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All I can think to say is “Thank you.” Then I glance between the two rooms. “You two are ... siblings?”
Unach gives me a disgusted look. “What else would we be?” She heads into her room, closing the door firmly behind her.
Her brother frowns at me. Before I can inquire as to his name, he retires as well, and I’m surrounded by closed doors.
Chewing on my lower lip, I hold out the fur. It’s about five feet long, a little short to cover me. I fold it in half lengthwise and set it against the hard floor in the hallway. Then I search about the fireplace coals. Surprisingly, I find a short stack of quarter logs and pull one free.
Unach’s door opens suddenly, and I wonder if she’d had her ear pressed to it. “What are you doing?” Her peevish tone slices through the room.
I stiffen. “The fire—”
She glares at me.
Trolls must be more adapted to the cold, what with their ... thickness. I quickly replace the log. Unach scrutinizes me, as if she’s thinking about shoving me through that single, narrow window. I hurry to the fur and lie down, and she retreats once more.
I lie on the hide for some time as the braziers slowly fade. I’m used to camping on hard ground, but this floor makes my bones feel too sharp for my skin, even with the hide. The temperature drops, and the night looms. I roll up in the hide for warmth, but without its barrier, the frigid floor shocks my skin. I now understand the need for rugs.
Unach may not like it, but I grab the end of a small rug and pull it over for a mattress. It blocks out the cold, thankfully, though it does little in the way of cushioning. I could try to relight a brazier—but I fear to bring the wrath of a troll upon me. Fear of somethingalwayslurks in my thoughts or crawls beneath my skin. Fear has been my greatest companion since before I can remember. It has kept me alive, fuels me, protects me. In truth, I don’t know what I would do without it.
Fear tells me that Unach is a barely contained bonfire. I’m not yet sure of her brother’s temperament.
And so I lie here, shivering, my knees pulled to my chest, my arms folded tightly together, using my own hair as a pillow.
At least if I don’t sleep, I won’t dream of whatever monsters the council intends for me come morning.
I can’t breathe. I can’t—
I wake up to a hand around my mouth. It’s large and calloused, and I know exactly who it belongs to when it jerks me free of my little pallet in the stable.
Screams build up in my throat as my father’s men pull me back. It’s early, too early. The cock hasn’t crowed yet. Their hands grapple everywhere, holding down my flailing limbs, jerking me this way and that, carrying me out like a rabid dog into the blue-hued light.
“Ignore it! It’s not real!” one hisses to another, and I spare only half a second of surprise that my father would tell themwhyI’m so valuable. But thieves must know what to expect when stealing something that can fight back.
But that fear is their own. Not mine.
I add to it, pushing the darkness out, escalating my own terror in the process.
The man holding my legs flinches, but the one covering my mouth drops me like I’ve bitten him and reels back.
All my screams escape me, surging through the township of Dorys like a murder of crows. The fear heightens my senses, strengthens my limbs. Pleads with me to flee, flee, flee.
“Shut her up!”
I push my fear harder.
Men drop me. I scramble across the dry ground, trying to orient myself. Cry out for help.
Something, perhaps a boot, hits the side of my head. The world spins. The blue light momentarily turns black.
That’s the weakness of my power. I can instill terror into any man, but the minute I leave, so does the fear.
When my thoughts return to my throbbing head, I’m being manhandled again. One of my kidnappers grabs my breast—not in a sexual way, but in an effort to throw me onto the back of another’s horse.
No, no, NO. I will NOT go back, I will not—
“Leave her be!”
The sound of Cando’s voice—it’shisstable I’m sleeping in—is such a relief and a horror that I nearly wet myself. Relief that someone has come for me. Horror at what these three men might do to him, for my father’s men are armed and armored, and they ride horses, which are increasingly rare in these parts. Even Cando doesn’t have a horse. He uses his stable for goats and storage.
