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Kaevin is still alive and fighting for his life, so I can’t just give up. It would kill both of us.
It took almost ten minutes of struggling before she maneuvered her knees underneath her enough to lift her head. And the humiliation of being forced to eat like a dog wasn’t lost on her either.
It probably has bugs in it. Thank goodness I can’t see well enough to tell in this moonlight.
After eating, she dared to reach out with her empathy, to see what Kaevin was feeling. But his undefined mixture of pain and random emotions told her he was still unconscious.
She lay back down, finding as comfortable a position as possible on her side, and was about to fall asleep when Vindrake returned.
Her eyes must have widened, because he chuckled.
“Don’t worry, Daughter. I’ve not returned to torture you. Not yet. Though I must say, your arms have healed remarkably well from our last session together.”
Something snapped inside her, chasing away her intense fear and, evidently, her common sense. Instead, sh
e felt pure fury.
“Why, thank you, Father. And, I hope you enjoyed the gift I sent you after our little get-together.” Her sarcastic remark referred, of course, to the dead and decaying wendt she had transported to him shortly after she and Kaevin escaped from his torture. “It was a bit stinky, but it seemed like just your style.” As an afterthought, she added, “Almost as vile and evil as you are.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Or perhaps the right thing. The backhand to her face was so hard, it felt like it broke her jaw, and a sharp, iron taste told her he’d busted her lip as well.
His laughter rang in her ears.
“I must admit I’m proud my daughter has such spirit, though I’m forced to put you in your place. Yes, indeed. You would make a fine wendt. Perhaps that would be a fitting end for you.”
Tears stung her eyes, but she didn’t cry or even whimper. Reminding herself of the danger, she tried to avoid the natural tendency to suppress her pain with her empathy gift. As her pain tank was still dangerously full—according to Laethan—she could easily lose control, with months of stored pain exiting at once. Knowing such an accident might kill her, the idea was tempting. Better to die at her own hand than whatever torture Vindrake had in mind. But she wasn’t ready to give up yet.
“No need to attempt utilizing your gift, Alora, for this area is warded against transport, in addition to your iron bindings.”
Sprawling on the ground beside her, he rolled up a blanket and tucked it under his head. He was so close, her stomach threatened to expel her gruel.
“You’re not sleeping here, are you?” she asked, hopefully.
“I certainly am. I won’t risk the loss of either of my gifts this night.” He patted Uncle Charles’ brown backpack, opening the top flap and sliding his hand inside.
Maybe he’ll squeeze that trigger in his sleep and accidentally shoot himself.
The thought brought a smile to her face, until another occurred.
Or he might shoot me, instead.
**************
The next morning, voices intruded into Alora’s sleep, coaxing her awake, though she had to force her glued eyelids apart. Every part of her body ached, more from her constrained position than the hard ground, since Vindrake left her tightly bound.
Reaching for Kaevin with her mind, she felt no pain whatsoever. Her chest tightened as she reasoned he must be close to death.
Maybe Kaevin was right when he tried to stay with me every single second of the day. At least we wouldn’t be dying apart.
“Be certain she has no weapon before you bring her to me,” said Vindrake, who stood several feet away with his back to Alora. In the morning light, she could see her prison was located in a small clearing in the forest. Though no guards were in sight, she knew her father must have them posted all around for protection. He would leave nothing to chance.
After a few moments, during which Vindrake paced in a small circle, a Water Clan warrior arrived, roughly pushing someone ahead of him—a petite woman with a mass of dark, tight curls framing gray eyes.
Meravelle.
“I’ve come to discuss the terms of Alora’s release,” said Meravelle. Her voice didn’t quiver in the least, nor did her hands, despite the very frank fear Alora sensed.
“I’ve already expressed the terms, yet I see you’ve come empty-handed. Where is my scroll?”
