The two closest to her had a quiet conversation, giving Hellebore the opportunity to brush off her translation skills. The male elf nodded at the female’s bandaged arm and asked, “Are you alright?”
The female nodded. “I will be.”
He said something Hellebore couldn’t quite make out except for the end. “—alchemist. Any opportunity to take our blood, they take. Savages.”
The female clucked her tongue and fixed him with a stern look, but her tone betrayed her frustration with herself. “I should have been more careful not to let—wishful thinking on his part—cold feet—not come willingly.”
It was like dusting off an old shelf. Hellebore’s Iubian Elvish was coming back to her and as long as she could hear clearly and they didn’t speak too quickly, she could understand the gist.
The male shot a glare at Hellebore, who was staring up at the clouds with a perfectly practiced bored expression, and muttered, “—not natural.”
“She’s a human alchemist. She’s not concerned with natural.”
They fell into silence, and Hellebore watched the sun travel through the sky. She shifted her shoulders, focusing on the feeling of the rope against her wrists. The elves had good reason to fear the alchemists. There was little they couldn’t do as long as they had the right material and the right formula. A skilledalchemist could create a formula to accomplish their means on the fly. Hellebore’s current problem was she had no way to write the formula she needed to transmute the rope from its solid, bound form to a thinner, more fragile form she could escape from.
So when the sun finished setting and the carriage came to a stop, Hellebore had made no progress in getting the ropes off. But the door to the carriage opened and it was the captain from before. He held open the door and gestured for her to come out with one hand, holding her belt in the other.
He said in Chymesian, “Come here, alchemist.”
She bristled at being given so clear an order, but she did as he said. It wasn’t ideal, but even formulas written in dirt still worked.
They were deep in the forest now, and the elves around her were quickly setting up camp for the night. As soon as she reached the edge, the captain took her arm and helped her down, not letting go as he led her over to one of the fires. She couldn’t see him quite as well in the darkening night, but as they reached the fire, it bathed his cool, amber-hued skin in a warm golden light. He let go, and she stumbled to the ground. He stood above her and raised an eyebrow. “Will you cooperate?”
She replied in Iubian, a thick accent over her words, “Will you give chance?”
His cold, hard expression shifted. He stepped back and nodded.
She spoke slowly, stumbling over the foreign language, “You cannot—Crossing the border is not crime. Iris did not leave Iubar.”
She had to at least try the defense.
He stared at her. Then he laughed. He wrapped an arm around his stomach as he stepped back. The other elves stared atthem for a moment, like he was growing a second head instead of laughing at her argument.
He lowered himself to the ground, chuckling even as she glared at him. “Princess Hellebore, you are brave, like they said. However, you are foolish if you think you are getting out of this.”
So they knew who she was. Which meant sheneededto escape. She watched the other elves out of the corner of her eye. Most of them were eating their rations or going to their tents, yawning and visibly ragged now that the sun had vanished. She lifted her chin. “This is a mis—misunderstanding.”
“I caught you stealing a Sunrise Iris.” His voice turned icy cold, cutting through the heat of the fire beside them. “You knew exactly what you were doing. Do not lie to me.”
“So…” Hellebore paused, searching for the words, her thick accent slowing her down. “The treaty talk… not well?”
Was she a valuable hostage? Were they at war? Or was she just an impetuous princess who took a flower she was suspecting meant more to the Sun Elves than anyone in Chymes knew?
If the former, that could have been what Callahan and Emerson had been riding to the academy for.
And like a fool she’d just given herself over. Even if her father would be reluctant to compromise for her return, Callahan and Aunt Palladia would never let him leave her with the elves.
The captain snorted. “Do not test me, alchemist.”
There was something Hellebore was missing. But if playing along would be better for her escape, she’d take the confusion then.
She bowed her head for a moment and then said, “Apologies.”
He blinked, and then he shifted, taking her by the shoulder and turning her around and releasing her hands from the rope. What a fool.
She kept her face impassive as he returned to her front and offered her a waterskin. She rubbed her red, raw wrists and eyed it. He sighed, uncorked it, and took a sip. He held it out again and said, “What would I accomplish by poisoning you?”
A fair assertion if she was his hostage; she would have no value to him if she was dead. She slowly took it, placing her other hand on the ground behind her, in her shadow. The captain’s eyes never left her face as she lifted it to her lips. She took a sip as her fingers started drawing in her formula in the dirt. She held it back out to him as she finished her formula and pushed her power into it.
