Page 45 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons (Empire of Vengeance #4)
From somewhere in the shadows of the cave, he produced a long leather thong.
Before I could protest, he had wrapped the cloak around my body and secured it, cinching it tight enough that it wouldn't slip but loose enough that I could move freely.
The improvised garment fell to mid-calf, covering me adequately if not modestly.
He found my boots, kneeling at my feet to slide them on and lacing them for me.
I was glad. Although I could now move my arm, it still ached badly.
Then he gathered up what remained of my clothes and armour, sorting through the pieces with practiced efficiency.
The armour was largely ruined, metal plates bent and leather straps torn, but some of the underlying garments were salvageable.
These he folded carefully and placed in a leather satchel that seemed to appear from nowhere.
When he produced another leather cord and fashioned it into a loop, I understood his intention immediately.
"No," I said, backing away from him. "Absolutely not. I'm not an animal to be led around on a leash."
He didn't seem to understand my words, but my tone and body language were clear enough. He approached me with the same patient determination he had shown when resetting my shoulder, and I realized with growing horror that he was going to put the thing around my neck whether I cooperated or not.
The shadows began to stir at the edges of my vision, and I knew I was beaten. I could submit to the leash, or I could be wrapped in living darkness and forced to submit anyway. At least this way, I retained some dignity.
"Fine," I said, standing still and glaring at him. "But I want you to know I hate this. I hate you."
The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, made worse by the fact that we both knew it was a lie. Whatever I felt for this strange man who wore my friend's face, hate wasn't part of it.
He slipped the loop over my head with surprising gentleness, adjusting it so that it sat loosely around my throat—more symbolic than restrictive. The other end he wrapped around his wrist, creating a connection between us that was both practical and strangely intimate.
The fire was quickly extinguished and any trace of our presence erased with an efficiency that spoke of long practice. Then he led me out of the cave and into the morning light, the leather cord a constant reminder of my captivity.
The sight that greeted me outside made my heart sink.
We were high in the mountains, surrounded by peaks that stretched to the horizon in every direction.
In the distance, I could see a column of black smoke rising into the clear air, and the acrid smell of burning reached me even here.
The battlefield was miles away—he had carried me impossibly far during the night, probably using his shadow magic to traverse distances that would have taken ordinary men days to cover.
Any hope of finding my way back to Imperial forces died in that moment. I was truly and completely at his mercy.
But as we began to descend through the pine-covered slopes, I found myself following him willingly rather than being dragged along like a reluctant prisoner.
There was no point in fighting—his shadow powers made escape impossible unless he was asleep or distracted, and I was beginning to suspect that this man was never truly off guard.
Besides, there was something mesmerizing about watching him move through the forest. He navigated the rough terrain with the fluid grace of someone born to these mountains, never putting a foot wrong, never making unnecessary noise. It was like following a ghost made flesh.
We walked in silence for hours, stopping only briefly when the path became too steep or treacherous for me to manage easily.
He never spoke, never offered explanation or reassurance, but his manner toward me had subtly changed since our encounter in the cave.
The leather leash remained, but his grip on it was loose, more guidance than restraint.
When I stumbled, his hand was there to steady me.
When I needed to rest, he seemed to sense it before I asked.
Around midday, we reached a crystal-clear stream that tumbled down through the rocks in a series of small waterfalls. He led me to a broad, flat area beside one of the pools and gestured for me to sit on a sun-warmed boulder.
The water was shockingly cold when he filled his hands and offered it to me to drink, but it was the sweetest thing I had ever tasted.
Mountain snowmelt, pure and clean and untouched by the corruption of civilization.
When I had drunk my fill, he began washing my ruined clothes in the stream, scrubbing blood and dirt from the fabric with methodical patience.
"Water," I said, pointing to the stream. "In Common, we call that water."
He glanced up at me, his hands stilling in their work. After a moment, he repeated the word, his accent making it sound exotic and musical.
"Water," I said again, then switched to what I hoped was the appropriate gesture. "What do you call it in Talfen?"
"Sythara," he said, his voice rough from disuse. It was the first word he had spoken that I could understand, and hearing it felt like a small victory.
"Sythara," I repeated, trying to match his pronunciation. "Water. Sythara."
Something that might have been approval flickered across his features. He pointed to a nearby tree. "Mythen."
"Tree," I said, pointing as well. "Tree is mythen."
We continued this halting exchange as he worked, building a tiny vocabulary of essential words.
Fire was thaelon. Rock was karthen. Sky was veridian.
His voice was low and gravelly, as if he wasn't accustomed to speaking, but there was a musical quality to the Talfen words that made them beautiful even when I mangled the pronunciation.
When the clothes were as clean as he could make them, he spread them over the sun-warmed rocks to dry. Then, to my complete indignation, he pulled out another length of cord and reached for my hands.
"What are you doing?" I demanded, pulling away from him. "I've been cooperating! I haven't tried to run!"
But cooperation, apparently, wasn't enough.
He caught my wrists with implacable gentleness and bound them behind my back, the knots tight enough that I couldn't slip free but not so tight as to cut off circulation.
Then he led me to a sturdy pine tree and secured the cord around the trunk, effectively tying me in place.
"This is ridiculous!" I protested as he checked the bonds one final time. "Where exactly do you think I'm going to go? We're in the middle of nowhere!"
He said something in Talfen—probably the equivalent of "stay put"—and then he was gone, disappearing into the forest with that unnatural quiet that made me wonder if shadow magic extended to simple stealth.
I spent the first hour testing my bonds and exploring every possible means of escape.
The cord was well-made and expertly tied, with no weak points I could exploit.
The tree was too large to work my way around, and the knots were positioned where I couldn't reach them with my teeth.
After several attempts that only succeeded in chafing my wrists, I was forced to admit defeat.
The second hour I spent fuming about the indignity of being tied to a tree like a misbehaving horse.
By the time he returned, the sun had moved significantly across the sky and my anger had cooled into resignation.
He emerged from the forest as silently as he had departed, carrying what looked like two skinned rabbits and a small leather pouch that probably contained berries or other foraged food.
The efficiency with which he built and lit a small fire spoke of long practice living rough in the wilderness.
Soon the smell of roasting meat filled the air, making my stomach growl with sudden, fierce hunger.
I hadn't eaten since before the battle, and the physical exertion of our morning trek had left me ravenous.
When the meat was cooked, he cut it into small pieces and came to sit beside me. I expected him to untie me so I could feed myself, but instead he held out a morsel of rabbit and waited for me to take it from his fingers.
The intimacy of being hand-fed was almost more than I could bear.
Each time his fingers brushed my lips, I felt that same electric connection that had led to our encounter in the cave.
The berries he fed me were sweet and tart, bursting with flavour that made me close my eyes in pleasure, and I saw something kindle in his gaze as he watched my reaction.
"This is torment," I said quietly, not caring that he couldn't understand the words. "Whatever you're doing to me, whatever this is between us, it's going to drive me insane."
He paused in offering me another piece of meat, his storm-grey eyes studying my face with unsettling intensity. Then he spoke a single word in Talfen, soft and questioning.
I didn't know what he was asking, but something in his tone made my chest tighten with emotion I couldn't name. "I don't understand," I whispered. "I don't understand any of this."
When the meal was finished, he packed the remaining food in his satchel and helped me back into my dried clothes.
My undergarments were still damp in places, but they were clean and warm from the sun.
The familiar weight of proper clothing should have been comforting, but instead I found myself missing the soft embrace of his feathered cloak.
More disturbingly, I missed his scent—woodsmoke and pine and something wild that was purely him. When he took the cloak back and fastened it around his own shoulders, I had to resist the urge to bury my face in the feathers one last time.
What was wrong with me? This man was my captor, my enemy. He had used magic to kidnap me, had tied me up like an animal, was leading me gods knew where for gods knew what purpose. I should be plotting escape, not mourning the loss of his scent on my skin.
But as we set off again into the deepening forest, the leather cord once more connecting us, I couldn't deny the traitorous warmth that spread through my chest every time he glanced back to check on me. Whatever madness had taken hold of my heart, it was growing stronger with every passing hour.
And that terrified me more than any amount of shadow magic ever could.