoke that emanates from somewhere beyond the sentry hills. “It would take a lot of …”
“Bodies.” I didn’t want to say it in front of Beth, but the outcome we’re riding toward? It’s not going to be a good one. Sparing her whatever horror we’re about to face will be worth every bit of anger she throws at me later.
Chastain whistles. “Tight formation.”
I lead the column through the hills and into the thick smoke. Ahead, the two long dormitories Parnon described sit unperturbed. But nothing moves. No slaves walk the paths, no slavers bark orders. It’s as if this place is … dead.
Picking up my pace, I guide Iridiel down the well-worn lane to the dormitories. They’re empty, the small windows giving a view of dim interiors and narrow cots.
“Where are they?” Chastain stares at the source of the smoke, a fire raging in a pit several hundred yards away.
“Baralja.” I point to the fire. “Take a few fighters and go. Report back on what you find.”
He steers his unicorn away and onto a narrow path between two mine shafts.
“Let’s go up to the slavers’ villas.”
“I just got here, and I already hate it.” Iridiel shakes the ash from his mane and hurries toward the slopes ahead of us. Through the smoke, I can make out a few large buildings. The only greenery in this place is ivy that climbs up the walls. The rest of the land is wasted, empty, and barren.
I reach the cobblestone veranda of the nearest villa, the sumptuous curtains blowing in the smoky breeze. Broken furniture is scattered inside, and a body lies face down in a pool of blood.
“Slaver.” I point, and Chastain follows my line of sight.
“Dead slavers in here,” one of the fighters calls.
“What in the Spires happened?” Chastain slides from his mount and walks down a narrow lane between the buildings.
“Stay here.” I drop from Iridiel.
