Page 8 of Ember and Eclipse
“It’s apparent there are many things you don’t know. Such as who I am.” There was no venom in his voice—it was a mere observation.
“You’re the Wolf of Romul. One of the Imperator’s witch hunters.”
He smirked. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”
“Regardless,” Rel continued, “that shouldn’t give you the ability to survive a beyond-lethal dose of poison.” Or find her two years later.
“We both have skills that are a mystery, it seems.”
“You know, I don’t have to torture you to kill you. Even if I don’t slip a blade between your ribs, you’ll die of starvation,” Rel spat.
He merely shrugged.
His nonchalance was irritating, and she didn’t even think it was an act.
She tried again, though. “Exactly how did you even get on the island?” None of it made sense, from how they found her to how he got to her home, and he had yet to answer a single question.
“That’s your concern?”
Taking a deep inhale, she let it out through her nose. Out of all the questions she asked, there was only one she truly needed the answer to. One that decided her very fate. “Are there others?” She hoped her voice sounded stronger than what she heard. All she heard was a scared child wanting to know if she’d ever be safe.
“You think me the only one? You lived in the heart of Romul and dined with the high family. I’m told they thought of you like a daughter and a sister.Youunleashed your wicked magic and spilled royal blood. What do you think?”
Rel clenched her jaw so hard that a headache pulsed in her temples. He could very well be bluffing about there being others, but she couldn’t know that. These three could have been a scouting party, the other hunters on their way that very moment. One thing she knew about Romul was that they always showed up in force, usually to the point of overkill.
“How long do I have?”
He made a show of getting comfortable as he stretched out on the dirt floor. Placing his hands behind his head, he looked up at the ceiling like it held the most beautiful view. “Two days, maybe three. We should have already been on our way to meet with them, and when we don’t show up, they’ll come here instead. If I were you, I’d take your chances with me. Others might not readily accept the whole ‘bringing you in alive’ part. My morals may seem questionable, but there are worse hunters.”
She remembered the ax that had narrowly missed her the day before. “Or you can rot in here,” she snapped.
“I find it quite cozy, though the décor is a bit lacking. And the spiders know no boundaries.”
“I hope that’s true because I have no intention of releasing you.” The hunter could die in there or hope that his comrades found him before he did.
He turned his head, piercing her with his silver eyes, which gleamed even in the low light. “A quarry who gets away still has countless other dangers to worry about. The hunter, on the other hand, only has a singular purpose. Kill me, or as far as I’m concerned, this is all just part of the hunt.”
Rel turned on her heel to leave before he could witness how he affected her. As her hand wrapped around the door handle, his voice reached for her again, a cold threat. “Run, little prey. I love a challenge.”
Forcing herself to take controlled steps back to her home, she managed to shut the door behind her before falling to her knees. The motion brought back scattered memories of her kneeling, her back exposed to a room full of masked strangers as her flesh was carved. She attempted to pull herself off the floor and out of the shockwaves of memories and pain, but she couldn’t. So, she crawled forward instead toward the settee while gasping for breath.
Her vision was tunneled, black oceans on all sides. Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she wondered if she had been poisoned somehow.
The thought registered and fizzled out in an exhale. Not poison. This was pure panic.
Rel would have to leave the only home she ever knew. She was rarely one to feel sorry for herself, but out of all the things that had happened in her lifetime, this was one of the most difficult. Rolling onto her back, she succumbed to the attack. It washed over and through her.
She would allow herself to suffer the episode for only ten minutes.
Then, she would prepare to leave.
Chapter VII
Relwashedherhairand braided fresh fenty vines into her locs and around thick strands. The vines would be a keepsake from her home, and the oils helped to keep her hair from frizzing. Afterward, she spent the rest of the day setting the house in order, hoping she could someday return. She packed clothes and supplies, stored the grood reeds which could stay edible for several months, and made her bed as if she was only going on a temporary journey.
She watered all the plants and moved the ones that needed more light closer to the windows. They may decline without her care, but they were tenacious things, so she expected they would adapt and continue to thrive even in her absence. She shored up the other windows in hopes that when she returned, it wouldn’t look how she had found it—disarrayed and abandoned.
By evening, there was nothing else left for her to do. Now that her mind was made up, she couldn’t bear to stay another minute. It hurt too much. And if she stayed any longer, she may never leave—accepting being captured in just a few days.
