She had no ash, so even if her hands were free, she couldn’t mark Captain Carr to perform the death slumber spell on him to incapacitate him. Still, there were other spells that didn’t require ash, though theydidrequire use of her hands.
She lunged forward, closing her teeth around the captain’s ear. He cried out, shocked. Blood poured down his face, and he instinctively clapped his hand over the wound.
As soon as he’d released her wrist, she traced the purge hex shape in the air.
“En videl,” she whispered.
He immediately clutched his stomach with his free hand. The blood drained out of his face. His eyes locked onto her, filled with rage.
“You duplicitous little whore! You accusemeof magic whenyou—”
He stopped short, pressing his lips together against the bile rising in his throat. He turned sharply away, bracing a hand on the side of the carriage.
Bryn scrambled as far away from him as she could. The saint’s glen was just ahead. She could already hear the burble of the stream running alongside the path. She’d risk throwing herself out of a moving carriage if she had to . . .
She reached for the door handle, but Captain Carr grabbed her foot to pull her away from it.
He snarled, “I should have known those Baer savages would tempt you with magic. It was you the night of the engagement, wasn’t it?Youmade me vomit. What hexmarks do you have? Let me see your arms . . . ”
He was sweating now as he fought against the purge spell’s effects. He tore at her shirt, trying to rip it off her chest and shoulders to see her hexmarks. She shrieked as she fought him off, still attempting to reach the door.
He ripped her dress’s neckline, tugging the fabric roughly off her and down over her bare shoulder.
The death slumber hex flashed in the moonlight.
He froze.
“I know this mark . . . ” And then his jaw tightened. “It feigns death. Rangar Barendur—he isn’t dead, isn’t he? Youwhore. . . ”
He doubled over suddenly as the purge spell seized control of his stomach, making him vacate his stomach onto the carriage floor. While he heaved, Bryn threw herself at the door.
She tugged the latch open—
Just as the carriage pulled to a stop.
“We’ve arrived, Captain,” Sergeant Preston called from the driver’s seat outside. “Shall I . . . give you a moment?”
He’d heard their struggles and her shrieks, Bryn realized, and he wanted to let the captain finish the job of ravishing her.
Still vomiting onto the carriage floor, Captain Carr wasn’t able to answer.
Bryn gave him one more hateful look before throwing open the door. She was about to hurtle outside when an arrow suddenly slammed into the carriage’s side.
Another arrow shot out of the forest to strike Sergeant Preston in the neck. The driver screamed and fell out of his seat, slamming to the ground as blood poured from the wound.
Bryn tossed a look toward the dark forest, searching for a sign of the rebels. Her heart pounded frantically.
“Come back here, you bitch . . . ” Captain Carr, wiping his mouth, reached for her through the open door.
She picked up her torn skirt and stumbled toward the glen. It was a sin to step in the spring’s water, but she didn’t have much choice. She had to keep out of the way of the arrows and plunging underwater was her best option.
More arrows zinged through the air, aimed at the Mir soldiers that were on foot and on horseback behind the carriage. The soldiers immediately drew their swords.
Captain Carr cursed, lunged for her, and dragged her back inside the carriage. He slammed the door closed, barricading them inside.
“You warned the rebels,” he seethed. “You set up an ambush!”
Battle cries rang out in the forest as rebels and Baer fighters descended on the procession. The clank of colliding swords echoed among the trees along with the sound of arrows.
