She was becoming exactly what they wanted.
A killer.
Please,someone whispered, the sound brushing against her very thoughts. Not Yella, but her dragon, Keenie?—
In an instant, the room brightened, the only sound the pounding of the rain against the canvas fabric of the tent. Yella was curled in the corner, rocking herself slowly and muttering under her breath. Princess Cion sat a few paces away from her, face drained of color. Her throat had been nicked, but the blood was already drying against the pale skin of her throat.
“What in the gods’ names is happening here?”
Commander Eton’s voice echoed through the tent, and before Soren could even react, Ilav pointed at her. “It was her! She tried to kill the princess with dark magic!”
Rough hands tore at Soren, spinning her around abruptly until she came face to face with cruelly familiar jade green eyes.
“Magic, hmm?” the commander said. He laughed harshly, shaking his head. “Magic doesn’t exist, not anymore. But if you tried to kill the princess?—”
“She didn’t.” Cion’s voice shook as she stood. “She didn’t. Yella did. Soren stopped her, I don’t know how…”
Commander Eton shoved Soren back, and someone else grabbed her from behind, though the touch wasn’t as rough.
Vane.
She twisted to find his jaw set and his gaze hard. But he didn’t look at her, instead focusing on some spot at the back of the tent.
The commander advanced slowly toward Yella, who was still on the ground. He stopped in front of her, crouching down and whispering, “Up, girl.”
When she didn’t move, he barked, “Now.”
Finally, she lifted her tearstained face to look at him, but she did not stand. Instead, she moved her arm from where it had been curled in her lap, placing the curved dagger on the grass floor with a trembling hand.
The commander snatched it up immediately, eyes narrowed as he demanded, “Who sent you?”
Yella swallowed, her throat bobbing with the movement. “My cousin is Misean,” she rasped. “A bastard. She escaped over the border two seasons ago.”
“Her name?” the commander asked, his voice suddenly a strange, deathly calm.
Yella only stared at him, eyes wide and face pale. The commander glanced back at Vane, who nodded once then let goof Soren. She stumbled back slightly at the sudden loss of his presence.
Vane strode purposefully towards Yella, chin lowered and hand on the sword pommel at his hip. She shrank back when he knelt in front of her.
“The magic,” he said in a clipped voice. “Is the boy’s claim true?”
Soren felt the air leave her lungs as Yella lifted a shaking hand to point at her.
“It’s impossible, isn’t it?” she whispered. “But I could feel my heart slowing. It was her… It was Soren.”
Vane’s hard expression did not shift, and still, he did not look at Soren. Commander Eton was staring at her now, though, eyes wide in disbelief, along with most of the others in the tent.
“Death magic,” someone whispered.
The spell broke eventually when the commander took a sharp breath and barked, “Mise, with me. Vane, take care of the traitor.”
Soren’s heart beat rapidly, and all she wanted to do was run. She felt like the child who had been caught by her mother after a terrible act. But unlike then, there was no one to protect her, and she had little choice but to follow the commander out of the tent. As she left, she could hear Yella struggling and pleading with Vane.
A few seconds later, Vane dragged Yella out of the tent, her still fighting against his hold, even though it was no use.
As he pulled her past Soren, Yella grabbed her arm roughly and hissed in her ear, “Vane is not who you think he is. Be careful, Soren.”
She mouthed something just before Vane pulled her around the corner and out of sight, but Soren couldn’t decipher it. The words were too foreign and oddly shaped. She didn’t have much time to consider it as Commander Eton dragged her by her hairacross camp through the mud. Eyes followed them as they went, and Soren wrangled the urge to let the darkness still building inside her out. It was as if it had gotten a taste of freedom and now wanted more.
