Page 16 of The Demon’s Collar (The Bard’s Demon #1)

A horn called us to muster. I ground my palms into my eyes, trying to shake the last remnants of sleep.

The day’s scouting party must have departed hours prior.

My group was to ride the second wave this time.

I took only a moment to gather myself and my things before I yanked the string that collapsed my tent.

B?k stood right outside.

I pretended not to see him. Probably my least convincing performance to date. Dread gagged me as I shouldered my things, keeping my eyes firmly on the ground, and skirted around him to reach my horse.

Mercifully, B?k said nothing.

Our party was large enough for me to lose myself in the line of riders, and I did so. We rode through a miserable drizzle with little conversation. The rider next to me—I think his name was Tavish?—had the good sense to fade into the scenery.

For once, when Brü requested I play a song, I didn’t need B?k to grumble about it before I gently refused. I told Brü my throat was sore, and though he gave me a concerned look, he asked nothing more of me .

We ate in the saddle as usual. I’d not woken up in time to get provisions, so I fell back on a meager stock of jerky that’d come with my faction-issued tent and bedroll.

When we stopped for the night, there was no fire.

The storms were already upon us, and the camp looked as miserable as I felt.

I considered finding Aelith and asking her to heal me—but I was so tired, and for all I knew she was in the larger party and wouldn’t arrive for hours still.

So instead, I zipped myself away to await the night’s hazing.

The thunder roared. The lightning followed with such searing intensity that a tiny blossom of hope snaked its way through my chest. Perhaps they wouldn’t come. Perhaps it would wait for another night.

No such luck.

A blade slashed through the top of my tent and sliced it to ribbons. I should have been afraid of what was to come—but all I could think was, if they left the dampener on, I wouldn’t be able to heal myself or mend the tent. When they finished with me, I would sleep in the freezing rain.

My assailants had not grown more creative overnight.

The assault followed the same beats. A near drowning, excruciating kneeling, counting aloud to the moment of relief, and then—the race.

I poured every remaining drop of my strength into outstripping my fellow initiates.

Last night, the only reprieve I’d been granted was during the loser’s torment.

Even more than I needed to avoid the extra punishment, I needed the rest.

I could tell through the blindfold that I was in or near the lead.

Pained grunts behind me coddled my exhausted brain with soft promises.

But apparently, I’d broken the wrong man’s nose.

A truth I realized when my ankles locked mid-stride.

I was falling before I knew why. I tried to bend my legs to catch myself on my screaming knees, but that failed too.

My cheek hit a rock with an explosive blow.

A foot came down on my shoulder. Another on my calf.

The initiates I’d been so triumphant to outrun were trampling me.

I pushed myself up out of the mud, but my legs still wouldn’t work.

And then they did. All at once, the interference evaporated. Naturally, it was too late. I dove forward, threw everything I had into one final burst—but everyone else was already across the line.

Despair and humiliation warred inside me. I didn’t make it fun. I lay lifeless as they joked and rained punishing blows with their wooden paddle. Only when thunder shook the air and lightning struck too close for comfort did they call it.

I’d survived. So that was something.

I’d let them pummel me without giving one single worthy cry they could enjoy. That was even better.

Back in my tent, I waited for the man who’d shoved me inside to untie my wrists. I promised myself I would find Aelith in the morning. She would fix it. Nothing was permanent, except the anonymous names I would mentally add to my list of people to dismember in the future—whenever I had time.

Only the man wasn’t finished.

“Hold her still,” he said.

His finger hooked into my waistband. That single touch dispelled the numbness I’d gathered around me like a blanket. Fear trickled down my spine. My hands were tied. My magic was out of reach. I couldn’t stop what he was going to do, and I knew it.

Their voices were faint through the roar of the rain. I could make out only snippets.

—the codex ? —

—give a fuck?—

— B?k —

More unintelligible bickering.

— leaving —

No. It started as a cry in my head. The one who was arguing—who was stopping the other man from doing what he wanted to me—was going to leave.

A deafening crack of thunder made all three of us stiffen.

The lightning that followed illuminated them.

The second man was angled away, already half a step from disappearing into the night.

But I stared at his masked face, a horrified plea frozen in my eyes.

I saw the ink on his neck where the fabric around his mask had torn.

I stared at it, searing the pattern into my memory just in case.

After a long, hesitant beat, he turned back. He yanked his companion away from me. They exchanged a few more heated words I couldn’t hear, and then my reluctant savior shoved the other man out of my tent.

They’d never untied my wrists. I lay there on my belly, sucking in deep breaths, sobbing as the rain washed the mud and blood away.

When a shadow fell over the tent again moments later, I was sure it was the man whose nose I’d broken returning to finish what he’d started.

That he’d shaken his friend and circled back.

I promised myself I wouldn’t make it easy.

He might win, but I would hurt him too. A bite, a kick—anything.

I would mark him, and then find him later and squeeze the life from his body.

I writhed in my bindings, scrabbling for leverage.

Except when the figure spoke, it wasn’t the distorted voice of my assailant.

“Who did this to you?” B?k growled.

His fury heated the air. I looked up just in time to see the soaked remains of my tent hiss steam and burst into flames.