one will much care if she doesn’t last long
enough for the rope, but it’s as much as my life is worth to let
her go beyond these walls. She’s dangerous!”
“I do truly hope so,” the vampire said
oddly.
A beefy hand fell on his shoulder. “If ye
want to make a meal off her, that’s one thing. But all the gold in
yer purse won’t save me once they discover—”
In an eye blink, the guard was slammed
against the wall, held several feet off the floor by the slim hand
around his throat. “Perhaps you should be more concerned about your
immediate future,” the vampire said softly.
Gillian didn’t wait to see who would win the
argument over which one would be allowed to kill her. The soggy
threads finally came apart in her mouth and she spat them out. But
with no saliva left, and a throat still throbbing from the elbow
blow it had taken days ago, she couldn’t speak. She swallowed
convulsively and concentrated everything on making some kind of
sound—anything.
An incantation rolled off her tongue. It was
a dry whisper, but it was enough. With a rusty creak, the shackles
parted around her wrists and ankles, and she was free.
Her limbs were stiff and uncoordinated, and
her head was spinning from the power loss. But then she caught
sight of Eleanor and nothing else mattered. She lurched forward in
a scrambling crawl, making it a few yards before rough hosed legs
blocked the way.
“Where d’ye think you’re going?” the other
guard demanded, grabbing her by the back of the collar. She slung a
spell at him, but the angle was off and it missed, exploding
against the low ceiling of the room.
Had the roof been in proper repair, the spell
would have either dissipated or ricocheted back, depending on how
much power she had been able to muster. But whoever owned this heap
of stones before the Circle had skimped on repairs, and the once
stout wood had seen one too many winters. What felt like half the
roof suddenly rained down on their heads, sending her stumbling
back and burying the guard under a pile of weathered beams.
Gillian clutched the wall, blinking in the
wash of brilliant sunlight that streamed through the ruined roof.
It was blinding after two days of almost complete darkness, and the
struggle with the guard had disoriented her. She was no longer sure
where Elinor was, and when she tried to move forward, she was
battered by screaming, panicked women, on all sides.
“Elinor!” she yelled as loudly as her parched
throat would allow, but there was no answer.
Her eyes finally adjusted and she caught a
glimpse of her daughter’s slight form huddled against one wall. She
was rocking slightly, staring at nothing, her hands bound to an
iron ring. Gillian crawled over and started to work the leather
bindings on her wrists off. They were so tight that the circulation
to her hands had been partially cut off and her small fingers were
swollen like sausages.
Elinor didn’t fight her, although she
couldn’t have seen much through the glare or heard her mother’s
whispered assurances over the din. She was trembling from a
combination of exhaustion, shock and fear. Dark blue rings stained
her eyes and her beautiful blond hair hung limp and lifeless, like
her expression.
The last stubborn strap came loose and
Gillian pulled her daughter into her arms. She started to rise when
one of the bound figures on the floor rolled into her, struggling
in vain to throw off her bonds. The old woman was in irons and
gagged, as Gillian had been, with no chance to escape if she
couldn’t speak.
Gillian pulled a disgusting scrap of cloth
out of her mouth, to give her a fighting chance, while scanning the
room for any way out besides the door. “Release me,” the woman
gasped, on a rattling breath.
“Release yourself, old mother,” Gillian told
her distractedly. “I need what strength I have left.”
She could already hear soldiers on the run,
thudding their way up the tower’s wooden steps. There was only one
way
enough for the rope, but it’s as much as my life is worth to let
her go beyond these walls. She’s dangerous!”
“I do truly hope so,” the vampire said
oddly.
A beefy hand fell on his shoulder. “If ye
want to make a meal off her, that’s one thing. But all the gold in
yer purse won’t save me once they discover—”
In an eye blink, the guard was slammed
against the wall, held several feet off the floor by the slim hand
around his throat. “Perhaps you should be more concerned about your
immediate future,” the vampire said softly.
Gillian didn’t wait to see who would win the
argument over which one would be allowed to kill her. The soggy
threads finally came apart in her mouth and she spat them out. But
with no saliva left, and a throat still throbbing from the elbow
blow it had taken days ago, she couldn’t speak. She swallowed
convulsively and concentrated everything on making some kind of
sound—anything.
An incantation rolled off her tongue. It was
a dry whisper, but it was enough. With a rusty creak, the shackles
parted around her wrists and ankles, and she was free.
Her limbs were stiff and uncoordinated, and
her head was spinning from the power loss. But then she caught
sight of Eleanor and nothing else mattered. She lurched forward in
a scrambling crawl, making it a few yards before rough hosed legs
blocked the way.
“Where d’ye think you’re going?” the other
guard demanded, grabbing her by the back of the collar. She slung a
spell at him, but the angle was off and it missed, exploding
against the low ceiling of the room.
Had the roof been in proper repair, the spell
would have either dissipated or ricocheted back, depending on how
much power she had been able to muster. But whoever owned this heap
of stones before the Circle had skimped on repairs, and the once
stout wood had seen one too many winters. What felt like half the
roof suddenly rained down on their heads, sending her stumbling
back and burying the guard under a pile of weathered beams.
Gillian clutched the wall, blinking in the
wash of brilliant sunlight that streamed through the ruined roof.
It was blinding after two days of almost complete darkness, and the
struggle with the guard had disoriented her. She was no longer sure
where Elinor was, and when she tried to move forward, she was
battered by screaming, panicked women, on all sides.
“Elinor!” she yelled as loudly as her parched
throat would allow, but there was no answer.
Her eyes finally adjusted and she caught a
glimpse of her daughter’s slight form huddled against one wall. She
was rocking slightly, staring at nothing, her hands bound to an
iron ring. Gillian crawled over and started to work the leather
bindings on her wrists off. They were so tight that the circulation
to her hands had been partially cut off and her small fingers were
swollen like sausages.
Elinor didn’t fight her, although she
couldn’t have seen much through the glare or heard her mother’s
whispered assurances over the din. She was trembling from a
combination of exhaustion, shock and fear. Dark blue rings stained
her eyes and her beautiful blond hair hung limp and lifeless, like
her expression.
The last stubborn strap came loose and
Gillian pulled her daughter into her arms. She started to rise when
one of the bound figures on the floor rolled into her, struggling
in vain to throw off her bonds. The old woman was in irons and
gagged, as Gillian had been, with no chance to escape if she
couldn’t speak.
Gillian pulled a disgusting scrap of cloth
out of her mouth, to give her a fighting chance, while scanning the
room for any way out besides the door. “Release me,” the woman
gasped, on a rattling breath.
“Release yourself, old mother,” Gillian told
her distractedly. “I need what strength I have left.”
She could already hear soldiers on the run,
thudding their way up the tower’s wooden steps. There was only one
way
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