Her throat tightens. Her eyes burn. Cowen’s voice reaches me through the bond, offering to show her how a modification is performed. Her refusal is instant. A single word that cuts through the air. Then she’s moving, walking fast, and the flashes become a blur of motion. The cages, the passage back to the courtyard, the carriage, and her ever-present protector’s worried face.
Then the connection snaps, and I’m back beneath the grain store, while the spider continues to stare at me.
I lie still for a long time after the bond goes quiet. The images linger—Caelum’s empty eyes, Vel taking those blows. Therin’s predator smile, and Serath’s melody. They feed the anger simmering beneath my skin, turning it into an inferno that will only be quenched by blood and death.
The sounds of the Dell change as time passes, the bustle of day giving way to the quieter rhythms of evening. I stay where I am. I can’t risk moving until it’s full dark, and the silence settles. So, I count the hours by the sounds above me.
The grain store door opens twice more. Boots cross the floor. Voices drift past, talking about dinner, a card game someone lost, and the weather turning colder.
The sun sets and the moon rises, stars wheeling overhead, invisible to my eyes, but I can feel it in my bones, myblood. My power stirs in response, stronger than yesterday.
I wait until all I can hear is the soft murmurings of theguards, and then I move, sliding out from under the grain store one inch at a time, pausing often to listen and make sure no one has noticed me. The cold air hits my face, and I breathe in, letting it fill my lungs, reminding me that I’m free.
The Dell spreads out before me, silver-washed in moonlight. The stable and smithy are dark, but the lodge shows a few faint lights in upstairs windows.
I stretch slowly, working blood back into cramped limbs. My body responds, sluggishly at first, then with growing ease as the stiffness fades. I’m still weaker than I should be. But it will be enough. For what I plan to achieve tonight, anyway.
I circle wide, keeping to the shadows, and move from building to building. Each one gives me cover, and takes me closer to the passage that will lead to the cages.
The orange glow of the brazier comes into view where the night guards are warming themselves. They’re sitting as close to the fire as they can get without singeing their boots, passing a flask back and forth. Their attention is on each other and the warmth, not the cages or darkness surrounding them.
Professionals, these two. The pride of human security.
Their voices are low and lazy, drifting toward me on the night air.
“—told her I’d be home by midwinter, but you know how it is.”
“They never understand.”
“No, they don’t. My mother was the same way. Always asking when I’d settle down and find a nice girl to have babies with.”
“Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Find a nice girl.”
A laugh. “Found a few. Never settled down, though. What’s the point? This work pays well, and isn’t hard. Watch the cages,walk the rounds, make sure nothing gets out.”
“Easy money.”
“Easiest I’ve ever made.”
My people are rotting in cages ten feet away, and to these men it’s nothing more thaneasy money. I wonder if they’ll still think it was worth it when they’re choking on their own blood.
They pass the flask again, then one of them stands, stretches and says something about taking a piss. He walks toward the edge of the firelight, his back to the cages, moving slowly, and whistling beneath his breath. When he reaches the end of the row and turns the corner, moving out of sight of his partner and away from the protection of the ward surrounding the cages,that’swhen I move.
He’s fumbling with the front of his pants when I reach him, and he doesn’t hear me coming over the sound of his own piss hitting the ground. My hand clamps over his mouth and my other arm wraps around his throat.
He tries to shout, but my pressure on his throat turns it into a gurgle. I shift my weight as he attempts to twist free, letting his struggles work against him, and use his own momentum to drive him further off balance.
He’s strong for a human. Well-fed, well-trained, but young by my standards. Strength means nothing without leverage, and I haveallthe leverage here. His pulse hammers beneath my fingers, his chest heaves under my arm, his body bucks and twists.
I count.
Five … Ten … Fifteen.
His struggles weaken, hands falling away from my arm. I hold the pressure for another ten heartbeats, until he’s limp. Then I lower him to the ground.
