Klaus didn’t move.
Martka Gabika’s cold eyes fixed on her—and then the Martka’s shout split the night. “Fae!”
The two Kňazer and their four acolytes came running. Eyes wide with shock and fear, they crashed into her.
She toppled over and smacked her head onto the broken cobbles. Fiery-pain ricocheted through her skull. Stars flashed before her eyes, and dust coated her tongue.
A fist crashed into her jaw.
Dazed, she hadn’t seen it coming.
Two acolytes stomped on her ankles. It was as if scalding metal shards speared from them, along her shins to her thighs. Her breath was stolen from her for a moment. When it returned, it brought a chilling scream.
“Bind her!” an icy voice said.
Move! She had to move.
She’d barely started wriggling when someone flipped her over like a sausage in a pan. Manacles clamped on her wrists. Chains jerked and clanged as a second pair were shoved over her muddy red boots.
“Leave her alone!” Klaus yelled. He struggled to reach her in the crush of acolytes. “She’s done nothing. It was him. The fae with the blue eyes. He did this to her.”
An acolyte punched Klaus hard enough to send him shooting across the square, arms pinwheeling in a desperate effort to stay upright.
Swearing, Stasha struggled against her manacles as Klaus was dragged away. “Leave him alone! He’s done nothing wrong.”
A Kňazer dropped down next to her newly pointed ear. “Fae, you will pay for what you did tonight.” His hatred reeked like an open latrine. Foul and putrid.
She retched, and a gag slipped between her teeth. Yanked tight, it ripped her torn lips.
“We’re going to stand you up and walk you to the Crekev.” The Kňazer again. “I have a schorl knife. First hint that you plan to run, it goes straight through your filthy heart.”
Schorl. A human’s only defense against fae. It was supposed to weaken fae monsters. Was that what she had become?
Her body ached from her fight in the pits and her mad dash through the woods, and her head throbbed where it had hit the cobbles, so she couldn’t tell if the schorl manacles were affecting her.
An acolyte dragged her up and pushed her forward. Her feet fought for grip. No one helped her balance. Blinking back grains of dirt, she looked for Klaus. He’d vanished.
If they hurt him….
The Kňazer pressed his knife to her back. The cold tip sliced through her tattered tunic. “Any trouble from you, and the cripple dies. Do you hear me?”
She nodded furiously. It didn’t matter what they did to her as long as Klaus was safe.
A hard shove nearly sent her sprawling onto the rubble. All focus on her footing, she concentrated on walking along the broken road to the Crekev.
Shrieks rose from the crowds of children as she passed. The Martka encircled them like wolves with their pups. Prayers sprung from lips as more people joined in the wailing. Ivan and Goul were part of the mob. Their eyes widened as they gasped and pointed at her. They must have seen her very, very fae ears.
She reached the Crekev lichgate. The short walk to the ugly stone-and-wood building had never taken so long. An acolyte opened the moss-covered wooden gate and shoved her through it. Apart from a broken statue of the two-faced god on the path to the front door, the Kňazer house of prayer seemed to have survived the earthquake without damage.
The Kňazer dressed in white opened the heavy door with a big key. The acolyte pushed her into the candle-lit gloom. She cried out, writhing as if a thousand invisible knives stabbed every inch of her body. It had to be the schorl in the Crekev. The dark stone paneled the inside walls like slick oil.
Did that prove she was fae?
An acolyte shoved her down a narrow set of stairs into the crypt. She slipped. No one helped her. If she hadn’t tumbled into the acolyte ahead of her, she would have fallen flat on her face.
They reached a schorl door, engraved with the same patterns tattooed on the Martka’s faces. The Kňazer dressed in obsidian-colored robes supplied the key. The glossy stone door screeched open on rusty hinges.
Dark, dank, and stifling, a tiny space gaped in front of her. She moaned before she could stop herself. More schorl.
The Kňazer hit her across the face. “Silence, fae! The two-faced god has delivered you to us. We will now convene to decide your fate.” His heart was clearly as dark as his robes.
Someone kicked her from behind. She tumbled forward into the blackness and landed on the hard, cold stone floor.
The door slammed closed.
Shaking with cold, nausea, and pain, Stasha scrambled to her feet. She had to escape and find Klaus before they harmed him. He may not have been glamoured into looking—and feeling—like a fae, but he would be seen as a sympathizer.
She knew what they did to sympathizers.
There had to be a way out of the schorl crypt. Carefully, so she didn’t fall over her manacles and chains, she shuffled along the frigid stone walls. Her arms brushed her terrible ears. Why had Averin done this to her? She screamed her rage. But even that was futile. The filthy gag on her blood-caked mouth muffled the sound.
After her fourth circuit of the tiny cell, she had to admit there was no escape. She slumped to the floor and rested her head on her knees. Her chains clinked together with the rhythm of her shivering.
Her eighteenth birthday had certainly gotten off to a rotten start.
If she and Klaus hadn’t gone on that shopping spree, none of this would have happened. They would have been miles from Askavol by now.
But then Averin the fae would still be tailing them. There was no way she could have fought him off. There was no doubt now that he’d toyed with her at the pits. One punch, and he could have killed her.
But he hadn’t. Why?
Maybe he’d been saving her for this moment. For the fun of watching her own people destroy her.
Stone screeched behind her. Unnaturally loud, it was like needles piercing her eardrums. She cringed and gazed into the dark to find the source. A narrow strip of light seared her eyes. She blinked and turned away.
“Stasha.”
Klaus! He’d come for her. Of course he had.
A single tear slipped down her cheek. She scrambled to her knees and shuffled to the door.
Klaus’s tawny eyes peered at her through the slit. The Kňazer with the knife was praying behind him. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve to clear her vision. Both Kňazer stood behind Klaus.
“They wouldn’t let me come alone.” Klaus’s breath pushed out like smoke in the frozen air. “They said you’d start another earthquake.”
The Kňazer prayed louder.
Klaus shoved his hand through the narrow space and pulled off her gag.
She swallowed to moisten her parched throat. “I didn’t start any earthquake.” Her throat and mouth hurt. But her lip, split in the fight with Averin and then again when the acolytes had attacked her, had healed.
So quickly?
More effects from that bastard Averin’s spell.
“I didn’t do anything,” she said, loud enough for the Kňazer to hear.
“I know that.” Klaus nodded, also blinking back tears. “It was him—” His voice cracked. “Blue Eyes.”
At least Klaus believed her. She flicked a finger at the Kňazer. “Did you tell them that?”
“Over and over. They said you’ve taken my mind. That you’d put a glamour on us all to hide your fae form all these years.”
“But I’m not fae!” Fresh tears burned her cheeks. “You’ve got to make them see that. And you’ve got to find a way to get me out.”
“I’m trying.” Klaus’s fingers fumbled through the slit and brushed her manacles. They trailed down her wrists until they enveloped her hands. “I guess our escape plan is off.”
Her chest tightened. He spoke of their plans so readily before the Kňazer? That couldn’t bode well for either of them.
“Why did the
y send you down here?”
Klaus hesitated. Seconds ticked by.
Her heart sank even further. “Klaus. What’s happening?”
“They think I can make you come quietly.” Klaus spoke so softly, she had to lean in to hear him.
“Quietly where?” she snapped.
His bottom lip wobbled.
“Where?” she demanded.
“They’re building a pyre. They’re taking you there now.”
Keening like a wild animal, Stasha backed away from Klaus. She bumped into the far wall and tried to push herself through the schorl.
Of course, there was no give, no escape, no mercy. Just burning pain where the stone touched her back.
In her world, fear was as normal as breathing. She’d been scared in the fighting pits. Scared of the dark as a child. Scared when Tarik hadn’t come home that night. Scared in the forest when Averin had turned into a fae.
But there was no fear, no despair, no anger, no terror like knowing the people who’d raised her, who were her friends and housemates, were waiting outside to kill her.
The Kňazer in white threw open the door. “Stop that wailing, fae!”
Two acolytes pushed Klaus aside. He stumbled on his useless leg, knees crunching as he fell. The acolytes stepped over him as if he were dirt.
She snarled—a sound so inhuman, it shook her to the core.
Two acolytes blocked her view of Klaus. One was tall, the other short. In the pit, she could have wiped the floor with both of them.
But outnumbered, chained, and ill from the schorl, this was no pit.
Chains rattling, she lifted her manacled hands to stop them coming closer. “Please, you have to listen to me.” Panic set her chest on fire. “I’m not fae—”
They grabbed her arms and tossed her out of the cell onto the stairs. She slammed against the wall. Something hard smacked into her back. She coughed a moan.
“Stop it.” Klaus had thrown himself over her. “Leave her alone. She’s done nothing wrong.”
“We will not fall for trickery and lies.” The Kňazer in black, by the sounds of it.
The tall acolyte grabbed Klaus by the collar. Klaus swung a fist at him. It caught the acolyte’s jaw and sent him flying back. Eyes burning, Klaus stood between her and the rest of her tormentors. “She’s innocent! You will not have her!”
The second acolyte lashed out his boot at Klaus’s mangled leg. It connected with an agonizing snap. A gargled cry cracked Klaus’s throat, and he dropped.
She lunged to catch him, only to be stopped by both acolytes.
Klaus collapsed to the flagstones in a writhing mess of pain.
Screaming curses, Stasha wriggled, kicked, and bit at the brutes. They didn’t loosen their grip.
“You’ve fooled the dear Martka and orphans for long enough, creature,” the Kňazer in white said.
A shuffle pinged her ears. Martka Gabika and Martka Alyona stood at the top of the stairs.
“Please, Martka, you know me. I didn’t do this. I’m not fae.”
Martka Gabika pursed her thin lips until she resembled a prune.
Martka Alyona’s taut eyes flickered, something between fear and regret. She cleared her throat. “Perhaps we’ve acted hastily. Fae or not, if she and the boy”— she glowered at Klaus—“intend to leave, then why stand in their way?”
Hope kicked in Stasha’s chest.
The old Martka clearly knew more about Stasha’s history than she’d ever imagined. If only she could grill the old woman for more details.
First, she had to persuade the others to let her and Klaus go. “Yes, please. I promise we’ll leave here and never come back.”
Both Kňazer glared at Martka Alyona.
“Fae who venture into my town do not walk away alive,” the Kňazer in white said.
Stasha’s heart dropped into her boots.
The Kňazer motioned to the acolytes.
They scooped her up and followed the sweep of Martka Alyona’s dark robes up the stairs. Klaus’s desperate pleading that they leave her—and him—alone echoed behind her.
Her insides writhed. She was supposed to take care of him. Her screams merged with his.
“Shut up!” The short acolyte punched her in the face.
She swore at him and then shouted to Klaus, “You’re my world. Never forget it.”
“Stasha, I’ll love you forever.” Klaus’s voice was muffled.
What were they doing to him? She kicked out at the short acolyte. “Let me go!”
The acolytes’ grip on her arms tightened. She slumped, making herself as heavy as possible. It made no difference. They dragged her into the Crekev.
Torchlight flickered through the open door. With quick steps, they carried her out into the broken square.
Gray dawn lit a crowd of at least two hundred people. None of them spoke, yet their shuffling feet and narrowed eyes leached hatred, fear, and confusion.
In the middle of the square, two ten-foot high stakes, ends embedded in blocks of dried lime, lay on a timber pyre.
Did they plan to burn Klaus, too?
“Klaus is innocent,” she yelled, thrashing and kicking against her manacles as the acolytes dragged her to the nearest stake.
The short one dropped her onto the pole and fell onto her chest. The air flew out of her. He grabbed her arms while his companion hefted a hammer.
So much for hope.
“Beg for him, fae,” the acolyte with the hammer spat.
“So you can refuse?” she snarled back.
The acolytes shot her twisted smiles. They were enjoying this. Just as she would have once enjoyed watching a fae burn. Now that hate chilled her to the marrow. They’d wait a long time to see her cry or to hear her plead again. It was enough that she and her chains shook uncontrollably.
A couple of sharp whacks, and the tall acolyte drove nails through the links on her manacles into the stake. Her feet were next.
She turned her head, looking for Klaus. Despite her defiant mask, she whimpered with relief when she didn’t see him.
At least he wouldn’t have to watch her die before they killed him too.
Biting wind gusted through the square. It carried a familiar scent: snow, and sun-kissed oranges stolen from the Kňazer, mixed with spices swirling from a fresh cup of chai. It took her straight back to the woods just after the earthquake when—
Averin sauntered into the square. “Sorry your rescue was delayed, pit princess. Schorl is a real bitch. In future, do whatever it takes to avoid being tossed in a schorl box.” His hands resting lazily in the pockets of his leather leggings and the casual sway of his hips belied the sharp focus in his blue eyes.
Two fae males flanked him. Long chestnut-colored hair snapped around the biggest fae’s brutal, smirking face. The third was like a shadow, his presence so dark and quiet, he almost sucked up the light. It didn’t help that his skin was blacker than schorl. Muscles rippled under their fine fighting leathers.
The immense power rolling off the three of them hit her harder than any wind or earthquake ever had. It sank deep into her bones. Every instinct pleaded with her to run from these predators. All she could do was squirm in her chains.
The acolytes and the crowd screamed. Both acolytes scrambled down the pyre to join the crowd elbowing and punching each other to escape the square.
The two Kňazer emerged from the Crekev with Klaus in tow.
Cords bound Klaus’s arms and feet, and a gag cut into his mouth. His mangled leg trembled against his restraints. His face was bleached white, probably from pain. A sob hitched in Stasha’s throat.
The Kňazer reeled away from the three fae. The Kňazer in black hissed a curse and pulled his schorl knife free.
Averin rolled his eyes. The gesture did little to hide his glower. “Seems your human friends planned on burning your little companion too.”
Averin stomped up the pyre and knelt next to her. His long-fingered hand picked up the acolyte’s dropped hammer.
Arm a blur, he struck the lock on her wrist manacle a glancing blow.
She yelped as the vibration rocked up her arm. But the schorl sheared, and her wrist was free. She gaped. “You’re helping me? Why?”
“No time for all that, pit princess.” He hit the other manacle, and it, too, split. “We’re expecting company. And I didn’t invite them.” A smirk. “You did.” His hammer went to work on her ankle restraints.
Poised for escape, she waited for him to free her feet. The severed manacles hadn’t hit the wood, and she was already rolling toward Klaus.
Averin tsked. “Look at that. The rotten things scuffed your new boots.”
She ignored him. “Klaus!”
The Kňazer had abandoned Klaus. Averin’s companions had taken their place in the now-deserted square.
Klaus’s bonds were gone. Bad leg dragging, he dodged the fae and clambered up the pyre. He grabbed her, squeezing so tight, she thought he might crack her ribs. “We’ll never let them separate us again.”
Although there was no chance of outrunning Averin and his friends, she whispered back, “Let’s go. We can still make it out.”
He nodded, so she pulled him onto her back. His fingernails dug into her shoulders as she slithered on the shifting wood.
The fae male with the chestnut-colored ponytail jumped in front of her. “Good plan, running,” he said. His pine-green eyes swept over the cluster of trees behind the Crekev. “But we need to go together.”
“We’re not going anywhere with you!”
Thunder rumbled. She glanced up, but there were no clouds in the pink dawn sky.
Averin slid down the wood and stopped at her side. “You don’t know what’s coming, Stasha.” Pointed focus had replaced his usual bored expression. He grabbed her hand.
A fiery shock blasted between them.
Averin gasped and dropped her like she’d scalded him. Even stranger, the stench of burnt flesh stung her ultrasensitive nose. Averin held up his hand to his friends, almost triumphantly. A red welt covered his palm.
Had she burned him?
Both fae males looked at her with caution, like she was an opponent in the pit who had to be handled with extra care.
The Fire Thief Page 7