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She needed to move faster.
“Endreth!” Anthea’s desperate call tore through the still night, her voice strained with exhaustion, as she reached the rendezvous point. Whirling around, her wide brown eyes flickered with terror as they scoured the secluded garden.
There was no sign of him—Endreth wasn’t there.
“You are out of paths, human.” A deep voice stated. She spun around, facing the tall male. He was blocking the only way out of this private garden nook. “Surrender now. It’ll be easier.” His voice was devoid of the breathlessness that clawed at her.
She wasn’t ready to give up yet. She was so close, so close to the possibility of finding a way home. In a final burst of movement, Anthea lunged at him, the weighty tome promising another good blow. The elf sidestepped her. And as she stumbled by him, he caught her arm, twirling her around and pulling her flush against him, her back to his chest.
“I am disappointed.” His breath grazed her ear, eliciting an involuntary shiver down her spine. “You seemed smarter than this.”
Instead of answering, Anthea sunk her teeth into the leather-clad arm that held her prisoner. A grunt from him marked that her bite had landed.
“Stop struggling,” he warned. “You are only going to hurt yourself.” As he spoke, his free hand moved with unexpected gentleness, pulling up the misaligned fabric of her dress, covering skin that had been exposed during her run. The gesture was so out of place it left her momentarily dumbfounded, her resistance faltering. “You are coming with me,” he said as both of his hands wrapped around her waist and lifted her feet off the ground.
“Let me go!” she cried, twisting and turning, her nails scraping against the leather that shielded his flesh. Her fingers found his hands, scratching, scraping—trying to get him to release his hold on her.
“You really should listen,” he murmured, his voice soft, but laced with a stark warning.
“Endreth! Please! I’m here! . . . Get off me!” she screamed, continuing to thrash against him.
With a wearied sigh, his hand moved to her neck, brushing against the collar that symbolized her feigned submission. There was a fleeting moment of deceptive gentleness before his fingers tightened around the golden band, the hard edges of the collar digging into the soft skin of her throat. Her next scream died in her throat. Her breath caught as her airway constricted. Anthea desperately clawed at his hands, digging her nails into his flesh. His grip on the collar tightened further, tearing a sharp gasp from her throat. Her world began to spin, the lush garden around her warping into a disorienting whirl of colors. She went for his face, clawed at anything her hands could reach.
“Stop . . .” The soft murmur on his lips pierced through the deafening throb of her heart.
She sunk her nails into his jaw, and dragged them to his neck.
He pulled harder.
She couldn’t breath?—
Then, the darkness came crashing down, consuming her in its merciless abyss. Her struggles ceased, her body going limp in his hold as consciousness slipped from her grasp, plunging her into a world of terrifying, silent black.
24
Anthea’s consciousness flickered back to life with the swaying rhythm of a ship beneath her. A groan escaped her as her surroundings slowly took form. She was lying on a makeshift bed of sorts, her head propped up on a linen bag stuffed with hay. A thick, soft cloak spread over her body. Her hands were bound, the coarse rope binding her wrists to a metal ring on a wooden post. A sudden cough wracked her body, the tender skin of her throat flaring up in protest. The collar, she realized, had been removed from her neck. Fear gripped her as her situation slowly started to sink in—she had been taken.
Her eyes landed on the Nephrite court’s banner, fluttering in the wind at the ship's main mast—a jade oval stone entwined by silver vines. So this was where her captor was from. Swallowing down her rising panic, she stayed silent, her eyes taking in as much detail as she could.
Her captor’s tall frame was stationed at the ship’s helm. His leather hood was now lowered, revealing a crown of black hair, cut shorter than most elves she had seen. The style ended just at the nape of his neck, leaving the broad expanse of his shoulders and muscular back exposed. Next to him was another male, his silver-white hair shined against the backdrop of the dark river. He turned around; Anthea recognized him—Vaelor, the heir to the Nephrite court. She tried to remember everything she knew of that court—Alyra had originally been from there. She had told her about the Halls of Jewels.
“Eldrion, your captive’s awake,” an elf, standing by the ship’s railings, announced.
Eldrion’s and Vaelor’s eyes simultaneously locked onto her. Their previous conversation paused mid-sentence. Anthea quickly glanced away, not wanting them to catch her staring.
The elf who had spoken was of a similar build to Eldrion, two twin blades were attached to his hips—another warrior. His hair, a hue of burnished chestnut, was pulled back into a neat braid that fell past his shoulders. Stray tendrils escaped, brushing against the high collar of his dark green leathers. A scar slashed through one of his green eyes—a jagged line that started from his brow and ended at his cheek. There was an amused smile playing on his lips as he looked at her.
Doing her best to hide her discomfort, she pushed herself up into a seated position, the cloak slipping off her shoulders, revealing her crimson dress. Suppressing a shiver, she asked?—
“Who . . . who are you?”
Vaelor stepped forward, his movements graceful, regal. “You feign ignorance so convincingly.” He arched a brow. “Very well, I shall humor you. I am Prince Vaelor, heir to the Nephrite court.”
“Why am I . . . why have you taken me here, My Prince?” The rough rope scratched her skin as she tugged at her bounds. “I am just . . . I am just a slave. I have no value, no knowledge to offer you. Please, just let me go.”
“A slave who dares to steal, especially from Icarion’s vault, is of interest to us,” Vaelor said. “Especially when she does so without tripping a single magical ward. The House of Nephrite wishes to learn more about this curiosity.” He paused, staring at her for a long moment before continuing, “And the topic of the books you stole is another curiosity, one we very much want to explore.”
“My master—Prince Endreth, he will come looking for me,” Anthea warned in a meek voice, playing the slave card as best as she could. “He won’t be pleased when he finds out I have been taken.”
