“Sit up,” a familiar voice commanded her.
Keira obeyed slowly, only to be struck by a blow to the head and sent sprawling back to the floor. This had been their tactic ever since she’d bitten one of them badly enough for him to release her three days ago. She’d run all of ten paces out of the carriage before they’d subdued her. That was the closest to freedom she’d come.
Her surroundings spun dangerously around her as one of them pulled her up to her feet, holding her so that the other could force her to drink. Her mouth clamped shut like a vise. She couldn’t. Not again. That foul potion drained her strength, muddled her mind, pulled all the color out of the world until she was nothing but a husk. Refusal screamed through her, rattling her bones.
When they tried to pry her mouth open, Keira became a being of fury. She tore and bit and struggled blindly as the men tried to subdue her. She felt as one of her swipes drew blood. He cursed, retreating a step.
Keira seized her moment, driving her elbow back into the other’s gut. As soon as his grip loosened, she was in motion. Herbalance was unsteady as she drove forward, nearly falling out of the wagon. She did not stop, scrambling over the hard ground as she heard them coming after her.
Outside, night had fully fallen, though the darkness was illuminated by dim firelight. She barely had the time to take in her surroundings, angling herself toward the side of the road, away from the wagon’s lanterns to lose them in the shadows. The world tilted as she stood fully, and Keira nearly lost her balance. A firm hand wrapped around her arm, jerking her back.
He released her suddenly. Out of the corner of her eye, Keira saw a flash of wings. She could hear her captor’s curses and Thaddeus’s unmistakable caw. She spared a glance over her shoulder as she continued to run. The crow was clawing valiantly at the eyes of her pursuers, evading their blind and clumsy attempts to grab him.
Gratitude for her familiar swelled within her as Keira made use of the time he had bought for her. Her feet touched the cool grass, undaunted, as she sprinted for the cover of the night. A flicker of hope sparked at this taste of freedom.
A body collided into her without warning, knocking the air from her lungs as she crashed onto the ground. Keira went still as she gasped in panic.
“Bring the cursed potion!” the man called behind them, his considerable weight pressing down on her.
She had spent enough time with her captors to know both of their voices well, yet this voice was unfamiliar to her.
Keira had caught her breath by the time they turned her, trying once more to shove the potion down her throat.
“If you see that bird, shoot it!” Another stranger called as they tried to wrench her mouth open.
All her efforts, clawing and snapping, kicking and growling, only prolonged the inevitable. Weakened as she was, Keira couldnot hold both of them back for long. She coughed and sputtered as the potion worked down her throat.
At once, even the faint whisper of her magic fell silent. Around her, the world became slow and grey and heartless. Her body grew heavy, her thoughts only fragments which didn’t seem to fit together.
After a moment, they pulled her upright, practically carrying her. She couldn’t have managed more than two steps on her own. As she stumbled, pain shot up her ankle. She did not have the clarity of mind to tell anything about these strangers in their midst, and it took longer than it ought to for her to realize they were not taking her back to the wagon. Instead, she saw the light of torches. The air smelled of sea salt and ash. Around her they were speaking, voices strange and familiar… This was wrong.
A hand gripped her hair, lifting her head up. Keira opened her eyes, an extraordinary effort. A bald man with a hooked nose was studying her in kind. He held a lantern before him. Its light glinted off the golden pin fastening his cloak. It was in the shape of a starred compass.
Fear gripped her, honing her muddled thoughts into a singular impulse of clarity: she needed to run. Her body jerked back in response, but nothing more. The hand dropped her, and Keira’s head lulled on her shoulders. They kept talking, their words dancing incomprehensibly around her as a wave of nausea swam through her mind.
“Hold her.”
A firm hold gripped her hair again, this time from behind, inflaming the bruise on the back of her skull. A cry ripped through her throat.
Before she could close it again, something cold and metal was thrust into her mouth. Keira gagged and tried to pull away as it pinned down her tongue. The tang of iron and rust filled her senses. Her heart hammered against her chest as she sawmetal bars closing around her vision. Keira struggled with all her strength. As the metal closed in around her, she felt the click of the lock like a snap of her bones. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t open her mouth more than a fraction. Everywhere she looked, she saw the world through the iron cage.
The hook nosed man nodded in a sickly satisfied way. “Bring her.” He turned away, toward what her blurred vision couldn’t perceive.
“Watch her,” one of her captors warned. “She near took Glenn’s ear off.”
The bald stranger turned, the amusement in his wrinkled smile etching her very bones with rancor. “Worry not, we’re more than capable of accommodating her kind.”
Caspian
“Won’t these do nicely, m-my lord?” Priscilla asked. Her gentle touch on his arm brought Caspian back to his senses.
They were in the middle of the market, surrounded by a litany of servants as they sought goods for the wedding. Just now they’d been speaking with the florist. His attention had absently drifted to a bundle of vibrant orange flowers, their petals splayed out like stars. Instead, Priscilla directed him to a bouquet of plump roses. Their color was faint, nearly white if not for hints of pink. The florist was looking between them with a nervous smile on her face.
“They are very f- very fine- Don’t you think?” she prompted again, a twinge of hurt in her eyes.
Caspian gave his best reassuring smile, a silent apology. He had to try harder at this. It was his second chance. She was going to be his wife, and he had been nothing if not distant this past week. “Of course, if they’re what you want.”
The florist bowed gratefully, and Priscilla spoke with the attendants about the proper arrangements. The entire affair would be orchestrated by craftsmen from Llyndale and the surrounding villages. It had been her suggestion, and a thoughtful one. She was making a true effort at this, and was admittedly fitting into the role perfectly. Already the townsfolk were growing to love her. They smiled at them as they walkeddown the street, many offering quick bows or curtsies, even congratulations on their engagement.
