Page 23 of Enslaved

A veil of ice falls across his features. Even his eyes seem to dim.

I swallow hard, forcing down the lump in my throat. Then, dropping my gaze to the ground once more: “Iobligeyou to help me. To accompany me to the seat of Lord Vokarum. To help me to fulfill my part of whatever bargain I must make. To see this through to the end, until the bloodgem necklace of Idreloth is in my hand, and I can set Danny free.” My eyelids feel like heavy weights. With an effort I raise them, force myself to meet the Prince’s stare. “I call upon your Obligation, Prince of Vespre.”

Darkness gathers across his brow. Even the violet of his eyes seems to have deepened to black. His lips curl into what at first looks like a snarl. Just at the last, however, he grins mirthlessly and offers a little bow. “At your command, Mistress,” he says with a flourish of one hand. Then he turns abruptly and steps back into his room.

“Where are you going?”

His voice emerges from the depths of the chamber: “I thought I would dress for our little adventure.” He appears in the doorway again, leaning out. A lock of raven hair falls across his shoulder. “But if my mistress commands I go traipsing off into the unknown with her half-naked, then—”

“No.” I wrap my arms around my middle and put my back firmly to him. “Please. Dress. But be swift about it.”

“Your wish is my command.”

The carriage ride out from Vespre is a silent affair. The Prince wraps himself in his long coat, turns up the collar, and pretends to sleep. His pronounced snores aren’t terribly convincing. Is he mocking me? Intentionally trying to annoy me out of my determination?

I’m not so easily swayed.

Ignoring him, I turn my attention out the window and watch the approaching horizon of Noxaur. A shudder runs through me, body and soul. The last time I set foot on that shore, I nearly died a dozen times—by fire, water, tooth, and claw. The only reason I’m alive today is because I dared do the unthinkable. I summoned Emma. My Noswraith. My secret weapon and my great sin.

How much blood did I spill that night? With one simple act, one flick of the pen, how many lives did I bring to a gruesome end? The men and women who died were monsters bent on tearing me apart. Nevertheless, the weight of their stolen lives threatens to crush me.

Not their lives alone either. There’s also Nelle. And Dasyra.

I steal a glimpse at the Prince again, his face covered by his hood, his legs crossed, his feet propped on the carriage seat beside me. Somehow, I know he’s watching me. Or at least,awareof me. It’s that same prickling sense I’ve had so many times in the last month. But it’s probably just my imagination.

Suddenly exhausted, I settle back in the carriage seat, rest my head in my palm, and let my eyes shut. Perhaps I nod off, for it seems like no more than a moment later when the carriage jostles, touching down on the pier. I start and grab the edge of my seat for support. The Prince, however, merely lets out a snort and otherwise doesn’t stir, not even when the coachmen bellows, “Ho!” and the morleth lurch to a stop.

A troll footman climbs down from the back of the carriage. His shifting weight causes the whole contraption to groan on its springs. He comes around and opens the door, offering a block-like hand to assist me out. I bite my lip. Then, leaning forward, I grip the Prince’s shoulder and give it a shake. He opens one eye, blinking blearily. Maybe he truly was asleep after all. For a moment, he looks remarkably young. Vulnerable. It’s so unexpected, my heart gives a strange twist at the sight.

I quickly withdraw my hand. “We’re here.”

He curses and unfolds himself from his cloak. In an instant, all that vulnerability vanishes from his face. Grunting and shaking his bleary head, he swings an arm to indicate the door. “After you.” His tone is not terribly gracious.

Gathering my dignity and the folds of my skirt, I climb out from the carriage, grateful for the footman’s hand. It’s gloomier here than I remember from previous visits. A fine mist obscures all but the nearest lanterns lining the long pier. I can scarcely discern the rocky shore at all. I shiver, pulling my cloak a little closer. Vivid memory of the first time I stood here, on this very pier, before this very carriage, creeps over me. How frightened I’d been then, on my way to the unknown and terrifying Doomed City. Now I’d give just about anything to climb back into that carriage and order the driver to carry me back across the water, back to the familiarity of the haunted library and the streets full of antagonistic zealot trolls. Vespre is where my children are. Vespre is where Lir is, and Mixael, and Khas, and . . . and . . .

I huff out a little breath. It curls in the air before my lips. Time to pull myself together. The Prince climbs down from the carriage behind me. I don’t give him so much as a look. Instead, I turn to the driver. “Please, await our return. I don’t expect to be long.”

The driver’s craggy brow puckers under his incongruous top hat. He casts the Prince a glance. The Prince shrugs and says only, “Do as the lady bids.” His voice seems to ripple down the back of my neck.

Shivering, still refusing to look his way, I hasten down the pier. Mist parts before me, almost too eagerly. Like the whole of Noxaur is ready to draw me in before swallowing me whole. But I hear the Prince’s footstepsthunkagainst the wooden planks at my back and take heart. His Obligation will keep him near. I needn’t face this peril alone.

I reach the end of the pier and step down among the rocks along the shore. The ground is so uneven, and the mist makes it more difficult to navigate than usual. Watching eyes peer out at me from crevices and hidey-holes, but any time I turn to look directly, they’re gone. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the beach was deserted. But I’ve lived in Eledria long enough to know that wherever you go, whatever you do, danger—whether or great or small—always lurks just around the next corner.

I take a step onto what I think is a rock. It lurches abruptly underfoot. A yelp bursts from my lips, and I stagger, stumble . . . only to land with my back against a broad chest. Strong hands close around my upper arms. My nostrils fill with a heady perfume, that mix of leather and ink and exotic spices I know so well.

“Careful, Darling,” the Prince murmurs in my ear. “Best not to step on acratumal. They’ll bite your ankles.”

I watch wide-eyed as webbed feet stick out from under a craggy domed shell. The creature is as big as a giant tortoise but with long, strangely humanoid limbs and a head full of shaggy hair. It turns slowly, slowly. Hair parts to reveal a positively ancient face. At first glance, one might think it’s a very old man. A second glance, however, and it’s impossible to look past that massive, rock-hard jaw. If it did indeed catch one of my ankles, it would snap my foot right off.

The creature blinks, it’s old eyes dull, disinterested. Then, still with painful slowness, it turns away and ponderously moves off through the rocks. Soon mist closes around it, concealing it from view. And I remain where I am, pressed against the Prince’s chest. His cloak is partially wrapped around me, and it’s nice here, in the circle of his arms. Warm and safe and secure.

I grit my teeth and push away. Without a word or a look back at him, I continue across the beach, avoiding the larger rocks, stumbling on ragged stones. I’m cold but . . . but I shake that feeling away and concentrate on climbing to higher ground above the beach. When I finally achieve the top of the sand bank, a night-bound landscape beneath a starry, moonless sky spreads before me.

The Prince steps onto the rise beside me, standing with his hands clasped at the small of his back. He’s silent at first. Then: “Now what?”

I wet my cold, chapped lips. “Do you know the way to Lord Vokarum’s house?”

Another silence. He’s fighting the Obligation, trying not to answer. But he must help me see this quest through to the end. Which means he cannot refuse to answer a pertinent question. Finally, he grunts in grudging affirmation.

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