My smile fades.
“What is there to tell of war? It’s a gruesome business that sometimes cannot be prevented. My father fought every surrounding species in search of power.”
“And the war we seek to start?” the observant Enduar asks.
I flex my jaw. “This war will be fought to right wrongs.”
Turalyon nods thoughtfully. “That’s a good way of putting it. I see your many years alive have brought you wisdom.”
I look over and elbow him in the ribs. “Are you calling me old?”
The hunter grins. “As a friend? Yes.”
I shove him and he rolls away, laughing. Forcing another smile on my face, I stand, bid everyone a good night, and head to my tent. I am not offended, and I don’t wish to bring down their mood. Not when they are all doing me a great favor.
Better to be bitter and alone.
Chapter 5
Enargite
ESTELA
If there is one constant in life, it is the inevitability of filth. Yesterday’s blood crusts my fingers, though they are long since healed.
The space between bars is little more than a hand-width wide. When I tug at them again, they still refuse to budge. This cage is impenetrable, so I have spent the last few hours racing through possibilities.
Now, my plan has four parts: play Rholker’s pet, find Mikal, speak with the other slaves, and convince as many as possible to escape with us.
While I know that playing his pet means explicitly not escaping before the time comes—whatever time that may be—I need to make contact with some of the other humans. So, walking around the perimeter of my cage yet again, I run my hands along the rough metal and wait for the torch to run out.
Eventually, with no immediate actions to be made, the thick darkness takes over. I’m left with a hauntingly empty, excruciatingly cold room as an ugly prelude to the return of the memory slicers.
There’s an oily, black energy to them, nothing like Liana and her singing and scrying. If I am still, it’s almost like I can hear the wise woman’s chiming dresses, covered in stones that hit together every time she moves. When I hum to the stones around me, they are weak. I should have listened more carefully to her lessons and poems, maybe then I wouldn’t be discouraged so easily.
Words about monarchs and power swirl around in my mind. Holding my legs to my chest to preserve warmth, I absentmindedly rub the stones of the necklace Teo gave me.
More tears drip down my cheeks. They don’t freeze, as they did on the trek to the Enduar Mountains, but they leave behind wet trails that seem to attract the cold air. It keeps me in a heightened state of awareness.
That is how I am able to hear the footsteps outside this shack long before the door opens.
An inevitable hell.
Each crunch on the gravel walkway sounds louder than it did with my merely human ears—before the Fuegorra.
Slowly, the creaky, dilapidated door swings open, revealing the moonlight-soaked night. The silver rays illuminate the tall trees just beyond the six raven-black hoods. They enter without a word. The air in the room grows thin, and my chest heaves, trying to keep up with the lack of breath that’s causing my hands and feet to tingle.
They walk in a triangular shape, presumably with Dahlia heading the front, two flanking her, and three in the back. They stop in front of my cage, and the temperature seems to drop when they close the door.
White, puffy clouds of labored breaths form in front of my face, just barely visible before the light is shut out again.
I close my eyes, choosing to believe that it doesn’t make adifference whether or not I see their ugly vipers. My grip on the windows to my mind is tight.
“Estela,” Dahlia’s voice says. “I see you got our gift.”
Stiffening, my ears strain to hear her nonexistent breaths. It was assumed that she would know who I was, but hearing the name slip from her lips is as strange as watching a lake burn to a crisp. Everything about these women is unnatural, and I wonder why they gave me bread.
They are too small for giants or Enduares. So, I assumed they were elves, but I am still not fully convinced, as the elves seem to despise women. Giants hate humans even more.
