Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Wincing, I zoomed my gaze to the chicken. She puffed out her chest as if she were the one in charge. I admired her total lack of fear.
I could almost hear Jasher’s voice in my head. Don’t you dare name it.
I’d call her Cluck Cluck.
“I’m probably the one on the chopping block, not you,” I whispered. Before, I’d tangled with an entire village of trappers, barely escaping with my limbs.
For a moment, the past superseded the present. I saw former prisoners chained. Wounded men, women, and children missing body parts and any hint of hope. Saw the death of a wonderful old man who helped facilitate my escape with a newborn rabdog. A pup I’d had the privilege of raising into a ferocious beast. Nugget had been my baby in every way that mattered. He’d saved my life a time or two. I missed him greatly.
My ribs squeezed. “What do you see outside?” I quietly asked Cluck Cluck. Her crate perched atop a vegetable carton, giving her a better view.
She turned her head away, dismissing me.
Fine. I worked myself into a kneeling position. Oh! My backpack lay near the wagon’s edge. Out of my reach. No matter. I’d find a way to retrieve it once I gained my bearings.
The world outside inspired another groan from me. Not just a forest, but Lawless Forest, where any crime could be committed at any time without repercussion. Trees abounded, each streaked with soot, their gnarled branches devoid of leaves. A second wagon trailed mine, two fur-clad men driving it as well. Was Jasher inside it?
“Who are you?” I whisper-demanded to the drivers. Wait. During my previous visit, monstra had roamed nowhere outside of a rainstorm. Had these men lied to keep me docile? “Where’s my friend?” I asked with a little more volume. “Where are you taking me?”
Both men went rigid. The guy who’d spoken earlier withdrew a sword, darting his gaze, as if he truly expected a threat to appear. The other guy urged the horses into a faster trot. Okay, so, maybe they hadn’t lied.
As quietly as possible, I fought harder against my bindings. Contorting. Shifting. Trying to saw the rope against a nail. Nothing helped.
Last time I was here, my mother’s ring had appeared on my finger, warming and strengthening me, even sometimes causing that beautiful golden armor to cover me. Wiggling at my finger, I waited, hoping, praying. Alas.
We sailed through a wall of shimmering, jelly-like air, leaving the burnt remains of Lawless Forest behind, entering a thriving village circled by lush trees. In a blink, the air felt warmer. Safer. A cornucopia of conversations erupted.
The wagons stopped, and I scanned. Okay, so, not exactly thriving as I’d assumed. Huts and tents in need of repair clustered on one side. In the center, a boar-like creature roasted over a fire pit. A beastie. On the other side, half-starved men, women, and children watched the animal spin, unabashedly drooling.
Many women and children rushed over, reaching for the chicken and vegetables. Poor Cluck Cluck. She was indeed on the menu.
As soon as I was noticed, gasps and whispers of “water maiden” rang out.
“Where’s Gerald?” one of the drivers asked the crowd.
“In his hut,” someone called.
The crowd gathered the tainted vegetables as if they were priceless treasures.
“Hands off! That’s mine,” I rushed out when someone lifted my backpack.
To my shock, the culprit dropped the bag as if it were toxic.
The drivers dismounted and came around. One collected my property.
The other man helped me out, surprisingly gentle. “I apologize for the bindings, Oracle,” he said, not freeing my arms, “but we were told to leave them on you until you made a promise to our leader not to run.”
An awful suspicion rose. “And who told you this?” Without the sides of the wagon and what little warmth the blanket provided, icy winds hit full force. A thousand little needles stung every inch of bared skin. And there was a lot of bared skin. I still wore my mother’s blue sundress.
“Your queen.”
I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Ding, ding, ding. Suspicion confirmed. Elowen.
Four men dragged Jasher from the other wagon, and I huffed with relief. Breath misted in front of my face. He still wore his wrist shackles, plus extra chains, and now snarled with fury, fighting against his captors, but he was here, alive, and well.
“—weapons just appeared,” a trapper was telling another. “I took them twice, and three times they returned, strapped to his back.”
Jasher kept his gaze straight ahead, off me and everyone else. Steam curled from his nostrils.
The drivers gripped my biceps and guided me forward, away from the half-shifted monstra.
“Stop!” I demanded when the four yanked Jasher in the opposite direction. “He’s mine. Bring him back! Don’t you dare harm him.”
They ignored me. Jasher did, too. My captors forced me toward the largest hut, not slowing when my feet tripped over themselves. Protective instincts demanded I keep fighting, but my mind shouted, Wait.