Page 20 of Wings of Lies (Daughter of the Seven Circles #1)
Chapter
Fifteen
A fter a terrible night’s sleep, icy water jolted me awake, splashing over my face and soaking my shirt. I gasped, coughed on the water that went up my nose and looked wildly around. My princely jailor stood over me with a large bucket in hand as I sat on a pad with soppy blankets.
“What the hell was that for?” I shouted in between coughs, goosebumps growing goosebumps as the morning chill brushed against my skin.
His eyes were alight with satisfaction as he pressed his lips together.
Invisible fingers strummed two cords in my core.
“You wouldn’t wake up,” he stated.
“What, and you couldn’t shake me awake? You had to dump a damn pail of freezing water on me?” My nails bit into my palms. Or no, one palm. My other tweaked with pain and hit the stiff cloth wrapped around my hand and wrist. Did he splint it ?
“Clearly, you’re not dying, and now you don’t have to wash off in a stream,” he said, pulling my attention back to him. “Now get up.”
His cocky words plucked the cords, enticing the itch. The crashing musical ice started. Blood rushed to my cheeks. In seconds, I stood, shoving my hands into his chest, chains jangling, and wrist protesting. A pulse of purple light flashed before the cuffs around my right wrist electrocuted me.
He didn’t re-cuff my broken wrist. Why? To satisfy his conscience? I doubted he had one. My power vanished, replaced by lingering aftershocks that made my knees wobble.
“I—” I dropped my hands quickly, ignoring the throbbing in my left one, and stared at the white frost coating his chest. Was it going to dissolve his leathers like the sleeping bag? Part of me hoped it did; another knew if that happened, I’d be executed. But the ice did nothing.
He stepped forward, and I stumbled back.
He took another step forward, and I took another step back until my legs bumped into Brock’s tree stump.
I tilted my head up, holding my breath. He appraised me with unreadable eyes and intimidated me with his nearness.
His hand rose, and I flinched, expecting him to hit me or worse.
Last night, I insulted Brock, and he broke my wrist. Today, I accidentally attacked a prince.
Would he break my arm or leg? I leaned back as far as possible, squeezing my lids shut, and waited.
A light flashed, and I opened my eyes, squinting at his raised hand covered in flames the color of his eyes.
The heat painfully licked my skin, and I fell over the stump. I hurried back a foot with my splinted wrist clutched to my chest. His hand moved, but instead of burning me alive, it brushed the leather on his chest, thawing the ice. His threatening irises, wreathed in blue fire, trapped me.
What was he? An angel?
He lowered himself, placing his elbows on the stump. The heat from his flames burned my cheeks, threatening to take out my eyebrows. While he smirked, his power retreated into his interlacing hands, but his eyes were still consumed by fire.
My heart abused my sternum, pushing at the needles beneath my skin.
“Don’t. Do that. Again, prisoner.” A light flashed beneath his chin, and the blue fire flashed brighter in his eyes before he stood and left.
I let loose a breath, taking in three more. He had flames and, by the looks of it, could control them ten times better than I could.
My wrist throbbed, pumping along with my erratic heart. Chills skittered across my back. I wished it was caused by my soaked shirt, not the guy packing up the janky carriage with the two monsters.
“Huh.”
I scrambled back from Brock’s voice and stood.
Brock sneered. “Scared?”
Yes. Not that I’d tell him that.
“That’s the first time I’ve seen the prince attacked without getting their head severed or burned off.”
Great. I already didn’t want to move from my spot. My wet pad laid unrolled in hopes that they’d leave me behind.
“I suppose the need to keep you alive restrained him.”
“So, he won’t kill me?”
Brock eyed the wrist clutched to my chest, crouching down. “Kill, probably not. She wouldn’t be too happy about that. Maim, on the other hand, I’d be surprised if you didn’t break a few more bones.” His mustache spread with a knowing smile, rolling up my blanket and pad.
I backed out of reach. “She who? Your sovereign?”
He stood with my supplies. “You’ll find out.”
“Sweetheart,” my princely jailer sang. “Time to go. Don’t make me chase you down.” His eyes pulsed with blue flame.
A flash of irritation overpowered my apprehension. I should’ve pushed him harder. Dragging my feet to the carriage, each slide and pull stirred a question of whether or not I’d be safer with them or on my own. That was if I could manage to escape.
Right now, I’d be lucky enough to keep my life.
He met me at the back, the monsters already stuffed inside. “Next time, I’ll drag you by your feet if you take that long.”
“I’d like to see you try,” I snapped with false vibrato.
His rosy lips squeezed into a hard line. With two abrupt steps, he backed me into the ledge of the back doors. He leaned down, his mouth brushing my ear. A tingle of a different sort sent a shiver down my spine.
“Don’t make me do something you’ll regret,” he whispered, reaching for my legs.
Was he going to grope me?
My Glory prickled, but before it surged and my cuffs shocked me, he picked me up and threw me in. My bottom hit the exact second he jumped, straddling me with his feet.
“Hands,” he demanded, reaching out and caging me in with his boots.
“Why?”
His scar pulsed with a red light .
“I said, give me your damned hands! Now, prisoner!”
The glow in his irises convinced me to lift my hands.
He unlocked a cuff from my uninjured wrist, grazing my skin.
Tingles surfaced, and his tight hold eased with the light beneath his chin.
He widened the cuff and latched it around my splint, loose enough to slide around the thick cloth without pain.
“Does that feel okay?” he asked.
Stunned by his gentle tone and question, I nodded.
Brock shut the doors, dimming the janky box. My princely jailor dropped my wrists and straightened. He stepped over me, and I wiggled to the side, far away from the monsters and the confusing prince. Brock signaled to the horses to move, and we were off. Yay.
Bump after bump shot into my boney butt and vibrated up my spine. Did this dirt road contain nothing but potholes? Or was this another form of torture?
Fortunately, last time, I was knocked out for most of the ride. This time, I had to listen to Bael and Cacus hiss about food and feel my princely jailor’s gaze. I think I’d rather take the agony of my Glory over this.
As time passed, I slept against my better judgment. It was the closest thing to knocking myself out, and I hoped to dream-walk again. The last few dream-walks gave me pieces of my past back and more questions, but it was better than nothing.
Sleep came and went. Flashes of colors to darkness to whispered words I forgot, then to the waking world. The day turned to night, but except for a couple of mortifying stops, we never made camp. Brock and my princely jailor traded out driving multiple times, and we continued like that .
My two meals a day consisted of apples, cheese, and dried squirrel meat chucked at me whenever Brock or the prince felt like it. Sometimes, I only ate one meal, not because they didn’t give me food but because any food I couldn’t catch was fair game for the monsters.
After the fourth day, my will hung on by threads.
I stared at the splint on my pinky finger.
It wasn’t there yesterday. Brock broke my finger for insulting him a second time after he stared at me like a perv during our bathroom break.
He stomped on my hand as punishment. I think he hoped to break all my fingers but only managed one.
When we returned to the carriage, my princely jailor grabbed my hand.
He panned from my crooked pinky to my tears to Brock’s face, and his eyes lit with blue flame.
He jerked me from Brock’s grasp and helped me into the carriage without a word.
Today, I woke to find it splinted. Brock would’ve never helped me, and the monsters were too idiotic to know how to splint a bone. They’d probably chomp it off as a solution. So that left my princely jailor as my secretive nurse.
I glanced at the corner where he silently slept. We spoke maybe eight sentences to each other in the last four days, in between his grunts and glares.
His knees were tucked to his chest, arms draped, and head leaning back—the same position I found him in the first time. Except now, instead of a perfect head of silk, it lay flat and glistened. Creases formed at the corner of his eyes.
A bad dream? I sure as hell hoped so.
With that sword attached to his hip, I could only imagine the amount of killing he doled out.
All the muscle that swallowed his body and the blue flames that flashed in his eyes didn’t exactly say pacifist. I bet monsters haunted his dreams. He deserved every second of the pain that pinched his face.
I looked away, glancing at the quiet monsters. All six beady eyes were closed. Returning my gaze to my princely jailor, the hilt of his sword gleamed in the dim light.
What were the odds I could stab them all and live?
But before I got my desperate ass killed, a jarring impact thrust me forward. My wrist wrenched against their chains, palms splayed to catch myself. I gasped at the impact, my broken bones giving out, face-planting.
The carriage rocked back and forth, then jolted again from another slam, tilting the carriage onto two wheels. I tumbled headfirst into the wall, lying on my back when we banged down, level.
Brock shouted something, and the carriage picked up speed.
“What the hell is it?” I shifted onto my forearms and knees, looking for the prince. He stood, arms spread, bracing himself in the corner with glowing irises.