Page 4 of A Drop of Venom

But my mother wasn’t here now being chased through the forest by a band of rapacious, murderous guards. I was, and I didn’t want to be caught by these men.

I staggered down the path toward the ravine, every step pure agony, and whispered more pleas to the trees.

Behind me, the guards were cursing now, all traces of mocking laughter gone. I stole a single glance over my shoulder.

The forest had herded the three men together and trapped them in a circle of thick brush and thorny brambles. They were hacking at their prison with their swords, but for every branch or vine they cut, two more took its place.

Without meaning to, I locked gazes with Jonas. His face twisted in fury. “This is black magic,” he snarled. “The little mouse is a witch.” His gaze went to something behind me. “Get her, sir!”

As I spun around, a blur of movement came from my right. I dodged away as Lord Vedast’s grasping fingers brushed my breast. He grinned at me as if this were a delightful game.

Vedast grabbed a handful of the front of my dress and ripped. The threadbare fabric tore down the front as I wrenched myself back toward the edge of the ravine, revealing my tattered chemise and my right breast.

“Hello, little witch,” he said mockingly. Rather than pull his sword from its scabbard, he drew a half-eaten apple from one pocket and a set of manacles from the other. “Your choice. Come sweetly, or be dragged by the hair.”

“Where’s Cibran?” I gasped, taking a step back while trying to hold my torn dress together with one hand.

Vedast gestured at the spray of crimson across his uniformed chest that continued down the arm he was using to dangle the manacles. “Sadly, your farmer friend won't be able to greet you when you return, little mouse. But I’m sure he’d advise you not to fight me. He tried, and it ended poorly for him.”

Bile surged into my mouth. I swallowed hard to keep my meager breakfast down.

Cibran must have known the futility of fighting, but he’d done so anyway. Perhaps to take his secrets to his grave, and perhaps because a beheading or stab to the heart was a quicker death than the agony he would have experienced in a dungeon. Perhaps to spare himself the torment of witnessing what these men planned to do to me. Possibly all three.

Vedast glanced at the others, still cursing and hacking at the branches and thorny vines around them, and then turned back to me. “Release my men and come along now, little mouse. I promise to make your end quick once we've finished with you. And you might even enjoy what we do.”

His smile had all the confidence of a man who knew he could do as he pleased because the crest on his chest meant he wasn’t subject to any law but his own.

He stepped closer, forcing me back until my heels were mere inches from the edge of the rocky ravine. “Given you're a witch, an afternoon’s pleasures and a quick death by my sword is a far better offer than you’d get from anyone else.”

That he thought anything about his threats would lead to pleasure was simply further proof of what a monster he was.

“You would be brave to take a witch by force,” I said softly. “Perhaps you’re not fond of keeping your cock in good working order?”

His smirk grew as he dangled the manacles in front of my nose. They smelled strongly of enchantments. “That is why I carry these, little mouse,” he said. “Your magics cannot wither me once these are locked on your wrists.”

“Goddess,” I breathed. Not witch irons. I started to retreat again, but I had nowhere to go with my back to the ravine.

I groped for something—anything—to defend myself as he snapped one of the manacles around my left wrist. The agony in my ankle disappeared as the enchantments triggered, burning like a thousand white-hot needles jabbing into my skin.

I screamed as I’d never screamed before in my life.

Nothing had hurt so badly as this. Not the death of my parents, not my worst beating by my cousins, not the day our landlord had turned me out of my childhood home with nothing but the clothes on my back and what I could carry in my trembling arms.

Branches rustled beside me, and a sturdy stick about two feet long and as thick as my wrist shoved itself into my free hand.

Thank you, Goddess.

As Lord Vedast lunged for me, I used every ounce of my desperation and his momentum to drive the stick’s broken end into his side with all the force I could muster. Hot blood gushed over my fingers and splattered my dress.

Vedast grunted, let go of the manacles, and punched me in the face.

Pain exploded through my jaw and my head snapped back so hard stars burst behind my eyes. My vision went dark.

I felt myself rising, as if I'd been picked up or shoved, and then I was falling backward into empty air.

Please, I tried to whisper, but the word never reached my tongue.

Through the fog in my head, I felt rough, scraping impacts all over my body—my arms, my legs, my back, my head—as branches bent and bounced and swayed, attempting to slow my fall while keeping my plummeting body away from the sharp rocks that lined the ravine.