Page 91 of Synodic

Thrashing to escape, the sky above me roared with thunder, and a streak of lightning flashed overhead, clearing the smoke.

Rowen’s face snapped directly to me as the beam engulfed me in its spotlight, and his eyes locked with mine from across the field. I barely had a moment to note the look of utter shock and horror on his face as I was violently thrust into the dark sliver of the unknown.

Rowen’s name echoed from my lips, and then all went silent.

33

My eyelids fought to open, but they felt thick and weighted with the remnants of a deep unnatural sleep. Overhead, morning light glinted and bobbed through the wind-blown trees, casting flickers of light against the weakened shutters of my lids.

When I rolled to my side, my head roared with the pain of being severed in two, and a wave of nausea lurched through me. Crimson, black, and orange memories flickered through my mind in a revolving wheel of hell.

The village! The innocent people who were punished for no other reason than knowing me.

Guilt and remorse clutched at my gut, twisting with a steel-clawed fist. All that flamed destruction and death had been nothing but a grand distraction—a distraction to steal me out from underneath Nepta’s nose.

The raging fire would most likely be out by now, absorbed and captured by the dawning sun, but still, I cringed to think of the wreckage revealed by the light of day. And the bodies of those who hadn’t made it out unscathed.

I’d taken a pretty hard hit to the head myself, and a sour fog threatened to pull me back under. Battling to stay conscious, I recited one by one all the people I hoped made it out of the fire safely: Rowen, Takoda, Ven, Sabra, Quiya, Nyvari, Pia, Xala, Nepta…

If I had learned the little girl’s name, hers would be repeated as well, but I had to suffice with the image of her trusting little face, hoping that whatever the red man had done to her, he hadn’t killed her.

I kept repeating their names…on and on the list went, doubling back over itself until it became a calming mantra.

The strength of their names fueled me with enough energy to concentrate my breathing. I had willed myself to other locations before, whether knowingly or not, so I knew I could do it again, but as I reached out to leave, my body stayed firmly rooted to the ground.

I tried everything, searching for any thread or reaching out to any outstretched hand. There was nothing. I imagined myself in Rowen’s bed—knowing how well that worked for me in the past. But still nothing.

Feeling desperate, I tried bringing myself back to my old room, Harlan’s room. Hell, I even tried Natalie’s room.

My head wound might be worse than I feared, and the ringing in my ears held my vibration in place like a note plucked from the string of a harp.

I opened my eyes and tried to right myself, but my arms didn’t appear to be working.

“You’re awake,” came a voice that made my skin crawl. Long hands reached out to steady me, but I flinched back, remembering his violent flames.

“Don’t touch me,” I snarled, but it was weak and set my head blazing once again. He let me go, and through my weighted lids, I bore my seething gaze into him, wishing he’d catch fire and burn, and crash into dust.

My glare of unadulterated loathing seemed completely lost on the red man. He merely glanced at my face and let out a bothered exhale. “My queen will be very displeased with me for the ugly albeit necessary marks I left upon your face.”

I reached up to inspect the damage radiating around my lip and cheek only to find my hands had been bound, palm upon palm as if in devout prayer. I struggled at the bindings wrapped around my wrists like coiled pythons; the harder I fought against the rope, the tighter it squeezed, cutting off my circulation.

“Need to keep those hands of yours in a safe place now, don’t we?” he said, rubbing the phantom lash I whipped upon his stomach. If only it had been more.

My eyes followed the slackened line from my joined hands to the belt around my captor’s slender middle.

He had tied me to him! Any movement I made, however subtle, would be felt by this masochistic man. Whoever he was, he had gone to great lengths to ensure I wouldn’t be going anywhere. But why, who was I to him?

Despite my curiosities, I knew I needed to focus my slipping mind and put as much distance between me and this man as possible. But, remembering I wore no shoes, it wasn’t likely I’d get very far.

The red-haired man grabbed a tin from the satchel at his side and moved closer to me. I tried to squirm away but knew it was futile. My head throbbed to the point of splitting open, I was injured, bound, barefoot, and had absolutely no idea where I was.

“You put up quite a fight last night, so I had to get a little rough with you,” he said like he was relaying daily weather patterns, not casually remarking on beating me senseless and kidnapping me. “My queen will not appreciate you in this state. She usually prefers a blank canvas when she orders any punishments upon her enemies.” His outward demeanor appeared neutral and aloof as if this was a perfectly normal conversation for a Tuesday, or whatever the hell day it was! But like old achy bones before a storm, I knew something much worse lay just beyond my horizon.

Matching his tone, plain and diplomatic, as if itwereany old weekday, I asked, “Enemies? I have no qualms with her. How can I when I don’t even know her.”

“You may not know her, but believe me, Queen Aliphoura most assuredly knows of you. She has eyes and ears everywhere. Nothing slides past her gaze unnoticed.”

“What need does she have with me?”

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