Following distantly behind him was the second man, a little younger, but much shorter and with half the build. He moved with halting steps, every crack of a twig beneath his feet requiring a pause to catch his breath. He was my target.
As soon as he passed me, I stepped out from the trees and grabbed one arm, then held the knife against his shoulder, pressing downward.
"Let us go!" I shouted. "Or I will kill your man!"
"There you are, my lady." The man speaking for the Coracks dipped his head at me. "I believe your problem is that you have only one of my people to kill, and I have two of yours. Do the math."
Darrow had a bow hidden near his feet with a black disk already loaded against the string. He used the distraction to slowly reach for it, but before he could straighten up, a rebel's silver disk sliced Darrow deep across his gut. He crumpled and fell to the ground, blood spilling from his wound.
I screamed and stabbed the man in my grip, though my aim hadn't been as lethal as I'd wanted. I ran forward, determined to go down fighting if they attacked me too. Then Darrow's suffering cry echoed in the darkness and I stopped. We had cauterizing powder in the carriage. I had a chance to save Darrow, and to rescue Celia. But not by fighting.
"Drop that knife!" someone yelled at me. "Or we will kill this one too!" He held a blade near Celia's throat. The whites of her eyes had widened with horror.
"Release her, and let me save my driver," I countered. "Then I will drop the knife!"
Someone grabbed me from behind, and a blade pressed against my neck. "No," a voice hissed. "You're no longer giving the orders, Princess. Drop your knife."
It was enough effort just to keep myself standing. For three years in the Lava Fields, I had longed for more adventure, for any excitement beyond what Cook made for dinner or what Celia bought at market. Now that I had it, all I wanted was to return to that place and be forgotten once more.
I dropped the knife and closed my eyes.
Three years of Darrow's training, and a missed opportunity to escape. This was my own fault. I had just become a captive of the Corack rebellion.
Corack was the name of a weed that grew plentifully throughout Antora. It was brambly and dense and nearly impossible to get rid of except by fire. Thus the reason the rebels had adopted the name.
They are weeds, I told myself as the rebel at my back pushed me toward the man on the horse, the obvious leader. He's only a weed.
"Get her on her knees," the leader ordered.
"No!" I shouted. "First you must help my driver, Darrow. There's some cauterizing powder inside the carriage. If he dies, you might as well kill me too, because I won't cooperate." Darrow was somewhere behind me in the darkness, groaning with pain. I couldn't bear to hear it.
"We also have your other servant, the girl." The leader leaned forward in his saddle. "Does she matter?"
"Please do what I ask." I'd beg if he required that of me. "Darrow will die if you don't help him."
With a flick of the leader's head, a girl with dark hair ducked inside my carriage and came out a minute later with the sack of powder. I wasn't sure if she'd know how to use it. The powder was only available to loyalists to the Dominion. As soon as she knelt beside Darrow to begin attending to the wound, the leader dismounted. He was shorter than most of the men around him and of lean build, but every part of him exuded strength. He must have lost his right leg below the knee at some point, because it was now replaced with a gold-toned mechanical leg fitted with gears and tubes for fluid movement. With keen eyes, a closely trimmed graying beard, and faded scars on his neck and across one cheek, it was clear this man was not to be toyed with.
The rebel standing at my rear pinned my arms behind my back, forcing me to hunch over a little. I still stood as tall as I could, hoping to intimidate these people, and knowing it likely wouldn't work.
"My name is Captain Grey Tenger. I am the leader of the Coracks." His voice was calm, dispassionate. It gave me little to work with. "And you are Kestra Dallisor."
"If you want a ransom, I'm the worst possible target. My father would pay more for you to keep me away." That's exactly what he'd already done to my servants in the Lava Fields. Paid them to keep me as far from home as possible.
"We're not here for a ransom," Tenger said. "But it's helpful to know that you and your father are not on the best of terms."
That was an understatement. "Anything you want from me, your threats to Darrow are enough to get it. There's no need to hold my handmaiden too."
"Everyone you care about is useful to me." Tenger took a lock of my hair that had come loose and raised his knife, slicing off the end of it.
"Troll," I breathed out.
"Murderer," he replied.
"I'm nothing of the sort, you foul-smelling pig!"
"Just like a Dallisor. Always wanting the last word." He tucked the lock of my hair into a pocket of his vest. "We know the kind of person you are, my lady. We're not stupid."
I smirked. "Aren't you? If Lord Endrick was eager to mop the earth with your blood before, what will he do if you kill the daughter of a Dallisor?"
He gestured to his golden leg. "Probably finish what the Dominion started here." If that was supposed to be humor, it was crass, and his smile was wolfish. "Besides, Lord Endrick won't know this conversation has happened, not until it's too late." When I remained silent, he added, "Your father is Henry Dallisor, enforcer of Dominion crimes, murderer of innocents, and chief footstool for the tyrant, Lord Endrick."
"Don't you say another word about my father!" I could think whatever I wanted about him, but I'd defend him to his enemies with my final breath.
However, I couldn't, and wouldn't, defend Lord Endrick. The darkness surrounding him was tangible, and terrible. Endrick had taken power shortly before my birth and to do so, he had all but destroyed the Banished and everyone who stood with them. The Scarlet Throne of Antora, once a symbol of honor and nobility, had become the blood throne of Lord Endrick, who wielded an iron fist against anyone who defied him. Most Antorans believed he was immortal, or close to it. To serve such a man, my father had to prove himself equally strong. He did not tolerate weakness in his servants.
Or his daughter. I had to be strong, now more than ever before.
Celia was still on her knees near me. The oropod closest to her was craning its leathery green head toward her scent, but if she remained in place, she'd be safe. Farther off, the Coracks were preparing to carry Darrow away. A silver line had raised along his wound, so at least they had figured out how to use the powder. But if these rebels weren't careful, the wound would tear again.
"Let me talk to my driver," I begged. "Please."
Tenger gestured his permission and I quickly ran to Darrow's side, kneeling beside him on the cold ground. I touched my hand to his cheek, brushing away the dirt that was bound to the skin with his sweat and tears. Panic began to overtake me. What if he died? There was so much more blood than I'd thought.
"You're going to be all right." He'd know I was only saying that to make him feel better, but maybe I needed to hear the lie more than he did.
"I'm fine." He drew in a sharp gasp. "It's not as bad as it looks."
Now he was lying. I didn't know what to do. Fear swelled in my chest, choking off my breathing.
He touched my arm. "Listen to me. You will get through this, Kestra. Be smart. Be strong."
"No, I can't--"
"They'll say terrible things about you. Don't listen. And whatever they want ... do not help them."
Tears filled my eyes, blurring Darrow in my vision, which was the last thing I wanted. I needed to see his face, needed to remember him more clearly than this. "If I don't, they'll kill you and Celia!"
"A small price ... to save Antora." His breaths were shallow and obviously came with great pain. "I loved you as Henry Dallisor should have done. I'm so sorry ..." His consciousness was fading, which terrified me, and though his chest still rose and fell, I felt his life fading too. He tried to co
ntinue, but the rebel who had held me before pulled me back to my feet with an unforgiving grip. Or, rather, it was a grip I would never forgive. What if Darrow died? What if that was my last moment with him and these monsters couldn't even let him finish his sentence?
To the men surrounding Darrow, Tenger said, "Put him in the back of our wagon. Take her servant girl too."
"Kestra!" Celia cried out as the rebels took her by the arms and pulled her deeper into the darkness. "Kestra, help me!"
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Within seconds, they had dragged Celia from my sight, though I still heard her muffled sobs, each cry ripping at my heart. Darrow was lifted by his legs and arms, a cruel way to treat a man with injuries such as his. They didn't care. They had me alone now.
Tenger said to the rebel behind me, "Simon, search her for any weapons, and hurry."
"No!" I tried wrenching free, but this rebel--Simon--and his knife were uncompromising. "How dare you do this?"
"How dare I?" Tenger pointed at the man whom I had stabbed. The girl who had treated Darrow was using the last of the cauterizing powder on his wound. My powder, which should have been saved in case Darrow needed more. "That's my man, Pell, and until you put a knife in his shoulder, he was a vital part of tonight's plan. You're no better than we are, my lady. Search her."
Simon ordered me to turn around and face him. When I did, I was surprised to find that he wasn't much older than me, maybe seventeen or eighteen. His hair was a darker shade of brown than mine, and closely cropped on the sides, but longer on top with a fringe of hair near his forehead that I suspected was often out of place. If he were a higher form of life than a Corack, his strong, square jawline might have been considered attractive. His brown eyes were striking, with thick lashes that gave them prominence, I'd give him that much. Something was familiar about those eyes, though I couldn't place the memory. But I would, eventually.
He raised a hand, clearly hesitant to conduct the search, and I made certain to glare directly at him, hoping to shame him. He started where it was easiest, with a leather band around my wrist that crossed the back of my hand with cording, and was held in place by rings on three of my fingers.
"What's this?" he asked.
"Jewelry, nothing more." Since that was one of the larger lies I would probably have to tell tonight, I had to be convincing. This glove had been a gift from Darrow when he was first teaching me to use a sword. It had been his own glove before that, though he'd never explained how he had come to possess one. Grip gloves were rare, powered through the grace of Lord Endrick's magic, and considered valuable since wearing it gave its bearer extra strength in the hand. I hoped Simon didn't know that.
He grunted. "Only a Dallisor would consider a grip glove an item of jewelry."
So he did know. I cursed under my breath while he pulled the lacing, loosening the glove and then removing it from my wrist. He passed it to Tenger, who immediately began fastening it on his own hand.
Simon continued with my hair, possibly checking for hidden pins that might be sharpened to a fine point. I had none, but once this was over, I planned to have some made. Next, he pushed back my cloak, his rough hands grazing my skin. In this dress, my shoulders were bare except for two straps of my shift. He ignored them, instead running hands down my sleeves. He also avoided my back and sides. The tight fabric of my corset would make hiding a weapon nearly impossible.
"Enjoying this?" My tone was as bitter as I felt.
"I'd rather search a bear."
"I wish you would. If I'd known this was coming, I'd have brought one along."
"But you didn't know, because we outsmarted you." For the first time, he looked directly at me. His smile was triumphant. Arrogant. It wouldn't look that way during his execution. He pointed to my boots. "Remove them."
"You do it." All the easier to kick him if he got into the right position.
And that's when the memory nagged at me again. There had been a Simon years ago, when I was a child. That boy lived at Woodcourt as a servant, and had been one of the rare children near my own age I ever saw. We hadn't been friends, my father never would have allowed that. But we were ... something like friends. It didn't matter anyway. This couldn't be that scraggly boy. That was impossible. Wasn't it?
He frowned and knelt before me, unlacing each boot until he could fit his fingers inside to check for any weapons. I clenched my jaw, determined to endure this last part with some shred of dignity. He reached up over the top of my skirts to feel for my legs, running his hands down the left first, and then the right. On my right thigh, he paused.
"What's that?"
"It's not a weapon."
"But it could hold one. Give it to me."
"That's indecent."
"You can fetch it, or I will. Your choice, Princess."
My choice? Like, did I prefer to die by hanging or beheading? Did I prefer the taste of hemlock or mandrake? Were my feelings about Coracks closer to loathing or hatred?
I turned away from the rebels, lifting my skirts only as much as was necessary to roll the garter down my leg and over my boot. I handed it to Simon with a glare that could have melted iron. I was still afraid--it'd be foolish not to be--but I was far more angry.
Simon stood and passed the garter to Tenger with a report that I had no weapons with me. Maybe I didn't now, but I'd get one as soon as possible.
And when I did, I already knew my first target.
The boy my father had somehow failed to kill when he'd had the chance.
Satisfied that I was unarmed, Tenger put my garter in his vest pocket, then gestured toward my carriage. "Perhaps you and I can continue this conversation in private."
Alone? My stomach twisted. "I won't go in there with you."
"You will, my lady."
Simon took my arm, but I twisted against his grip and got one hand free, which I used to swing at his face. I sideswiped his jaw, an indirect hit that didn't do nearly as much damage as I'd hoped. In the process, I tripped over my unlaced boots and fell to the ground, causing every rebel in the group to burst out with laughter.
Feeling the heat of embarrassment, I kept my head down and started to lace up my right boot. Simon was ordered beside me to lace up the left.
"Do you know me?" I asked him.
Without offering a shred of recognition, he returned the question. "Do you know me?"
"Simon ..." His full name clicked into my mind. "Hatch." He looked up, startled. "You're supposed to be dead. My father ordered your hanging."
"Your father ordered an eleven-year-old boy to be hanged." He made no effort to hide his bitterness. "I was eleven. Let that sink in, Princess."
I was no princess, and he knew it. If he meant to demean me with such a word, it was unnecessary. I was already humiliated enough.
Once my boots were laced, Simon offered me a hand up but I refused it, testing to see what would happen if I ignored their orders.
"You'll walk to the carriage, or I'll drag you there," he said. "I don't care which it is."
I looked again for Celia and Darrow, but both had been removed from my sight. To Tenger, I said, "Guarantee my servants' lives."
He casually waved off that demand. "We'll treat your driver's wound, or dump him by the side of the road, as we please. If you resist, your maid will be next to suffer. Do not try to trick us."
I wouldn't try to trick them, I had to succeed at it. But not enough to endanger Celia's and Darrow's lives. I got to my feet, then we walked past the area where Darrow had fallen. The cloying scent of his blood overpowered me and I retched.
I should've run before. If I had, maybe they'd have left Darrow and Celia alone and only gone after me.
Or maybe they'd have killed them both first. My servants were alive and needed to remain that way. I had to remember that.
Tenger entered my carriage first, then offered a hand to help me inside. I brushed it aside and climbed in on my own. Simon began to close the door behind us, but Tenger
said, "No, I want you in here."
Simon groaned softly, then climbed in after me. I took a seat opposite Tenger, who was in the center of his bench, the same spots Celia and I had occupied only minutes ago. Simon sat beside me, gripping my arm again.
I shook it free. "Where will I run in here, you imbecile?"
Meanwhile, Tenger brushed his hands over the clearstone, warming the gem enough to raise its light. The clearstone's glow did little more than set his and Simon's faces into sharp, menacing shadows. I took the opposite tack, giving the impression of the least threatening girl in Antora, slouching so low in my seat that every governess from my past would have simultaneously shuddered in horror. But underplaying the moment would be Darrow's recommendation.
Tenger clasped his hands together. I hoped that with the grip glove on, he'd accidentally squeeze his left hand off. No such luck there. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his legs. "It's been three years since you were in Highwyn. Why were you sent away?"
My mouth opened, long enough to consider hurling an insult at him. But in the end, I figured that even if it made me feel better, it wouldn't improve my situation.
"Surely you know," I said. "I was kidnapped by the Banished."
"They are the Halderians."
My jaw tightened. "They are the Banished. They lost the war and lost the right to their name."
"You will refer to them as Halderians or I will have your heart banished from your chest."
"I'd prefer to keep my heart where it is, thanks." I drew in a slow breath to cool my temper, then said, "After escaping from the Halderians, I was sent away for my own protection."
In appearance, there was little to distinguish the Halderian clan from my family, or from other Antorans, though Darrow used to claim he could "just tell." Most Dallisors believed the Halderians were soft and feckless. The Halderians accused my family of brutality and paranoia. I figured the truth was somewhere in the middle. The Dallisors were cruel because Lord Endrick required it. And the Halderians were hardly weak. I knew that firsthand.
My kidnapping was their first major strike against the Dallisors since the War of Devastation, so called because of its utter brutality. Months into the war, the Halderians, led by King Gareth, seemed certain to win. As a final effort to reclaim the throne, the Dallisors chose the unthinkable, to unite with the Endreans, a people who'd rarely emerged from the Watchman Mountains before then. The Endreans were few in number but had something that would change the course of the war: magic. Most powerful among them was Endrick, who, unbeknownst to everyone, planned to do more than help the Dallisors win the war. By the time the war ended, he intended to rule all of Antora, my family included. Once the Endreans joined the fight, the Halderians were crushed, their King Gareth disappeared, and his few surviving subjects were scattered across the land or lived in exile in the farthest reaches of Antora, hence their name, the Banished. To be a Halderian now was a death sentence. Or, at least, that was the price paid by those who had kidnapped me three years ago. My father made sure of that.