Page 130 of Deadly Maiden

The journey is one of dissonance, agony, and blackouts.

But I do not die.

By turns, the rattling and swaying of a cart wakes me then smothers me with the peace of unconsciousness. I’m strapped in the middle, standing with that iron spear running from back to belly, with chains and ropes holding me tied in place. The rolling of the wheels over rock and dirt is relentless. The men escorting the cart joke and prod me as if I am an animal destined for a zoo.

Head lolling, I wake again, gasping and screaming, being carried aboard a ship. Strapped down, lying on my side on the deck for the entire voyage across the sea, I recognize the sway of the waves as they crash over and toss the vessel. The sun burns down, blinding me. The moon casts her serene glow. Birds fly overhead, circling, crying out. I’m burned by the sun, and every thud of the waves is a torture. Where the spear projects from my stomach, I leak diluted blood, yet they feed me and give me water. Just enough to keep me alive.

The other wound, the one I suffered as a dragon, has partly healed over, leaving a moist purple mess that sometimes vomits pus and blood.

They need me alive.

Has it been one day, two? What will Wyntre be thinking?

I failed her. In this, I failed her. King Madlin’s soldiers have me, and I am surely intended as bait.

When the ship sails into Tensorga Harbor, they haul me upright and force me to walk. With the spear still impaling my torso, I’m towed across a narrow, bridge-like structure that projects out from a fort and ends over the harbor, far above the level of the sea. Caged, with the ends of the spear chained to the bars of this man-sized birdcage, I’m left alone at last.

A dragonshifter in a cage.

Still bleeding.

I cannot shift. I can barely heal. With the iron in me I’m weaker than a baby.

The pain is never-ending, and for once I am sorry I am immortal, for if not for that, I would already have perished.

The cage I occupy swings slowly in the winds, creaking, chains rattling. Under my feet is a floor made of bars.

The view is magnificent though. I can watch the churning sea below, the ships coming into dock. And to the north, I can watch the daily torture of the Chained King, Jannik Stryke.

I want only one thing, however. Death. For if I do not die, I know without a doubt Wyntre will try to free me, no matter the cost to her or to this country.

I fear what this will do to her.

My Wyntre has more strength and fire than she knows of, my soulmate, my deadly maiden.

I pray she will run.

I know she will not.

Chapter 42

Wyntre

“Prove to me that I can trust you. That I can trust that the Sisters of Arteos are against the king and will help to overthrow him,” I say to the sister. “And your name is?”

“My name is nothing. Sister Five will do. For proof, I can offer you some information about the intentions of the king. If that does not suffice, you may have a communication with Sister Paloma.”

“Try me. What do you know?” I cock my hip, all the better to look past her and check the two enforcers. They are securely restrained.

“That the king and queen want you to raise their long-dead daughter from her state of frozen death. An ice mage is helping preserve her body.”

“So I was told. You only confirm what I knew. Though it is nice to see that is true.” Nice. I’m being facetious. I am wholly disturbed and furious. I may not be in a good state to bargain or to judge the truth. “What else?”

I resist massaging between my eyes.

“Shall I disrobe so you may write to the sister? I will instruct you on how to scribe on my flesh.”

“Fuck me.” Now I do rub my forehead. “No. That sounds tedious, and I’m not sure it will convince me any more than…” I wave my hand randomly. “Than anything.”

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