Around the camp, totems stand tall, their crude carvings casting jagged silhouettes against the trees. Misery can apparently creep on the energies around us with it, like Cypress can with her rubies.
So far, I’ve been rather quiet and compliant, observing. Misery doesn’t move much, like a hawk perching andwatching. Blackwell commands the space when the miserable god is stagnant, and it’s clear that man enjoys his title; always laughingat his own jokes, telling people he’ll consider their words like he’s granted them a gift, and orders people around as if it’s obvious he wouldn’t lift a finger.
My focus veers to watching the man that is on guard duty for the two of us. I’ve overheard that we’re a day’s ride away from Ashfire, the castle for the Order of Ash, which means Anya and I sit here like prisoners.
An idea begins to bloom as I try to think of a way to be alone with Anya, even for a moment. I’ve been watching this man closely, noting his every movement, every nervous tick. He’s squeamish—I can use that.
My heart races, hoping this will work—just as I’m about to enact my plan, the guard rises. “I’m going to get Benny. You both smell like shit.”
Well, I was about to piss myself, but apparently our stench already does the job. So far, I’ve taken to soiling what I wear rather than letting anyone near me. The more feral, the better.
And there’s no way I’m undressing regularly in front of them.
I lean closer to Anya, and she acts like she might scoot away. “No, stop. I need to talk to you,” I say, knowing that at any moment, someone else will be out here. “Why are you here? What happened?”
Anya sighs with annoyance and leans in quickly, as if admitting that yes, this is an opportune moment to speak. She’s so close to my ear it feels moist. “First, you stink. Secondly, I have a piece of Soren’s mask embedded in my skin. He can track me. Same with Bones. He got the idea when he learned of your father’s ring,” she whispers, her voice so low it’s almost drowned out by the jungle sounds. “I mean, honestly, I don’t know if it works or not. We haven’t tried it before. But I thought it was worth it, rather than have you be taken without a single tracing effect.”
My eyes widen with understanding. “He sent you?”
“No. I came on my own. Would have yelled for help, but they would have been gone by then with Misery. Thought it was worth the risk. They always need prisoners when looking for collateral.” There’s a pause before she adds, “You need to leave at any chance you get.”
I begin to shake my head but stop when I realize I might smack into her face with how close we are. “Not without you.”
She pulls back slightly, the faint warmth of her breath replaced by the cooler, damp air of the jungle. “You idiot, I’m doing this for Soren,” she says sharply, her words cutting like a knife through the dense night. “Don’t waste my efforts on some noble gesture.”
“I’m not just running away and leaving you,” I assert, my body stiffening when I see someone look our way.
In the distance, I hear a shout, “Leave ‘em and let’s eat! Just keep an eye on ‘em. What’s the worst they can do?”
She leans back in, still speaking quietly. “I’mcapable, Jane. I can escape when I need to. You know that.” I get the tone that she’s trying to say things without explicitly saying them.
Skin shifter.
“What are your plans if you’re not rescued for a fewmonths?” she asks.
I examine her face. In the dim light, her skin is pale and drawn, a sharp contrast to the dark swelling around her left eye. The bloodshot whites brutalize her injury further.
“Cypress told me it will only be a few weeks. She gave me atask, and I’m going to do it.” My voice falters for a moment before I continue, quieter this time. “I don’t want to sit and hope. I didn’t come to be rescued.”
“Then spend this time plotting.”
The camp near us is alive with the sound of laughter and coarse jokes as the men feast, ripping chunks of meat from the spits. The grease drips onto the fire, hissing and spitting witheach drop, sending curls of black smoke into the humid air. In the shadows, Misery sits apart from the others, those spying candle eyes locked onto us.
“I will. I’m observing as much as I can,” I say.
“Well, do it quickly, before Soren burns these people down. I want to ensure they’reruined.”
How badly I want that.
It might be for the best if he does that, and not just for me. How long can Anya’s beating heart be useful to them? Other than function as blackmail against me? Killing her would be extremely standard practice, once she becomes just another mouth to feed.
“You don’t think I’m stupid for walking into this?” I ask.
Her sighs carry a lot of unspoken opinions. “Not with what I overheard. Not if Misery is Soren’s god. He would have died, I’m certain of it.”
I look back up at the stars once more, the anxiety that I chose poorly greatly easing.
How does Soren do any of this? Manage the weight of everyone’s lives against his decisions? One wrong move, andpoof—everyone is dead.
