Page 140 of The Freedom You Seek

This was big trouble. I wasn’t fully restored from the shadowwalk yesterday, and on top of that, I was so out of myself that it took me a second too long to wrap myself in shadow armor. One of the Guardians had already leaped into the air. It aimed for my back, breaking through my defenses far too easily and driving its claws through the thin silk of the ceremonial tunic into my flesh. Pain erupted with a vengeance, and still, all I could think about was making it to Nayana before she was out of reach. Already, I couldn’t feel her Potential anymore, the distance between us was too great.

With a roar, I freed myself from the beast on top of me. Fury fueled me, and I scrambled to my feet, armor closing over my bleeding wounds, which even my natural healing couldn’t handle during a fight. My hands shook, and my magical sword only appeared on the third attempt. “You fuckers sap magic, don’t you?” I growled, even though I knew the monsters were mute.

There was no question that I had to be quick. The Guardians wouldn’t be satisfied if I just handed them their book back. They’d been created to punish thieves—it was their sole reason for existing.

Desperately scraping together my rapidly dwindling power, I charged at one of the Guardians while I dodged the others as best I could. Instinct took over, and I moved fluidly with a skill honed over centuries.

I had to hurry, but the Guardians didn’t give me an opening. In a desperate attempt to level the playing fieldat least a little, I feigned attacking my direct opponent, but in mid-charge I changed direction and drove my midnight blade directly into the heart of the Guardian who had injured me.

My pain worsened to the point that even the heat of the fight couldn’t suppress it anymore, and my magical resources continued to dwindle rapidly. I stared in shock at the emptiness in my hands as my sword dissolved into thin air.

So, I had to fight the two remaining Guardians with my bare hands. What a great day to be alive!

Scratching every ounce of power to the surface, I attempted to summon shadow tendrils to slow down the monsters, but they vanished as soon as they materialized. I had no reserves left, and a cold numbness spread through my limbs.

“I…need you, Naya,” I mumbled, cursing fate before my legs gave out, and I collapsed to the ground. For the first time in my existence, I lost a deadly battle, my consciousness, and possibly my life.

I raced until I couldn’t hear Dion anymore. Panting and not being able to tell how long I’d been running, I finally stopped. Finding my bearing took its time, and I supported myself heavily by leaning on my thighs to catch my breath.

Stars of exhaustion danced in my vision. Still, I monitored my surroundings as well as I could. When I found myself beyond the outskirts of Amalach, on the opposite side from where we’d entered, I scanned the vast wastelands before me. No horse, dressed in opulent ceremonial robes tailored to historical fae fashion, accompanied only by a satchel containing two relics of the gods and a magically crafted dagger of my bound Wielder that I hated, the inventory of my situation was pathetic. No food, nowater, only a fury burning brightly inside of me. That and an almost painful emptiness where Dion’s magic had met mine after the Rite. I groaned, and my thoughts jumped back to the midnight dagger, which I'd better get rid of sooner rather than later if I didn’t want Dion to track me through the weapon infused with his magic.

He’d warned me that it wouldn’t feel good to separate for magic-bound duos, and I was sure this was what he’d counted on in the first place. He’d hoped I’d feel so uncomfortable that I’d overlook all his lies and the fact he was an obedient little tool for his grandfather,the fucking High King of the fucking fae. A prince.A fucking fae prince, grandchild to the nefarious Galrach,Emperor of the Eternal Throne of Alaiann. He was the sentient weapon that destroyed Amalach. If he was so powerful already, how much would he gain from my Potential? Was he even acting on his own accords? Or had it all been a ruse on his grandfather’s order? I wouldn’t become an accessory to mass destruction—I’d rather die. Larithia’s behavior made a lot more sense to me—she must have known. Everyone had known but me. Nayana Garnet Ortha, the greatest fool in Ivreian history—or make that the history of both worlds.

I had no other choice but to walk into the wastelands, but with every step, my conscience screamed louder and battled my fury. The truth was inexcusable, but I’d broken my word to never run again without giving Dion a chance to explain.

The strange red spot under my collarbone burned, and I winced while fighting to ignore it. What was one morediscomfort to add to all the others? One more vague secret of that damned princeling?

And yet, what if there was a minuscule chance that all this was just a giant misunderstanding? My resolve wavered with each step.

I remembered the letter from Dion’s grandfather—and the way the men—no, males—had reacted to it. So much was going on in my mind: the talk of treason, the fae that had been sent after them, all the small things I’d learned over the months and never connected because I’d been missing crucial information. Even as angry as I was, I had to admit that it felt real. It should be impossible that a group of people could fake something so big for so long and so well—although they’d all succeeded in concealing their true nature from me for months, so what did I know?

Antas had told me he’d tricked Dion into coming with them so he could get some space from his duties—or his grandfather? From Antas’ brother. Shit, Dion’s uncle was Galrach’s brother.

The males also mentioned that they’d never seen Dion more alive than in these last months.

What if there was more to it? It wouldn’t change his lies of epic proportions or that he deceived and manipulated me into this binding under false pretenses—something that shouldn’t have been possible according to all the information that I’d been given. Of course, that could have been more lies, but Larithia hadn’t objected when Dion explained the Rite to me, and even I had to admit that it would have been too much work if she’d been part of the potential ruse as well. But maybe—maybe therewould be at least a good explanation for why he’d acted like a monster in the name of his grandfather, the king. I couldn’t imagine there could be one good enough, but those doubts, along with the nagging voice of my conscience reminding me of my broken promise, stopped me dead in my tracks.

I sighed deeply and angrily. “Can’t believe I’m doing this,” I muttered to myself and turned in the direction of Amalach to find Dion and have a long talk with the princeling. Besides, I kept telling myself that with no supplies, I had a low chance of making it through the wastelands alive.

“That’s the wrong direction, sweetie.”

My eyes widened as a deep voice came from my left, a voice I’d only heard once before in my life, and just like back then, it made my skin crawl. My hand slipped into my skirts and gripped the hilt of the midnight dagger, then I shifted to face the man who had come for me. “Perran Feroy.”

“The one and only. It’s about time we met again, Miss Ortha.”

I watched as the King of Merchants dismounted from his horse. He wore elegant clothes of the finest materials, just as he’d been the first time I’d seen him at my parents’ house. There was nothing to indicate that he’d traveled through Ivreia in the past few months—no dirt, no sweat, no discomfort—which was surprising, to say the least. A man of his physique should be dead on his feet after such a journey. But I couldn’t dwell on that riddle, for it was vital to keep my wits sharp instead of giving in to distraction.

I counted eight armored guards in his entourage, and they dismounted as well—my chances weren’t good. Me, a woman armed only with a dagger she was barely trained to use against eight battle-ready men. Well, and Perran Feroy, but he would hardly count. Given all the facts, my odds of escaping were practically non-existent.

“Nancy, take care of our horses. I’ll have your head if even one of them gets lost,” Perran Feroy said to one of his men while I was still frozen in place, indecision burning in my chest about what to do.

The guard named Nancy nodded. His red hair reminded me of Thain in terms of color, but the guard wore it short. The similarities ended there because where Thain was tall, lean, and attractive, the man who was seizing the several reins was stout and rough-looking, with a thick red mustache and beard covering half his face. He glowered as if he hated being ordered around. Yes Nancy, you and me both.

“Can’t say I’m happy to see you.”

“You’re very hard to find, Miss Ortha. Care to explain how you’ve been evading me all this time?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you.”