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An involuntary sob escaped her lips as she sat there, soaked, freezing, exhausted, but alive.
She had made it out. She had survived. She was alive.
And now, she had to get back to Eldrion and the others.
After a moment to gather her strength, Anthea pushed herself up, wincing at the pain that flared in her bruised and battered body. Then, she started to ease down the mountain, toward the forest below. She had a long journey ahead, but she could do it. She would make it back . . .
Somehow, she would make it back.
Forward. Only forward.
The tip of the sword was cool against her throat, effectively halting her in place.
“Who are you?” a male’s voice demanded.
“I . . . Who are you?” Anthea asked in a shaky voice. The sword was whipped away from her throat, and she was pushed, causing her to stumble to the ground. Anthea turned around . . . and looked up.
There were two humans standing in front of her: a young man and an older woman. The woman had an arrow notched on her bowstring. The tip of it aimed at her.
Humans. And by the looks of them, these were no slaves.
“I-I came from the cave,” Anthea managed, pointing to the opening she had emerged from.
“This is not possible. All openings were sealed a long time ago.”
“I . . . I swear. I came from that cave. I have proof—In my backpack.”
The man grabbed the one she had offered them and opened it, while the woman kept her weapon aimed at Anthea. Finding the figurine of the dragon and the ancient book, he showed them to the woman.
Her eyes widened. “That’s not possible . . .” She trailed off. But the tip of her arrow lowered.
“Please, I need help. I was inside there for . . . I don’t even know how long.” Anthea hoped they would believe her. Hoped they would help her.
The woman nodded to the man. Then she addressed Anthea, “You are coming with us. To Illiyara’s grove.”
The man grasped Anthea’s elbow, tugging her up, taking a strip of cloth out of his pocket. “Just a precaution,” he offered her as he blindfolded her.
They were taking her to Illiyara’s grove.
These were her people, the ghosts.
48
BELDOR
Beldor’s hand was deft and steady as he worked on the bandages around his shoulder. Each tug and pull brought back sharp, searing pain.
It felt like an eternity had passed since they left Anthea behind, though it had only been three weeks.
Three weeks—she couldn’t possibly have survived that long.
Eldrion and Haldrian had ventured back to that cave countless times—despite their best efforts, there was no sign of her. The Iron legion, those cursed soldiers, kept a tight watch at the entrance. At first, Eldrion had killed them on spot. But even after that, Anthea hadn’t emerged.
There was no sign of her.
None of them wanted to admit it. But it was looking more and more like she had either found another exit—or she had died in there.
Either way: she was lost.
