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I wake up chained in the cart, an ankle restrained at one end and a wrist at the other, laid out next to the body of my attacker. Noé will not hear my pleas. All he says is that the deve will settle things once we arrive. Beyond that, he won’t acknowledge me except to threaten to stuff a rag in my mouth if I don’t shut up.
That was yesterday. Already bruised and battered from the assault, I’m a wreck now. After spending the entire day on the move, with my wounded mind, body, and soul being rattled into oblivion on the planks of this forsaken cart, they left me where I was overnight. Without a campfire, the bitter cold worked its way deep into my bones and has not left since.
Now, today, what little warmththe Motherhas granted me will soon be lost as the sun begins its descent toward the horizon. I don’t know if I can face another night of shivering in this cart, shackled like an animal. The only thing holding me together is the fury that underpins my physical suffering.Because how dare they do this to me? How fucking dare they?
The cart jolts heavily and my anger falters with the cry that leaks from between my compressed lips. My ribs ache and the roughly hewn manacles have scraped my skin raw. I’m almost grateful that I’m half-numbed to the pain by the cold.
Bron comes into view. From horseback, he offers me a skin of water.
“Bron!”
Noé’s angry voice snaps through the frigid air like a whip.
“If she dies,” the younger man says evenly, “the deve will not be pleased.” There’s no response, but the offer of water is rescinded and he disappears from sight.
Despondency presses deeper. My thoughts are sluggish as I try to remember the last time I was given water.Was it this morning?I don’t think the lack of water will kill me, though, before the cold. My free hand clumsily feels along the waist of my dress to where my mother’s ring is sewn into the gathered material, the last piece of my family left to me.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” I whisper to the darkening sky. “This isn’t how it was supposed to be, is it?” In the days before her trial and execution, Mama had been adamant that if I was ever given the chance, I should seek out happiness and live. But she’s been gone for eight years now, and my father and my brothers for fifteen. At this point, I’m just so tired.
Later, something tugs at my consciousness, and I realize the sway of the cart has stopped. Loud, angry voices begin to funnel into my brain. The specifics are lost to the numbing effects of cold, thirst, and hunger, but a whooshing sound brings with it the light of a torch. I clamp my eyes shut against the sudden brightness, then hear the high-pitched wailing of a woman crying for her dead son. Carson was luckier than he deserved if he has . . . had a mother to grieve for him.
The clanking of my irons rouses me further and I find a man with the fiercest of scowls looking down at me over the edge of the wagon. With hatred burning in his eyes, he declares, “Lock her up.”
Chapter 2
Luka
They should have been back yesterday. And their continued failure to turn up at the gates of the stronghold has me pacing my chamber like a caged animal. This marriage contract has proven itself to be an irritation many times over, and the damnable woman hasn’t even arrived yet.
A gust of air through the window draws my attention to the darkening sky. I doubt they’ll travel at night, not with the pampered princess in tow, which means another sleepless night of wondering what’s gone wrong. I make to pull the shutter closed when, from across the courtyard, I hear a duty guard’s cry of, “Riders approaching!”
“Finally,” I mutter darkly.
By the time I make it downstairs to the Great Hall, it’s obvious that word has spread. Warriors and villagers alike are abandoning their evening meals to file out into the courtyard to greet the returning party and, most probably, to catch a glimpse of their new a’deve.
It’s absurd to think that I know nothing but the name of the woman I’m supposed to marry. When I first heard that there would be a marriage treaty between the Realms and D’heilar, it didn’t occur to me that the First Deve would saddlemewith her. Though as the youngest and newest ruler in the realms, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Now, after having the summer and most of the fall to adjust to the idea, I can’t say I’m any less revolted by it than I was in the spring during the Realm Council meeting when it was announced. But according to my lord and commander, I’ll be tying myself to this woman whether I like it or not.
An odd mixture of dread and anticipation claws away at my insides as I cross the cobbled courtyard. Over the heads in the crowd, I scan the scene in the light of the torches.Where is the woman?A pulse of disquiet shoots through me when I count only three men on horseback. One of the twins is missing.Where in the name of the Mother is he?
Worst case scenarios rush at me.They were attacked by eastern savages. Or wild animals. The princess has been taken. Killed. Drowned. Mauled. Thrown from her horse. Maybe she ran off with the twin. Or maybe she refused to come at all.Yes, that must be it. But my relief is snuffed out by the expression on Noé’s face.
“My deve,” he says gravely. “There’s been . . .” He looks down and away before he hauls in a deep breath and re-meets my eyes. “There’s been an incident. Carson is dead.”
“What?!” is shrieked by a woman from the back of the crowd. Carson’s mother, Zola, pushes her way forward. “What do you mean he’s dead?”
My question exactly, right along with, “Where is the woman?”
“They’re both in the cart,” Noé says. “She, uh, killed him.”
My thoughts tangle and trip over one another.She what?
“No!” Zola yells as a torch is brought closer and we peer over the sides of the wagon, joined by half the village.
“The wanton slut tempted him into the trees,” Cayson announces bitterly for all to hear. “And then she caved his skull in with a rock.”
It takes a moment, but once his declaration sinks in, a full-body rush of hatred consumes me. Deep down, I alwaysknewthe woman would be unfit for marriage.
Over Zola’s shrill wails, the villagers start shouting for the woman’s blood, calling her a witch, a harlot, a murderess. I can’t say is disagree with them as I watch Noé unhook her shackles from the cart bed.
