“That’s impossible.” No empathy echoes in his words.
He simply doesn’t care.
I shove my hands across my cheeks, wiping away the sticky strands of hair. “You have everything you want. You have Mildred, the Muchrah, who will help your people with their magic.” Bitterness bursts from me as I continue. “You have me tied up like an animal to use as you please.”
He stuffs his fingers into his weapon belt. “I don’t have everything I want.”
“Yes, you do.”
Sadness flares from his eyes and his tone as he speaks. “I don’t have a wife who’s happy to be by my side.”
“Isn’t this much more convenient?” I tug against the ropes on my wrists. “You can just lead me around like a mule.”
“This isn’t what I want, but you made it necessary the moment you murdered two of my warriors and ran.”
I bite back every angry word I long to say as he leans down and shackles my leg to that damn pole. He grabs the torch and leaves me in the dark.
Again.
I slam my bound hands into my mattress, hating all of this.
Calm down.
Anger will not help you.
Be wise.
Take back control of your life and determine your own destiny.
ChapterThirteen
Afierce squall the following morning prevents us from traveling. Hector orders everyone to stay in their tents until the wind wanes.
Once it does, we’re finally allowed outside. My relief to leave the tent doesn’t last long. Hector commands me to a log near a fire and orders Cenric to watch me—the man with cold blue eyes and enough fierceness smoldering behind them to make me question any thoughts of disobeying Hector.
It’s hard for me to fathom how Cenric and Praxis could be brothers. They are vastly different. Praxis was friendly and open when we spoke after I healed him. Cenric looks as friendly as a charging rhinoceros.
Everly sits next to me and smooths her surcoat over her legs. “Hello.”
My chest warms. “Hello.”
She stares at the fire for several long breaths, the kind of breaths I imagine she uses to garner the boldness to speak.
“Is there something you wish to say?” I ask after a while.
Her dark blue eyes flicker to me and hold for so long, I squirm against the log.
“You were supposed to be my friend, Sol,” she says in a soft voice, yet her words screech through my ears as if she screamed them at me. “My reminder of Kassandra.”
Sadness rears up and devours me. Every inch. Every breath I take.
“I didn’t know the truth about Hector.” I twist my fingers together.
Her dark brown hair falls over her shoulders as she shakes her head. “I would have helped you, had you asked.”
“Helped me?”
“Yes.” She picks up a stick and digs lines into the sand. “With your grief, or whatever compelled you to act so recklessly.”
