Page 17 of When the Wicked Sing
Lifting her hand, she felt a small dart and pulled it out with a hiss. It was a small wooden needle tipped with her blood.
Her eyes shot upward as everything began to blur. Then it dawned on her that as the wound healed, the poison—now coursing through her veins—was being sealed inside her.
Shit.
She tried and failed to get up off the sand, stumbling and rolling onto her back. The poison that infected her blood was weakening her. Mariana gasped, clawing at the sand as a dark-hooded figure loomed over her. A reaper ready to take a life.
Mariana silently prayed for it to be quick as darkness swept her away.
Chapter 9
DarknesswrappedaroundMarianalike a shroud, muting her senses as whispered words brushed against her ears, barely more than a breath on the wind. She strained to open her eyes, but the voices grew louder, more insistent, as if someone was racing past her, their hot breath grazing her skin.
“Listen.”
“Unleash it.”
“Feel it within you.”
Mariana shook her head, fighting the fog that clung to her thoughts, and forced her eyes open. A thick, swirling mist clung to her skin, wrapping around her like a living thing. She struggled to catch her breath, her pulse quickening as a figure slowly emerged from the haze, moving toward her with deliberate steps. The closer the figure came, the harder it was for her to remain still, her heart thundering in her chest.
“Who are you?” she whispered, her voice trembling with uncertainty.
A strange sense of detachment washed over her, as if she were floating outside her body. Her limbs felt numb, and a chill hadseeped into her bones. Was this the afterlife? Was the figure approaching her the Goddess Amphitrite?
Tears welled in her eyes, her throat tightening painfully. Confusion, anger, and a bittersweet happiness crashed over her, overwhelming her as the figure drew nearer. Panic clawed at her soul, the thought of never seeing her family again threatening to break her. But a voice deep within urged her to stay strong, to pull herself together.
She wiped her eyes, trying to focus, but the figure remained blurred, its edges fading into the fog.
“The time has come. You must listen,” the figure said, its voice distant yet soothing, a melody she couldn’t place but felt she had heard before.
Mariana struggled to make sense of the words. “Listen?” Her voice echoed strangely into the surrounding mist.
“Let it guide you. Listen, and you will be free.”
Suddenly, a blinding white light seared her eyes, forcing them shut as her body began to fall into a vast emptiness.
Then, gradually, the world came back into focus. The cold, damp air filled her lungs as she opened her eyes, blinking up at a canopy of trees. Moonlight filtered through the swaying branches, casting shifting shadows on the forest floor.
What in the blazing sun …?
She tried to lift her hands to shield her eyes, only to find them bound tightly at the wrists. Her pulse quickened, a sharp, suffocating pressure tightening in her chest as she strained against the ropes, her breaths shallow and uneven.
This wasn’t a dream.
She lay on a bed of pine needles and damp moss, the chill of the forest floor seeping into her bones. She struggled to sit up but found her ankles bound. A warm hand pressed against her back, helping her rise. The hooded figure she had seen before she lost consciousness loomed over her, its presence as ominous as the darkness surrounding them.
“What … what did you do to me?” Mariana stammered, her voice weak as nausea roiled in her stomach. She turned away, gagging as she emptied what little was in her stomach onto the ground. When she was finished, she wiped her mouth with the back of her bound hands, grimacing at the mess.
Settling against a tree, she surveyed her surroundings with wary eyes. They were in a forest, that much she was sure. The air carried a slight chill that suggested they were farther north than she had expected. The moon was dipping below the horizon, a sign that she had been unconscious for hours.
Glancing down, she inspected the ropes binding her wrists and ankles as her captor rummaged through a leather bag. She dug her nails into the silky white rope around her ankles, but it held firm, resisting her attempts to loosen it.
“Don’t touch that,” the hooded figure demanded, his deep voice startling her. He held out a waterskin, but his face remained hidden beneath his hood. All she could see was the stubble on his jaw. “Here, drink.”
She hesitated. Her throat was parched, but fear kept her from accepting the offer. The memory of the drug he had used to knock her out was still fresh.
With an irritated sigh, he took a long swig from the waterskin himself, the moonlight briefly illuminating a strong, shadowedjaw, before he held it out to her again. Reluctantly, Mariana snatched it from his hand, drinking deeply until he took it back.
