Page 14 of Light Locked
It was to purge the living blood of the human race. That was what mothers told their children when they asked about the crate. Some human beings had to be outcast to ensure the health of the city, like a limb amputated to cease infection. She’d be cast over the wall into the forests outside and would share the fate of rapists and murderers. Her body would be eaten by the forest beasts, never to be seen again.
Her body would be eaten.
Clea slammed her back into the boards behind her, bracing herself as she delivered a shout and kick to the boards at her feet.
With every blow, flashes of the king’s corpse and her own demise resurfaced intrusively in her mind. Flashes of her mother’s death followed. Clea remembered escaping for her life, bright lights breaking through the reaping shade horde she’d left behind, like lightning through storm clouds.
It had been three years, and here she was, still running for her life.
“I’m not!” she shouted through the cloth in her mouth as she kicked the boards again. “Dying!” She drove both feet forward and locked her legs. “Like this!” Her hips hovered, shoulders and heels pressed hard against either side of the crate. A sore breath wrestled in her chest until she collapsed with the exhale, curling up against the floor as she buried her head in her elbow.
King Odell was dead, the other Veilin poisoned, the royal guard infected. The Deadlock Medallion would lead to the city’s collapse. Her mother had predicted as much.
At least she hadn’t seen any golden doors yet.
Her own attempt at a joke made her want to groan aloud.
The crate jerked to a halt and lowered to the ground, the soldiers exchanging comments between the rattling of chains across the surface of the boards. They spoke as if chatting about any old thing, their minds completely numb to what they were doing now while they discussed their day, their families, their jobs.
“One of the chain hooks broke off. I thought you checked it this morning? The one on this side is missing,” one of the soldiers said abruptly.
“Everything was fine this morning. I’ll check the storage shed,” the other one said, followed by fading footfalls. He soon shouted something from what she assumed was the storage shed, and the second soldier released an impatient scoff before marching off.
In their absence, she slammed against the crate door overhead. Once, twice, three times—the door wouldn’t budge. On a fourth attempt, the door burst open as someone unlocked it from the other side. Light flooded in, and an armored soldier leaned over her. She flinched away before the soldier crawled into the crate with her and slammed the top shut. Her eyes widened.
She felt a wave of cien wash over her as the man shifted into a comfortable position on the other side. He shoved a large bag into a corner and reached for her face. She pressed her head into the corner of the crate, squirming away from him as she drove her feet toward his chest.
He deflected her bound feet with one of his hands, whipping her sideways before grabbing her shirt and dragging her toward him. Clea squirmed until he ripped off the cloth that covered her mouth.
“Quietly,” he whispered.
She looked past the grates in the helmet to see two silver eyes, flickering like glimmering coins in the shadow.
“Ryson?” she blurted out, recognizing his voice.
He slammed his hand over her mouth, knocking her head back against the crate wall as his gaze shot back toward the top of the crate. She glared daggers as he listened for the soldiers, but if he noticed, he paid her no mind. He withdrew his hand and removed a knife from a scabbard on his calf. One by one, he sliced her bonds and freed her hands.
“Are you naturally so violent?” Her furious whisper chased his hand off her mouth. She fully prepared to bite it.
“Yes,” he said.
“Don’t handle me like I’m an animal.” She rubbed her wrists to return circulation.
“Did you want me to ask for permission to save your life?” he shot back as if he were irritated by the very act of saving her, and she stared, unsure of how to reply to the insolence she found so unfamiliar.
Ryson reached for the large leather bag he had brought and tossed it to her. She found bundles of clothes inside.
She fished a chain out from the clothes and found the Deadlock Medallion hanging on it. This was the source of the dark energy that had followed him. Clea stared at it in shock.
“How did you—”
“Shh.” His focus remained on her feet as he cut them loose.
“But how did you—”
“Shh!”
The second time it sounded more like a feline hiss.
