Cora’s blood went cold. She knew what that marking was. It was a brand reserved for criminals set for execution. ThatRstood for one of the most heinous and violating crimes she could imagine.
His gaze turned steely as if he could see the realization in her eyes. “I wasn’t going to hurt your friend,” he said, tone curt. With that, he darted away, grabbing a spear off the ground before he left the clearing.
Alone again, Cora shifted her attention back to her dagger. Angling it toward the knot between her wrists, she sawed the blade against it. It was painstakingly slow, and for a few moments, Cora thought her efforts were futile. But then she heard a satisfying snap as part of the rope was severed. With some mobility freed, she redoubled her efforts. Another snap. Then freedom. She brought her arms in front of her, wincing at the strain on her muscles. Her forearm still seared from where Erwin had lashed her with his whip. Pulling herself to a seated position, she quickly cut through her ankle bindings and tore off her gag.
Her chest burned with anxiety, lungs contracting as she scrambled over to Maiya. She cut her friend’s bonds, setting her hands free. Maiya remained limp. Cora set down her dagger and framed Maiya’s face in her hands. She whispered her friend’s name. Nothing. She sought her pulse at the base of her neck, relieved when she felt a soft beat. “I’m getting us out of here,” she said, then cast her gaze around the camp. She needed a safe way to flee. Steal one of their horses, perhaps. But she saw no sign of one, heard no evidence of a nicker or a neigh.
Subtle movement caught her eye from the opposite side of camp, drawing her attention to two metal cages. Both were composed of six barred panels assembled into a large box, their corners and sides tied together with rope. One stood gaping open, empty, the front of it slightly askew on its roped hinges. The closed one, however, held a single occupant—a male equine creature, brown and nearly skeletal. He wavered on hooves that seemed overlarge for his too-thin body. He blinked sleepily at her, his head dipping low, as if too heavy to hold upright. That was when she noticed the slim, white, spiral-ridged horn protruding from the center of his head, aglow with the light from the fire.
A unicorn.
9
Shock rippled through Cora like a shuddering current, nearly taking her breath away. Without meaning to, she rose to her feet and took a few steps closer to the creature before her, her eyes fixated on the white spiral horn. Her pulse thrummed wildly.
“Mother Goddess,” she muttered under her breath.
Before her was a fae creature. A unicorn. It was like he had walked straight from legend. Like the stories had said, he was larger than a regular horse, his neck sinuous, his hooves massive. That was where the comparisons ended between the faerytale descriptions and the creature before her. For his brown coat was dull, not shiny. His body was emaciated, not broad and strong. His eyes seemed more lifeless than keen.
The unicorn wavered on his legs again, head dipping, eyes blinking slowly as he took a swaying step back. His rear came up against the bars of the cage. With a sharp equine cry, the unicorn jolted away, but the movement brought his flank against the other side of the cage. Another piercing sound, one of pain.
Cora stepped closer again, squinting as she studied the cage to identify what could be hurting him. All she saw were plain iron bars bound together with rope. Such an assembly suggested the cages were used for travel, with the ability for the sides to be cut loose and reassembled with ease. The enclosure was obviously too small for a creature of his size, but it seemed otherwise benign. There were no sharp edges, no nails, no barbed corners—
Cora’s breath hitched, her eyes narrowing on the seemingly innocuous metal bars.
Iron.
A metal that—if the legends were to be believed—was harmful to the fae. Deadly, even.
Her heart plummeted and with it went her control over her mental shields. They crumbled around her. Before she could gather her senses enough to replace them, she was struck by an onslaught of emotion, so powerful it made her legs quake. Hunger, pain, fatigue, terror, sorrow. The feelings enveloped her, permeating her blood and bones. It was all-consuming, all-penetrating—
“Cora.” Maiya’s strained voice startled her. It was enough to help her get control, to breathe, to push back against the unwanted emotions.
Taking a stumbling step back, Cora tore her gaze from the brown unicorn, breathing deeply until she felt the remnants of the emotions fade. In their place her chest was tight, her throat dry. She ignored it and whirled toward her friend, finding Maiya wincing as she tried to push herself to sitting. Cora ran to her and kneeled at her side. “Are you all right?”
“Where are we?” Maiya asked, squinting as she looked around the camp.
“Somewhere dangerous.” Cora left her friend’s side only to retrieve her belt, bow, and quiver. She sheathed the dagger and shouldered her other weapons. Then she squatted back down next to Maiya and put her arm around her. “We need to get out of here. Can you stand?”
Cora tried to lift her, but Maiya let out a hiss of pain. “My ankle,” she said, voice quavering. “I fell. Twisted it. That’s how they caught up to me.”
Dread filled Cora’s stomach. If her friend couldn’t run, they’d be at an even greater disadvantage. Their only hope now of making it back to camp was if the hunters remained distracted long enough. “It’s all right,” Cora said, more to herself than to Maiya. “We’re going to make it.”
Shifting her stance so she could help Maiya rise on her good leg, she attempted to pull her up again. Finally, they were both on their feet. With one arm secured around Maiya’s waist, Cora led them toward the edge of camp. Each step was slow and hobbling, sending a spike of panic through Cora’s heart.
“You should leave me,” Maiya said, hissing as she nearly tripped with her next step. “I wouldn’t blame you.”
“I’m not leaving—” Cora’s words died on her lips as the sound of thundering steps came tearing through the woods. The hunters. They were coming back.
From the sound of it, they were heading straight for them.
“Goddess above,” Cora muttered, part curse, part prayer. She angled them to the side, attempting to flee to the other edge of camp, but they were too slow.
Too late.
The pounding steps tore into the clearing.
But they didn’t bring a horde of angry hunters.
