It took longer than I thought it would, but I eventually developed a walnut soak for my hair that turned it a rich, dark brown. The dye only lasted about three washes, but no one would be the wiser if I were diligent with the upkeep. The only downside to constantly staining my hair was the mess it made of my skin.
Blotchy up to my elbows, the stains covered much of my face and neck. It wasn’t permanent, and, without a mirror, my vanity withered on the vine. Now more than ever, I looked like a crazy nature spirit.
I began to actively seek out the slavers, freeing many of their captive Elorans. Though I wasn’t sure how many found freedom, I was able to give them a second chance—an opportunity my father had bought with his life.
But although I rescued dozens of fugitive Elorans, I was never bold enough to risk exposing myself again. Jake had been my friend, and he would have slapped the chains on me himself if given half a chance. It was better to take the temptation out of their way.
Better to be alone.
News of Elora was never encouraging. They were losing the war, and the Caledonians managed to strike down any rebellion attempts before they had truly begun. Most tried to take their families and run, which brought more slavers to the forest. More refugees and dirty, hungry children with sad eyes and desperate parents.
Aside from the new risk, my life settled into a predictable pattern—wake up, scavenge for food, find slavers, poison them with red berries, and free their slaves.
But patterns bred predictability, and I was not immune. The slavers began to swap stories of drinking bitter coffee, sharing whispers of the foul creature that would emerge from the gloom of the canopy to steal their wares. An evil spirit whose very presence brought a plague of uncontrollable vomiting and empty coin purses.
When the slavers began traveling in larger groups, it became clear that I needed a new trick in my fight against the empire.
A trick I’d been born with. One I’d been forbidden to use, but could no longer afford to ignore.
As long as one priestess was fighting for Tritan, for Elora, the war was not lost.
Searching my brain for inspiration, I recalled the beautiful male mountain lion I had seen earlier in the year. Thankfully, he had just made a kill and wasn’t interested in me, but I did manage to get a good look at the frightening length of his teeth.
I had my muse and endless, idle hours to play the mimic.
I survived for another few years in the forest, freeing slaves and thwarting their hunters. Watching, fighting alone as the seasons began to blend, and I lost track of time altogether.
The sound of screaming woke me early one morning. Before I had taken the time to eat breakfast, I was racing through the trees, determined to help. A pouch of powdered red berries on my left hip, a satchel of acorn flatbreads on the other.
When I found them, I came upon men taunting two women bound to a tree. Crude, their hands wandering where they had no ownership, pinching and taking liberties.
Seething, I employed my usual tricks to distract the men so I could dose their coffee. To my relief, they fell for the conspicuous sound in the woods as easily as the others, and I crept into their camp to work my dark magic on the coffee. Dumping the entire pouch in a fit of frayed nerves and sparkling temper.
And so, when both slavers started vomiting a mere twenty minutes after drinking the coffee, I thought nothing of it. Merely slipped into camp and lifted the keys. Both women eyed me with a mixture of what appeared to be shock and disgust—I guessed my appearance was about as far away from comforting as possible.
But I eyed them with an equal amount of shock, for these were the most statuesque Elorans I’d ever seen—both with inky dark hair and long, lean muscles.
These were women worthy of friendship!
“I’m here to help,” I whispered, showing them the keys in my hand. The one closer to me nodded and held out her wrists, which I unlocked with nimble fingers before moving to the other.
“Thank you,” they said together, and I flashed a toothy smile. One never seen before, that evoked slack-jawed awe, for I’d put my modest priestess skills to use.
All four of my canines had been made to grow pointed and long. Not the full six-inch glory of a mountain lion’s impressive weaponry, but enough to see these women blanch white with shock.
“Are you the one who’s been freeing slaves?” the closer woman asked, giving her head a shake as she reached out to touch my arm.
I stepped out of her grasp, offering a wary nod.
She smiled, then. And it was sharp. Confident. “Good.”
A fist slammed into my ribs, drawing a startled yelp from my lips. Stealing my breath.
But the sound of cracking ribs was secondary to the deep, masculine voice that suddenly filled my ears. “Welcome to the party. We’ve been waiting a long time for you.”
“God, she’s a mess. This disgusting little thing has been causing all the trouble?” a female said as my baffled gaze darted to the women I had just freed. They stood with feet shoulder-width apart, checking cruel-looking weapons.
A trap.
