One of the male servants grabbed Kaen’s arm. Kaen wrenched free and shot the man a look of contempt before straightening his tattered tunic and huffing away. As soon as he was out of sight, Ciara crumpled on Senna’s shoulder and began repeating the same meaningless words.
Ciara’s act must have worked, because her servants studied her with a great deal of pity. Struggling to regained her composure, she gave them a few calming words. Her large eyes glimmered like dark pools. Though Senna knew better, she found herself believing that sincere gaze. With a few heartfelt bows, the servants went back to their duties.
When the last had moved on, Ciara gestured for them to follow her. Senna watched her, wondering what kind of trouble she’d put herself in to aid them. Only when they’d gone a good ways into the house, did she address them in Nefalien, “I told them we arrived home to find Kaen here. After denouncing his actions, I lamented how hard it was to turn him away—he is my brother after all. I asked them to give me some time alone. I think the servants believed it, do you?”
“I almost believed it,” Joshen commented, clearly impressed.
Senna’s gaze darted to Joshen. He stared at Ciara with a mixture of admiration and respect.
Ciara smiled coyly. “You must be Joshen, Senna’s Guardian?”
Joshen squared his shoulders. “I am.”
A twinge of envy pulsed in Senna’s veins. Ciara was everything she wasn’t—beautiful, poised, rich. How could Joshen not compare her long, slender curves with Senna’s short, small frame? Her flowing dark hair, perfect skin and rich brown eyes with Senna’s yellow-green eyes and muddy, straw-colored hair?
“Come then. I told my servants we only paused here long enough to refresh ourselves before traveling to your home in Zaen, the last city before Espen’s realm.”
“And will you come with us beyond that?” Senna asked with a touch of heat.
Ciara’s joviality vanished. “I dare not pass Zaen’s border. Not just because it is forbidden, but because that jungle is darkness.”
23. MAN OF NIGHTMARES
Umbrella over her luxurious hair, Ciara lead them to a covered carriage with cushioned seats and a fine pair of matched palominos. Spicy smells wafted through the open door, making Senna’s nose tingle. The carriage barely rocked as Ciara climbed in and settled beside Joshen. Senna looked at the two, talking and eating Ciara’s delicacies and wanted to strangle them both. Taking the opposite seat, she sank into her corner. With a gentle lurch, the carriage started forward.
Joshen and Ciara continued eating and laughing, neither noticing Senna. In fact, Joshen was having so much fun whispering with Ciara—so the driver wouldn’t hear them speaking in Nefalien—that Senna wished she could melt into the walls and disappear.
But more than anything, she wanted to go home. The closer she came to Espen’s realm, the more seconds of her life ticked away.
The road wound around the enormous, domed mountains. With nothing else to do, Senna studied the countryside and its people through the gauzy rain. It seemed in Tartan, there were few Middlings and almost none of the Class. Most everyone was Boor.
“Ciara,” Senna entered their conversation. The two seemed surprised she was there. “Where did you learn to speak Nefalien?”
Ciara sighed as she looked away. “My father was a Guardian. He married my mother during the war in Nefalie. After his Witch disappeared, he brought us to Tarten.”
“He brought you back here?” Senna asked incredulously.
“Yes, but Mother was a Nefalien, so their marriage wasn’t recognized. Officially, she was his concubine, which is why I never married. You see, though I have money and to spare, I haven’t a legitimate birth.” Her sad countenance melted like butter in the hot sun. “And now you know my ignominy,” she said melodramatically.
Joshen and Ciara immediately restarted their conversation where they’d left off. Senna went back to her window. Eventually, the rain stopped again. Homes grew more frequent, the road more traveled. Soldiers passed them. She found herself trying to hide from any gaze that might stray through the window. The carriage slowed. “We are coming closer to the city gates. Both of you remain silent and act as conceited as possible,” Ciara whispered. She looked Senna up and down, her brows creased in disapproval. “Poise, Senna. You’re Class, remember?”
Grudgingly, Senna sat up straight and squared her shoulders. She didn’t want to act like Ciara’s ‘Class’—snobbish and rich.
The carriage rolled to a stop. Senna’s heart shot in her throat as a guard with a soldier’s red tunic leaned in and spoke. Ciara lifted her dainty nose and replied. Senna did her best to act uninterested in the soldier’s questions as her blood pounded in her fingertips. His face darkening, he motioned for them to step out. The huffiness in Ciara’s voice increased. The guard jerked the door open and shouted an order.
Ciara faced them. The lines around her eyes betrayed her anxiety. She said something. Senna caught one word. “Cheche.” The same word the farmer had used when he motioned for them to follow him, the same word Kaen’s wife had used as she’d dragged Senna into her room. She suspected it meant “come.”
The guard held open the carriage door as they filed out. Joshen stayed close to Senna’s side. She saw his hands flexed into fists and his legs in a fighter’s stance. She kept her betraying amber eyes down. Still, she couldn’t help but notice the city shining from the top of the hill.
While one guard went into their carriage, another lowered the bags from the roof while yet another rifled through the trunks.
One guard grabbed Ciara’s arm and pushed her toward an official-looking building. She wrenched free and pressed her lips to Senna’s ear. “Don’t sing! No matter what, don’t sing!” The guard viciously jerked Ciara away.
The realization they meant to separate her from Joshen blossomed in Senna’s head like thistle flowers. A hand gripped Senna’s injured arm. She gasped as pain clawed through her flesh. She struggled to twist away from the guard and reach Joshen.
With an enraged roar, Joshen lunged toward the guard. His balled fist met the man’s temple with a thud. The guard crumpled. Shouts rang out. More soldiers gripped her. Joshen fought with the strength of a bull, throwing the soldiers off Senna. Taking her hand, they ran. With a yell, two soldiers fell in behind them. She couldn’t move in these shoes! Heavy hands clamped down on her arms. She gritted her teeth as the pain flared in her arm again.
The two soldiers threw their weight into her small frame and grappled her to the soggy ground. One pressed himself on top of her. She squirmed beneath him, hating his body on top of hers and his breath on the back of her neck. Gripping her jaw, his lips brushed her ear as he spoke. She didn’t have to speak his language to understand his meaning.
Her gaze met Joshen’s horrified stare. He squirmed, but at least four men held him. Blood seeped from his mouth, mixing with the dirt his face was pressed into.
Senna’s voice ached to sing. But Ciara had warned her. Perhaps these soldiers simply wished to question her? Perhaps they didn’t know who she was? She clamped her mouth shut until her jaw ached. Joshen’s desperation mirrored hers. Neither said a word.
Hauling her to her feet, the soldiers jerked her toward what she guessed was the guard house. She dug the heels of her finely made shoes into the ground, but they weren’t made to handle abuse. Only look pretty. The straps broke and though her bare feet grappled for traction on the slick grass, she couldn’t get away.
Once inside, they threw her into a small room. The soldier pushed her toward a chair and forced her down. Hunching protectively over her arm, she glared at him. A commander paced in front of her, speaking that confounded language of his. The only thing she caught was his name, Methen. Remembering Ciara’s words, Senna lifted her head and refused to acknowledge him.
As he continued pacing, his voice rose until the spittle flew from his lips. Senna trembled in fear, but she didn’t respond. A door creaked open behind her. She dared not look. A hand gripped t
he wrap around her hair and ripped it off. As her light hair tumbled down her shoulders, words, crystal clear and superior, hit her. “She’s not responding to you, Methen, because she doesn’t understand Tarten. Do you Brusenna?”
Senna clenched her eyes shut and willed her ears to lie. Begged the words not belong to the man who haunted her nightmares. But he slowly came to stand in front of her. Wardof. His demeanor cold and condescending. Triumph was written across his features. “If you wanted to face Espen, all you had to do was ask. I would’ve brought you here and we could’ve avoided all this.”
“Bound and gagged, I’m sure,” she responded in a voice that sounded far away.
He shrugged. “Of course.”
Her eyes darted to the small window. She opened her mouth to sing. Wardof’s fist cracked against her temple. She slammed into the floor. The world swirled. Her stomach rolled. She blinked, trying to force the objects in the room to hold still. When she could bear it, she looked up to see Wardof shaking his hand. “Corner a Witch and they’ll start singing. It’s that simple.”
Before Senna knew what was happening, Methen forced something between her teeth. She bit his hand. Another fist cracked into her eye. Her vision turned red amid fragments of exploding light. Her eye tingled. But little pain. At least, so far.
She tried to resist the cord forced between her teeth, but her jaw refused to obey. Strong hands wrenched her arms behind her. A sharp sting blasted through her shoulders, the sting of her muscles tearing. A rough cord dug into her wrists. She cried out, but they didn’t relent. Her hands felt swollen and hot. Wardof glared at her. “We’ll put you in a cell for a while. See if that doesn’t loosen your courage.”
Two men dragged her down the hall and threw her in a dark room. They tossed her to the floor like a sack of grain. She landed on something hard. Her back screamed in pain. She groaned and rolled off it.
“Senna?”
Joshen. She tried to push herself up, but the world tipped to the side. She crumpled. Concentrating on breathing, she rested her forehead against the cool dirt floor. Squinting through the eye that wasn’t swollen shut, she saw faint traces of light that grew stronger as her eyes adjusted.
Something brushed against her leg. She smelled the sea and horses—Joshen. “Senna! What did they do to you?” She heard the anger and hurt in his voice. She glanced up at him. His arms were bound behind his back. Easing beside her, he curled himself around her. “I’m so sorry I could not protect you,” he whispered.
“You ’ried,” she fumbled through the cord in her mouth. Her words sounded strange to her—strange because, despite her failure and inadequacy, she could still speak. “How ’id dey know?”
Another figure emerged from the shadows. It was Ciara, her eyes swollen from crying. “I thought my status would get us through. I was wrong.”
Joshen hunched over Senna’s face. She felt his lips working at the rope around her mouth. She shivered. Eventually, he got it off. He immediately went to work on the cords around her hands. “Can you sing us free?”
Her head hurt so much she could barely think. Her gaze followed a shaft of light to a high window. “I might,” she rasped. She felt the ropes around her arms go free. Her blood pulsed angrily in her hands, which burned as though stung by nettles. She brought them around carefully, her shoulders groaning in protest. She rubbed the circulation back into her hands as Ciara scooted closer. “I have a knife. Above my knee.”
Senna found the knife and cut the rope from Joshen’s hands. Her headache was growing worse, as was her nausea. With a careful shake of her head and a groan, she handed the knife to Joshen. He shot her a look of concern before cutting the rest of the ropes. When he was free, he gripped her shoulder. “Senna, can you sing now?”
She tried to sit up, but the room swirled like someone stirred it. She tipped forward and was sick. It did not ease her nausea.
“Senna?” Joshen’s voice had an edge of desperation she recognized all too well.
Forcing her hands under her, Senna pushed herself up and faced the window. Her voice felt weak and shaky.
Plants, with strength and swiftness, come to me,
For with my companions I must flee.
As she repeated the song, she felt the plants respond before she saw a vine snake through the window. She tried to hold on to consciousness, but the song drained strength she simply didn’t have. She faded to blackness.
When she came to, the room jerked wildly. She closed her eyes, but the dizziness didn’t fade. “Senna, I can’t carry you. You have to climb.”
“I don’t think I can. Go, Joshen. Get away from this. Go raise your horses. Marry Ciara; she’s so beautiful. You deserve that.”
“They must have hit you really hard,” he said in disbelief. “Ciara, you go first.” His arms gripped her. She felt herself rising upward as he guided her hands with his own. “Grab it, Senna. Just grab it and hold yourself up.”
Somehow, her arms obeyed. Joshen was always beneath her, pushing her so she had only to grip the rope and hold on. She reached the window and looked down. The ground twisted violently. She swayed and barely caught herself from falling. “Joshen, I can’t … .” she closed her eyes and worked desperately to simply stay on the windowsill.
“It’s alright, Senna. Just stay there, I’m coming around you.” She felt him climbing over her and lowering himself down. “Just let yourself fall. I’ll catch you.”
She opened her eyes. In front of her, Joshen seemed to jerk from one side to the other like a pendulum. But she figured gravity would do most of the work for her. She let go of the windowsill and tipped forward. It felt like a long time before he caught her.
Then he ran.
Wardof grimaced as he lowered his hand back in the cold water—curse Tarten and their abominable lack of ice. It had already swollen to nearly twice its size. “That girl has a harder head than I thought.”
The door eased open. Garg’s head appeared, his gaze fixed on the floor. “How’s the hand?”
Wardof rather liked that Garg was terrified of him. “Tell the soldiers to send someone to wrap it. You idiot.”
The door shut quickly, leaving Wardof alone again. He closed his eyes against the pain throbbing in his hand, but then a worse pain touched his ears. Witch song, clear and unimpeded.
In two strides, he wrenched open the door. He sprinted down the hall. Methen whipped in beside him. “Did you put her with the others?” Wardof screamed in Tarten.
He seemed affronted. “There’s no way they could escape.”
“She’s a Witch! You imbecile! Of course there’s a way!”
Methen fumbled with his keys. On his third try, he finally managed to open the door. The cell was as empty as a hollow egg. “She wasn’t even lucid—” he began.
“Find her! Spread out and find her, or I’ll have every last one of you whipped and run until at least three of you die!”
Methen took a menacing step forward. “I’d like to see you force my garrison to do that.”
“I won’t force anyone. Espen will,” Wardof hissed.
The man’s eyes widened in genuine fear. White-faced, he hollered, “Search everything! Bar the city gates!”
24. UNDER
Senna caught fleeting glimpses of her surroundings. The houses sagged and the people grew less frequent. They circled the bottom of the mountain—the Boorish part of town. Sweat rolled down Joshen’s face. His breathing rasped through his throat. He kept readjusting his damp grip. Even though she was small, she knew he couldn’t last much longer. “Let me down.”
“Humph,” Joshen replied, hoisting her up again. The jostling thrust her stomach in her throat. She moaned. His arms tightened around her. “Hang on, Senna. I’ll get you somewhere safe.”
She opened her eyes when Ciara let out a startled gasp. Leaning against a wall, she lifted her bleeding foot. “I’m not used to being barefoot,” she mumbled as she yanked out a sliver.
“Where are you taking us?” Jos
hen asked harshly.
Senna pressed her palms into her eyes. The jerking was getting worse. Her stomach rolled.
Gingerly, Ciara tested her weight on her foot. “Somewhere I’d much rather avoid.”
Shouts came from behind them. Joshen’s grip tightened as he twisted toward the sound. Ciara peered down the street ahead before bursting from the alley, Joshen right behind her. They crossed two more streets and Senna watched helplessly as they ran full-speed into a reed house that hunched like a withered old man. Under normal circumstances she would have thought twice about entering, but she wasn’t going to complain now.
No sooner were they out of sight than she heard the unmistakable sounds of running soldiers. Carefully, Joshen and Ciara moved deeper into the shadows. The three of them held their breath until the footsteps faded into the distance.
Joshen gently set her down, his arm hovering around her shoulders as if to make sure she didn’t tip over. Senna glanced around. Bits of blue sky gleamed through the ragged palm ceiling, casting warm shafts of light upon plants and even a small tree that had managed to grow inside. With a start, she recognized the plants. Witch plants. “Where are we?”
“Desni’s place.” Ciara shivered. “Apparently, she’s not here, but I’m sure she’ll be along as soon as she hears of a Witch escaping the soldiers.”
Through her jerky vision, Senna noted a few shelves along one wall. By another, a woven mat and some sort of wash basin. The hut smelled of strong herbs and rotting wood. “Someone lives here?” she asked in disbelief. The whole room twirled around her. She clenched her eyes shut, glad to at least be still.
“We’re just lucky I remembered how to find it. Kaen said if there was trouble, I should come here. I met Desni once and I can’t say I understand why he trusts her. Her mind seemed as muddled and mixed up as an imbecile.”