“Oh no,” Sara says quickly. “You cannot be on your own right now, miss.” She’s speaking so fast she almost stumbles across her words. “But this young Rean gentleman has promised to provide for you until you are better.” She gestures toward Reü. “I may be an experienced healer, but your wound is infected with magic, miss. You will need a healer who wields elen.” She nods. “Yes, a C’elen healer would be best.”
“I guess I’ll go with you to the Eldenpillars, then,” I say to Reü. Wherever that is, it must be in the opposite direction of the Arc, if that’s where he was headed. “There will be a C’elen who can heal there, I’m sure, and it must be closer than Caelen?”
Reü opens his mouth to answer, but the lady beats him to it. “Oh, it is. It is.” She wrings her apron between her hands. “It is not far at all, miss. A couple days at the most.”
Reü seems displeased but says nothing. How informed is he about my future? Does he want to bring me back to the Arc?
I offer him a sweet smile. “Then it’s settled.” I don’t have the faintest idea what the Eldenpillars are, but anything is preferable to risking my life traveling through Kabarian lands again, or worse, ending up back at the Arc. If the path deviates too much from where I have to go, I’ll find a way to slip away.
“Of course.” He straightens and flashes me a bright smile. “Let me get our bags ready so we can be on our way as soon as possible.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “Meanwhile, why don’t you eat something?”
I narrow my eyes at him. I’ve never seen him smile before, and his bright demeanor only serves to increase my distrust in him. Something about his smile just looks... wrong. And why hasn’t he asked me why I left? His casual demeanor in the face of everything is nothing if not unsettling.
A short while later, we’re on our way—Reü up front on his palomino mare, while I trail behind on Maeve. He has insisted that Maeve be tied to his horse so “I don’t have to strain myself by steering her.” I sigh. I shouldn’t have been so hostile toward him. He’s trying to help, after all.
“I’m sorry,” I say to his back. He’s been kind, and if it’s true, as he says, if he found me there in the ditch by coincidence, I should consider myself lucky. That ditch could have been my grave, or someone more sinister could have found me. “I don’t mean to come across as ungrateful,” I say. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and you don’t deserve that. It’s not your fault I’m injured and need to be taken care of.”
He turns around in his saddle. “Apology accepted,” he says with a shrug. Then he adds, “About that wound. How did you get it? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
His question shouldn’t come as a surprise, but it still catches me off guard. Naturally, he’s curious about how I got it. My mind starts racing in an attempt to conjure up a believable explanation while avoiding any mention of the Void Father hurling daggers at me in my dreams. That would undoubtedly result in a relentless onslaught of questions.
“Let’s just say humans aren’t welcome in Kabar,” I say with a wry smile.
“Ah, yes, unfortunately, that’s the truth.” He seems to buy the explanation. “We—meaning the C’elen—have tried to negotiate a treaty, but”—he shrugs—“they are not very interested, as you may have noticed.” He offers me a wry smile in return, and then his face grows serious once more. “I’m surprised you’re still here if a Kabarian came at you. You should consider yourself lucky that’s the only wound you got. Void, you should consider yourself lucky to still be alive.” He turns his face forward again. “They are not known to use poisoned daggers though.”
We continue our journey in silence for some time, and I must have drifted off to sleep, because when I wake up, my chin nestled in Maeve’s mane, Reü has decided to stop for the evening. The sun is setting, casting its fading rays behind the mountain range to the west, and by the time we have our campfire going, the light is completely gone.
“You should rest as much as you can,” he says, handing me a piece of flatbread and a bowl of stew. “It will still be a couple days before we reach the Eldenpillars.”
“What are the Eldenpillars, anyway?” I say in between mouthfuls.
His eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t know?”
“If you haven’t noticed already, I’ve chosen to live my life in blissful ignorance,” I say.
He laughs at my dry tone. “It’s the highest assembly of Rea,” he explains. “Each of the nine realms has a smaller assembly of their own, of course, but the Eldenpillars are the most sacred and the only onethat can overrule the law of a given realm. The ealdormen and high priestesses of the eight realms of Rea, and the ashina—their highest leader and ruler of the ninth realm—together with her keeper, will meet to decide the outcome of cases of disputes within the overall law of Rea. Humans may pledge their cases too. The assembly usually meets at specific, regular times throughout the year, unless it’s something extraordinary, of course. Next in command after the ashina is the keeper of the law. That is my uncle, C’elen Marduk. It’s quite impressive how he can recite every Rean law there is from memory. Anyway,” he says as he pours himself a bowl of the stew, “that’s why I was headed there. To deliver a scroll for my uncle.”
I nod. That makes sense.
He hands me a waterskin. “Why don’t you get some more rest? The more you sleep, the quicker your wound will heal, I’m sure.” He gives me a reassuring smile. “I’ll watch out for us.”
I curl up on my bedroll next to the fire, suddenly taken aback at how tired I feel. I can barely keep my eyes open long enough to whisper a thank-you to Reü, and then I’m out.
I’M HURTING.
Drowsy, I struggle to change position, but I can’t move. My head hurts, and I have a hard time opening my eyes. I tug at my hands, but they’re stuck, a coarse rope digging into my wrists. I tug again, and I jolt awake as fear slams through my body.
I’m bound. Captured.
As the reality of my situation hits me, I find myself desperately gasping for air, my breath coming in short, shallow heaves as I fight to fill my lungs. Tiny lights flicker before my eyes, and a sense of dizziness washes over me. This cannot be happening, not now.
I writhe in the chair, my tied wrists chafing against the rough rope as I tug at them again and again. In my frantic state, I barely noticewhen the stiches of my wound tear open—not until the rapidly bleeding wound has soaked my bandage and warm blood runs down my belly, dripping onto the floor. Still, I don’t care. The thought of losing my freedom, of being someone’s slave again, makes me lose all common sense. I cannot be captured. I cannot.
I yank at my ropes again, my wrists now sore and bleeding from the effort of trying to pull them free, the coarse rope digging deeper with every tug.
Breathe, Laïna. You’ve been treated worse. Breathe. Calm down. Save your energy. Breathe.I raise my pounding head to look around the room, narrowing my eyes at the harsh light filtering in through the window.
Where am I?
