Page 74 of When Sisters Collide
Straightening, she stole across the open yard to the nearest torch, its flame flickering at the entrance of the stone barracks. Her hand closed around the haft. Behind her, wolves slipped into the stables like shadows. A jolt ran through the tether in her chest. Hooves pounded. Wood splintered. The horses had begun to panic.
Alena sprinted back to the armoury, heart hammering. She touched the flame to the cloth.
It caught instantly.
Heat licked her face as she backed away.
From the dark, half a dozen wolves slunk beside her, circling the flames with bared fangs, eyes gleaming in the firelight.
Alena allowed herself a grim smile. Anyone who tried to put out the fire would lose a hand. Or worse.
She turned and sprinted into the darkness, Apollo streaking beside her, paws silent on the frozen earth. The stone house loomed ahead, ivy curling over its weather-worn walls, half-concealing the open wooden doors. She pressed herself to the cold stone, heart hammering against her ribs, and edged towards the nearest window.
Inside, torchlight flickered across two long wooden tables. A dozen soldiers sat laughing and eating, knives in hand, steam rising from their plates. Two slaves moved among them, heads bowed, pouring wine from clay jars, their movements rigid with fear.
Alena pressed closer to the wall, breath shallow. Through her bond, she urged the wolves waiting in the stables to growl.
Moments later, sharp whinnies and shrieks tore through the night.
The soldiers froze mid-bite, heads snapping towards the noise.
One man pushed back from the table, reaching for his sword. “What was that?”
“The horses!” another shouted. Chaos erupted as chairs scraped and men leapt to their feet. Shouts and hurried footsteps thundered towards the door.
Alena held still, cloaked in shadow. She counted as they left—nine, ten, eleven. Only the slaves remained, along with two soldiers focused on something in the far corner of the room, just out of sight.
Apollo growled low, the sound vibrating through her bones.
Her grip tightened around the hilt of her sword. A beat passed. “Let’s go.”
On the far end of camp, firelight flickered against the canvas tents, painting the world molten orange. Screams and sharp orders rang out. The soldiers would be busy for a while.
Alena crossed the threshold with Apollo in tow, his sleek form a shadow of menace. The two remaining soldiers hadn’t noticed them yet—one leaned against the table, back turned, shoulders shaking with laughter, while the other lounged in a chair, balancing on its rear legs as he said something crude.
The two slave girls spotted Alena first. Their eyes widened.
She raised a finger to her lips, signalling for silence. They froze, then nodded, moving barefoot across the packed earth.
As one passed, Alena caught her arm and whispered in the Freefolk tongue, “Go back to your barracks. Tell the others to stay inside.”
The girl gave a shaky nod and fled into the dark, her companion close behind.
Apollo prowled ahead, muscles taut beneath his fur, body low and silent. Alena mirrored him, sword in hand. Still, the soldiers didn’t notice, too busy jeering at something in the corner, their cruel laughter echoing off the walls.
Alena crept closer, blade raised—and froze.
A chained figure slumped against the far wall, his face barely recognisable beneath bruises and blood.
Her heart lurched.
Kaixo.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ALENA
Fury seized her, gripping her throat and stealing her breath away. Then the standing soldier barked a laugh and flicked food at Kaixo’s feet.
