Page 175 of A Crown of Tears and Treason
My stomach roiled. I needed to get out here. Fast.
I was in a forest that felt thick and unwelcoming. The trees had a gritty sleekness to them. The bark oozed pus, as if the forest was infected, sweating off some disease. It reminded me of the vines in the bowels of the Archives.
Bile rose in my throat and I swallowed it right back down.
I was not about to get drained of blood and tossed aside. Or whatevertheyplanned on doing with my corpse.
In the cover of the loud chants and frantic inhales, I stretched my limbs against the rope. The bands dug into my skin like acid, but they didn’t budge. It felt like little hooks weaved through the fiber, to cause as much pain as possible.
Weapon.
I still had my bracelet on, the blade completely inaccessible in this position.
I gnashed my teeth and rubbed my forearms. The ropes tensed and nipped at my skin, chafing me raw.
Screw the pain.
Half-delirious from whatever spell crawled in my system and the rivulets of blood staining the rope, I was barely aware of the chanting growing stronger. My cloaked attackers growled and hunched, like beasts were about to rip out of them.
I smelled fear in the air. Mine.
I rubbed my forearms harder. The switchblade didn’t click open. I would’ve broken my own wrist to break free, like a trapped animal gnawing off its leg, but I couldn’t get the angle right.
I took a deep, centering breath, even as my heart raced.
Control.
All my energy went to that little pocket of power.
Don’t fail me now.
I trembled from the strain. But finally, unbelievably, one of the stitches moved to the side. It was enough for a ghost of a blue tendril to race down my arms, coiling around the ropes.
Instead of the inferno that usually consumed me, all I felt was cold. Numb. Wrong. One breath away from freezing. But the tendril burned through the first thread enough to move my wrist at an aching angle.
Finally, the switchblade clicked. I almost cried in relief.
Silently, I cut the ropes caging my feet. It was like cutting through metal, the blade hissing and straining. Thread by thread, the rope fell to my feet as the smoke from the fire turned suffocating. My lungs begged to cough, while my attackers inhaled it like their lives depended on it. A vial splashed into the fire, sending green flames up in the air. Whatever liquid was inside it made their movements faster, jerkier. Unhinged.
More blood spilled all over my uniform as I cut through the ropes on my arms.
But finally, mercifully, the last thread loosened.
In the next breath, I slid along the rock I’d been thrown against, not taking my eyes off them. Thirty-four. Thirty-four wretched souls I would hunt down and get my answers.
When my back finally met air, I crawled backwards like a spider. I gagged at the slime and pus my hands and legs touched along the way.
The kidnappers began howling. The sound slashed straight through my veins.
When I was sure they wouldn’t notice, in the shade of a tall, burly tree, I finally rose. The world spun around me so hard and fast, I hugged the crumbling bark to keep from falling.
Dark spots raced in front of my eyes. Every fiber of my being begged to lie down and just rest.
“No,” I muttered. To myself, to the fates trying to get me, to the gods that clearly weren’t listening.
I straightened, swaying on the spot. But I moved.
With my body betraying me, with my power ignoring me, with the connection with Zandyr unreachable, I moved.
