Page 104 of Vicious Is My Throne

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ZORANDER

Godsdamn it, Torin was right, was my last thought as I hurtled downwards, arms pinwheeling futilely.

My magic failed me somewhere past Thorndale, my momentum giving out a few miles later.

I slammed into the canopy of trees, grasping at something—anything—to slow my fall, branches and leaves slipping through my fingers like water as I crashed down and down and down through the darkness until I hit the forest floor.

I tried to lift my head, but my battered body wouldn’t move.

My arm was broken, one shoulder dislocated, at least three ribs cracked, and I’d punctured a lung. Fucking gods.

If Anaria saw me now…No, I wasn’t doing that.

Thank the gods the soil beneath me was soft. Smelled of rich, fertile earth.

By some freakish stroke of luck, I’d landed in a section of wood untouched by the blight, surrounded by a dozen stranded males desperate enough to pin me down, rough, calloused hands stripping away my weapons.

I nearly screamed when they rolled me over, my broken arm twisting beneath me. I couldn’t see their faces in the dark, could only listen to their heavy breathing and grunts as they searched every pocket.

One male stepped away, the pendant catching the moonlight as it swung from the chain, gripped between filthy fingers. “Oy, what’s this? Looks to be worth a few gilder.” I reached out feebly, but the beefy male jerked my prize away with a bright flash of teeth.

“Worth doesn’t matter, Bran, if you can’t eat the godsdamned thing.” An older, tired voice muttered while I got my bearings. Grim focus took over when I realized two things.

I was magicless, weaponless, and until my body healed, I was completely at their mercy.

And also, the overgrown fuck had slid my amulet into his pocket with a grin that told me I’d be fighting him to get it back. And I was in no shape to be fighting anyone, least of all someone twice my size. I tried to move my aching body and every broken bone ground together.

“Who the fuck are you, and how did you get from up there”—Bran pointed a grimy finger at the star-filled sky—“to down here? And don’t be spinning any clever lies, either, or we’ll be slitting your throat.”

They were out of food.

The bark on the trees methodically stripped, the ground bare of ferns and bracken. Another mouth to feed meant we’d all starve faster, and I didn’t have to be a genius to do the math.

“A dragon, if you can believe it.” Every word cost me, my collapsed lungs fighting for air. “I came from Solarys. Was heading to Varitus. A gust of wind blew me off, and here I am.”

“Dragon?” One the men scoffed. “There’s no dragons anymore.”

“Not true,” someone else muttered gruffly. “I heard rumors of a dragon in Solarys a few months ago. Big and black as night. Heard the whole story from my sister’s husband.”

“Was this the same husband who claimed to see an army of Reapers marching across the plain before the forest sprang to life?” Someone laughed. “No one believes your stories, Kael.”

“Fuck off, Dunstan,” Kael grumbled defensively. “If he said he saw an army, then there was a godsdamned army.”

“Oh, there was an army, alright,” I put in, gingerly moving my busted body into a sitting position as their eyes widened comically. “Ten thousand Reapers heading straight for Solarys. Some foul magic at work there, I tell you.”

If there was anything that would override desperation, it was gossip, and capturing their full attention would buy me time to heal. Time for my magic to replenish enough to defend myself. “There are still Reapers circling over Tempeste, but I expect you know that already.”

The older male crouched down. “We heard rumors, but we’re not from the city.”

“From south of here?” I tried to get my bearings. All I saw were trees, and I had no idea if we were a mile from the border or fifty miles. My nails were shredded, my fingers and palms lacerated. Every fucking bone in my body ached as they began the slow, painful process of knitting back together, yet I forced myself to ask, “You were trapped here by the blight?”

The older male nodded. “We heard a foul sickness was coming from the north, so we headed south, but then the forest got all confusing, and we ended up walking in circles.”

“Not my fucking fault, I tell you.” Bran, who’d stolen the amulet, whined. “How was I supposed to know everything looked the fucking same in here?”

“Shut up, Bran, nobody said getting lost was your fault.”

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