Amandalyn
The biting cold nipped at my extremities and I drew my limbs close, forming a tight shivering ball.
Why the cold?
Until now the air in my prison was stagnant. Chilly, but not frigid. Where did it come from? With an effort, I pried my eyes open and winced at the glare of natural light. I was no longer in the cave. How long had I been out here? Everything was distorted, my days and nights confused.
Stiff with cold and aching from disuse, my limbs pushed my body into a sitting position. Brushes of pink streaked what little of the sky I could see beyond a forest of trees and I shielded my eyes with my hand and took in my new prison. A cage? I shimmied nearer to the bars and checked my surroundings. Not a cage, I was off the ground. A jailer’s wagon? I saw one once during one of my many trips to Marlin with Nickoli.
There was no activity around, so I took the time to gather my bearings. We must be deep in the mountain forest. Peaks, white with snow, towered over the thick trees that hindered my view of anything other than their trunks and pine boughs. The gurgling of a stream was nearby, the howling of men even closer.
My gown, which was a luxurious cream and gold velvet when I dressed for Skye’s crowning, provided little in the way of warmth now that I was outside in the elements. I cringed at how badly it looked, all torn, stained with blood, and covered in filth. My legs and arms were not much better. Ribbons of dried earth colored my skin, and bruises and scratches I could not recall receiving painted a horrifying picture of what I had been through. Fear strangled my lungs. I brushed my hand across a tender spot on my thigh and cowered into the corner of the wagon like an animal. What could I not remember?
“You are alive.” A figure cloaked in black appeared directly on the other side of the bars. I threw my body across the wagon and away from the hand that reached for me. “It is all right. I will not hurt you,” the stranger said, his voice a soft whisper as he swiveled his head from left and right.
“I thought you dead. It was so long ago that I saw you and—” he pushed the hood covering his dirt smeared face back as his wide gaze lifted.
“You,” I gasped at the familiar clear blue eyes I saw when I escaped my cave. Scrambling to my knees, I pressed against the bars and gripped the frozen metal.
His eyes skimmed over me, landing on the blood stain and hole in the waist of my gown. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?” he asked.
Looking around, I dared to speak. “They healed me,” I said, meaning where I’d impaled myself on the jagged stones. As for the rest of the pain they caused…
“What about you? You seemed ill. You said he was poisoning everyone. How did you escape?”
“Magic is a curious thing.” His hand brushed over my fingers and I released the bar and jerked back. “No, do not be afraid!” he urged, his arm once again poking through the bars. This time he grabbed my hand before I could slink out of his reach.
His fingers tightened around mine and a wave of emotions hit me. Anger, pain, sadness, awe. “What are you?”
“My name is Boshe. I am—” he jerked his head toward the right. “They are coming. There is no time.”
“What? No. Help me get out of here, please.” I raised to my knees. “Do not leave me.”
He winced, his eyes darkening. “I promise I will not be far off.” He squeezed my hand, then he was gone. A black caped shadow slinking his way behind trees and rocks as the murmurs of someone heading this way reached my ears.
A moment later, swirls of smoke and capes circled the wagon. Semvon.
“Hello, forgotten Princess.” Their faceless bodies surrounded me and red eyes glowed. They spoke as one, their words coated with malice. “Scared?”
I swatted at the misty form of a thin arm as it stretched forward. “You creatures do not scare me.”
A rumbling laughter rolled through the clearing as the Semvon nearest me shimmered—his faceless body morphing into that of the man who had haunted me for years. The thoughtful smirk, the possessive eyes—it was Tabor, the way he was when at Montibello. This Tabor scared me more than the one who had kidnapped me. This Tabor was the one who snuck into my room. The one who stole pieces of me, then left me with no concrete memories of what took place. He had terrorized me, yet I had no idea the depth of my injuries. I was not sure I wanted to know. I forced my eyes to stare down this vision instead of looking toward the trees where Boshe hid.
“Leave her.”
The words did not come from the Semvon duplicated Tabor before me, but the man himself. Or a shadow of the man who once was. The Semvon scattered as he came into view with Selene by his side. They stopped at the end of the wagon, their eyes scrutinizing, and I sank further back into the shadows of my prison. Tabor’s pale face was gaunt. His body more fragile than I remembered. Riglă, he called himself in the cavern. Whatever the creature was that took over his soul, it consumed him.
Selene inched closer to Tabor, her hand touching his forearm tentatively, as she lifted on her toes and spoke. “You must try again. Perhaps out here, away from the suffering of the others, you can break through her block.” Her blue eyes narrowed as they met mine. “She has the same blood as the Queen, and you are stronger now.”
Talons of fear dug into my chest. “Tabor?” His name was forced from my lips without permission, stealing the last of my air. I inhaled shakily, watching my foes and forcing my gaze not to search for Boshe. Not to beg for his help.
Selene hissed, “Shut up.” The menace in her tone combined with the vacancy in Tabor’s eyes struck me. This was not Tabor before me, this was Riglă.
As the realization hit me, a tap, tap, tap, knocked on my temple. Invisible fingers played around in my mind, searching and searching. I shoved backward, until the jailor bars dug painfully into my spine.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Harder this time.
I winced and grit my teeth.
“She is a girl. She has no power over you. Her blood can open the gate. It will free you.” Selene chanted low.
“No.” I shook my head and gave into my fear. My gaze flew around wildly. Searching for Boshe in the trees, searching for anyone. “What gate? What are you talking about?”
A tear rent across my forehead and I gagged and fell forward at the agony of his invasion. Little spider-like fingers probed and poked and tapped and tore their way further into my mind.
I will have my revenge.
His voice teased as flashes of black invaded my vision and I curled into a ball and screamed.
“You stupid girl.” My eyes opened at Selene’s voice.
The blue moon rode high above the forest and, once again, my memories were distorted. I grunted. It was enough for Selene to continue her diatribe.
“If you do not allow him control, he will kill you and everyone you love. He will destroy the Kingdom.”
If not for the moonlight hitting her waxy skin, I would not see her beside the jailer’s wagon. Her ebony hair and black clothing blended with the night. Dizzy, I blinked and attempted to push into a sitting position. My arms buckled beneath me as everything spun with each movement of my head. I closed my eyes and swallowed the foul taste that coated my tongue.
“I am not … doing any … thing,” I managed between shallow inhales and exhales.
“You fight him. You must let him in.”
Tears flowed. “No.” I could not understand what she was saying. He controlled McClintock, he controlled the Semvon, the men in the cave. I was not stopping him. I… “He used his magic on me before. Whatever it was…” I trailed off.
Selene shook her head. “He has tried. Tabor was never able to crack your mind. There was something…” Her eyes went round as saucers. Tapping her lip with a long thin finger, Selene spun—her long hair flying about her head—as a portal, glowing with firelight and filled with howls from beyond, appeared.
The cries on the other end of the portal echoed through the forest and I threw myself at the bars of my prison. “Please do not leave me here alone,” I pled as she disappeared through the hole. “No!”
I fell to the slatted floor of my prison, the night silent save for my cries.
“You are not alone.” Boshe’s voice broke through my tears.
My cheek scraped against the rough boards as I shifted and found his face. The white of his teeth flashed in the moonlight. His arm snaked through the bars and his fingers touched the hair fanned out around my head.
“You came back,” I managed between sniffles.
“I promised I would not be far off.”
There were few people I trusted in this world. Fewer men. I did not expect him to return. Why would he bother to help a ragged girl he did not know when he could escape on his own?
“What happened?” I asked, though I was afraid to know. “What did Tabor and Selene do to me?”
I could barely make out his eyes as he pressed closer to the bars. “You passed out. I would have come sooner, but there were guards.” He pulled back and I kept him in my sight as he shifted to the end of the wagon. Metal clinked against metal before Boshe muttered incoherently. “She left you alone, we must hurry,” he said.
Little maces pounded their way across my skull, sending pain radiating through my temple, and I clenched my eyes. “He wants to control my mind,” I said with a whisper.
“He cannot, but he will kill you in his attempt. Now open your eyes and help me,” Boshe ordered firmly, but not harshly. “I do not know your name.”
Metal clinked again. “My name?”
“Yes, your name,” he said in a low but lite tone. I forced my limbs to cooperate and move. “Yes, sit up. Help me.”
The moonlight caught his blue eyes and the nerves in my stomach danced at the resolve I saw. The bars rattled once more and I followed his gaze as his attention returned to his hands. A lock! I brought myself to my knees. He was attempting to pick the lock and rescue me.
“My name is Amandalyn,” I offered as my fingers found the ripped spot in the waist of my gown where I injured myself trying to escape. I jerked at the fabric and tore a larger hole. “My family calls me Manda.”
“Manda?” he repeated, his brows furrowing as I tore at my gown. “You are the Queen’s sister?” My fingers stopped and I looked at Boshe.
Yes. I was the Queen’s sister. No matter how many times they were said, I struggled to believe the words. “Did she send you? Is that why you are helping me?”
Hope must be written all over my face because he lowered his eyes. “I overheard them talking,” he explained, like he’d read my pain. “They ransacked the Glade and infected my people. I feigned sickness so I could follow them here.”
“You sacrificed your safety for your friends?” A sharp edge within my bodice poked the tip of my index finger and I sucked in a breath and jerked, pulled, and ripped until I worked the boning free.
“For my kind. Yes.” The lock fell from his hands with a louder clank and he snarled. “I need a rock or something. I cannot open it.”
“Here.” I held the sharp boning from my corseted bodice out to him. His mouth parted in surprise. “My brother. Um, Nickoli”—I corrected—“is a big believer in being prepared.”
“Nickoli is smart.” Boshe grinned. “I will have you out in a moment.”
The sounds within the caves at our backs grew louder and I crawled closer to the doorway as Boshe worked silently. The black hood covering his head slipped back enough for me to see the wisps of his ethereally white-blond bangs. His words tickled a thought in my mind.
“You spoke of the Glade,” I probed.
His mouth—which had been twisted in concentration—relaxed. The edges tugged into a smile. “I did.”
“Who are you?” I asked cautiously.
His hands stilled for one moment. “Are you sure you do not mean what am I, milady?”
I bit my bottom lip and studied his features. Sharp but delicate. Handsome, yet soft. “What are you?”
“I am Boshe, brother of the Lady Vonnedenia, mistress of the Glade, and”—the lock clicked open and the door swung wide—“I believe I am your mate.”
I stopped on the precipice. Freedom before me and I was paralyzed.
“I should also mention I am fae and if you do not take my hand and come with me now, we could both lose our lives tonight.”
An hour later we were hidden deep in the brush of the mountain forest as a band of Tabor’s men searched nearby. Their black silhouettes barely visible in the distance. Too far to see us, yet too close to offer me any comfort. We barely made it over a ridge and out of sight when the shouting at the camp broke out. The cover of night was our greatest ally.
“Come, hurry,” Boshe said, his hand grasping mine.
We stayed low to the ground and moved in the opposite direction of the men hunting us. I had yet to speak a word since his stunning proclamation back at the camp. I ducked when he ducked, stopped when he stopped, ran when he ran, but I had no idea where we were headed or what would happen next. I just followed.