The Midsummer Captives (Firethorn Chronicles Book 2)

by Lea Doué

  Hazel folded and unfolded her hands in her lap. “It was only a matter of time with Theo. As for Eddy… .” She shook her head. “I don’t know him as well as you do, but I’m shocked. How could he do that? There must be more between the two of them than he let on.”

  “I let myself get too comfortable with him. I thought… .” She hugged her knees tighter. “I don’t know what I thought.” Truthfully, she simply didn’t want to say it out loud—that she thought they might have a future together. Someday. Maybe.

  Bay returned and dumped a roll of blankets on the floor. “I hope you got a story for the princes, ’cause they’re asking questions.”

  Five minutes later, she dropped off a second load. When she brought a third, Holic followed, carrying a basket with Hazel’s crochet supplies and web yarn.

  “I won’t ask questions tonight,” he said, setting the basket against the wall, “but we have a lot to discuss tomorrow. You should get some rest.” Soon his heavy steps echoed up the stairwell.

  “I’m sorry,” Hazel said. “I’ll do what I can to help. The least I can do right now is get all those buttons undone so you can breathe.”

  *

  Gwen woke before the sun for perhaps the first time since sleeping in the fortress. She took a deep breath of dew-moist air laced with wood smoke and pine and poked an arm out of the blanket. Goosebumps raced from her wrist to her shoulder. Hazel slept on the far side of the lookout with Bay curled up at her side.

  Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, she shuffled to the nearest arch. The forest was peaceful, dark and sleepy. This was her favorite time of day back home. There was nothing better than getting up early to ride Buttercup before other duties, and her sisters, grabbed her attention.

  The weaver dragons rustled in their tree, invisible in the pre-dawn gloom. The moon dewed their webs with silver light. A squirrel jumped from the roof of the lookout onto the web line and scurried nimbly across to the canopy. He would have no problem escaping this place, if he wanted. Just like the one she and Eddy had seen the day before.

  He’d escaped. He had likely never been trapped in the first place. Was it because the stone dragons were created to react to people only? Birds flew back and forth all the time, but the weavers wouldn’t go near the invisible boundary. Most dragons would bypass the whole area rather than fly over or through it, but the weavers couldn’t fly well enough to get above the stone dragons. And, apparently, the canopy wasn’t high enough for them to feel comfortable going above the dragons’ heads.

  But was it high enough for her?

  When she’d been in the tree the other day, the stone dragon hadn’t noticed her. Not until she fell and landed on the ground. Had she somehow crossed the boundary line without knowing, or had the dragon simply not noticed her in the tree? So many unknowns. If only she could talk to someone about it. Her sister Neylan knew more about sorcery than any of them, although that still wasn’t much. Ivy’s bodyguard was of course very knowledgeable, but he wasn’t there, either.

  She glanced at the girls. No need to get their hopes up. She would try out her theory on her own, and then let everyone know how it went.

  The crack of an ax chopping wood told her at least one of the brothers was awake. She couldn’t see the courtyard from the lookout, which meant they couldn’t see her, either. The darkness would conceal her for a short time, as well. She needed to figure out how to get past whichever brother was guarding the bottom of the stairs.

  But did she have to take the stairs to exit the tower? It was the obvious route, but straightforward thinking had gotten them nowhere so far. There had to be another way down.

  She leaned out the archway—a two-floor drop, at least. One floor less than her tower room back home, but still too far to jump safely. If only she had some rope. Or bed sheets. All she had were blankets and ballgowns that would evaporate as soon as they left the fortress, and the basket with Hazel’s crocheted webs.

  Rope makers used weaver webs. Hazel hadn’t constructed her strands in the same way, but even a single web strand could hold an amazing amount of weight. She could use it to climb down.

  She dressed quickly, grabbed two balls of web yarn, and tiptoed to the nearest window, right next to the weaver’s tightrope. She studied the tree at the other end and then looked at the ground. Back and forth a few times.

  The tree was closer.

  She couldn’t walk the weaver’s tightrope the same way he’d done, but perhaps she could slide down it, much the way dragon soldiers did during training. Some dragons built high, and after destroying a nest, a quick getaway was always prudent. She owed Melantha her gratitude for dragging her along to the training grounds.

  There was no better time to test the strength of the web rope. If they broke, the boys could clean her off the ground. The little weaver would probably scold her for destroying his property.

  She tucked the rope into her shirt, sat on the window ledge, and swung her feet over the side. The darkness lifted inch by inch. If she didn’t go now, someone might see. She removed her belt and looped it around the tightrope, yanking on it to test its strength. The tree on the other end barely wiggled.

  Hazel and Bay slept quietly. The steady thwack thwack from the courtyard urged her on. She took a deep breath, grasped the belt with both hands, and eased off the ledge.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The leather belt slid unexpectedly fast along the web line, and Gwen slammed into the tree, turning her head just in time to avoid smashing her nose. She wrapped both legs around the trunk.

  Several heads poked out of the weaver nest, quietly curious.

  She needed a branch to stand on. There—a promising one nearby, just around the other side of the trunk. She let go of the belt one hand at a time, her fingers stiff and sweaty, and hugged the tree. Sliding down the trunk a bit as she maneuvered, she wiggled her way around. Hopefully the thwack thwack of the ax would mask whatever noise she was making. Her feet found purchase, and she eased her weight onto the branch. Her belt would have to stay where it was.

  She climbed down fairly easily and made her way farther into the forest, thankful for the mossy ground muffling the sound of her footfalls. The sun crept above the horizon somewhere beyond the trees, and shades of green and brown grew distinct under the canopy. She wanted to get as close as she could to the boundary, and the dragons, before anyone missed her. At the very least, she wouldn’t worry them too long. She’d be back with her results before they could… decide to send a search party. Drat. She hadn’t thought of that. She paused.

  She could go back now, tell everyone her plan, get help. That would be the sensible thing to do. But she didn’t want to face any of them. Not yet. She didn’t want to see Hazel’s face light up with hope. For once, she just didn’t want to talk. To anyone. About anything.

  Her speed increased with the light, and soon she was jogging around boulders and over tree roots, up and down the rises and dips in the land, ducking leaves and pushing past grasping bushes and briers. This was the side that Theo and Holic had scouted the day before, the side with one less dragon.

  Here she was, doing the same thing she’d scolded Eddy and Theo for: running off alone when there was other work to be done. But this was important. If she was successful in finding a way past the dragons, there was no need to do anything else but escape.

  Sooner than she’d expected, she spotted one, its stone hide and folded wings visible beyond a curtain of oaks. She stopped and sank to the ground to catch her breath. She should have brought water. Or food. Probably both.

  She stood and approached the dragon, placing her feet carefully to avoid snapping any twigs, an unnecessary precaution since the dragons didn’t seem to respond to anything but movement. She guessed how close to get based on the ones she and Eddy had triggered the day before. To her right grew a giant oak with low-hanging branches, one of many in the area and the most promising one for climbing. She stared at the tree and at the ones near it, eyeballing her route t
hrough the canopy. She might not need the rope here, but since she could only see so far, she had to trust that the trees would continue to be spaced at convenient intervals past her line of sight.

  She climbed the tree—nothing to it—and by walking from branch to branch, crossed from one tree to the next until she reached the fifth in line. It was a simple concept, but difficult to do. The path was far from secure, and many of the branches swayed under her weight. She held on tightly where she could. Once she stood almost directly above the dragon, she stopped. It looked just as menacing from overhead as it did from the ground. It couldn’t fly, but could it jump? Hopefully she was high enough.

  Step by step, she slid her way across another branch. The dragon didn’t move, but she wasn’t past it quite yet. Two more steps. She grabbed a branch above her head and swung onto the next tree, landing with a bounce and a rattle of leaves.

  She held her breath. No sound from below.

  Refusing to look down, she crossed to another tree and another. She paused for a moment to listen. Birdsong and the rustle of something small nosing around in the leaf litter. She took a deep breath, scrunched her eyes closed, and then opened them and looked down.

  Her heart thumped in celebration. She was past the dragon, and it hadn’t noticed her. She’d done it. She’d found their way out.

  She wouldn’t be able to get much farther without rope, though, and she had to get farther. She wanted at least as much distance between herself and the stone monster on this side as she’d had on the other before touching the ground again. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck. A breeze would be welcome. Or maybe not—it would make her delicate path even more precarious.

  Spotting a promising tree to her left, she took out one of the bundles of rope and unwound a few yards before realizing it was too lightweight to throw. It would never reach the tree. A weight at the end would help, but rocks were out of the question. She snapped off a foot-long length of branch, stripped off the leaves, and tied it to the end of the rope. This would be just like lassoing a horse.

  She swung the rope in a circle and threw the stick across the open space. Missed. She threw it again and it bounced off a clump of leaves. She sucked in a breath to avoid stomping her foot. Two more throws, and it finally caught and dangled, swinging out of reach. Using a smaller branch as a hook, she snagged it, pulled it back, and tied off the end.

  She managed all that without falling, and the dragon remained motionless. Now she had to swing over.

  She added heartbeat to the sounds in the canopy. She could do this. She had to. If not, what would be the point of trying to get everyone else involved? She reached high and wrapped the rope several times around one hand, gripped it tightly with the other, aimed for her landing spot—had the tree moved farther away?—and jumped.

  The rope bit into her hand, and the anchoring branch sagged alarmingly. She overshot the landing spot and swung back the way she’d come, twisting fast, the forest blurring past at a dizzying speed. Her shoulders burned. What a ridiculous idea. She was going to fall and get trampled by a statue.

  She kicked out blindly with her legs until she finally snagged a branch. It wasn’t the one she’d been aiming for, but she hooked her feet around it and used her leg muscles—thank you, Buttercup—to pull herself over. She straddled the limb and then scooted over and hugged the trunk, waving the rope off her throbbing hand.

  Had she gone far enough yet? If so, she could go for help… except she had no idea where help was. She would probably get lost, she was already hungry, and she needed to get back and stop trying to be a hero. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to know if she’d gone far enough to get down. This spot was as good as any to try.

  Eyes trained on the dragon, she moved slowly down the tree.

  Six feet away. Five feet. Four.

  Shadows waved and danced around her as she descended, unconcerned about the danger. She glanced at the dragon before lowering her foot again, and then froze. It stood as still as ever, but its head had moved and now faced in her direction. She hadn’t gone far enough past it.

  She quickly pulled up her foot. The dragon lurched into motion, joints scraping, wings clacking, and lumbered over to the base of her tree. It stared straight up at her with eyes as black as obsidian. Instinctively, she scrambled higher, until she reached her starting point—the spot where the dragon hadn’t noticed her. And then she heaved herself up one branch more, panting. Gloves would have been a good idea.

  The monster stared at her, unblinking. She settled herself on the branch and waited. And waited. And waited. After an hour-long fifteen minutes, it returned to its original post and resumed its guardian statue pose.

  She sagged against the trunk in relief, giving herself a few minutes to recover before continuing. But which direction should she go? If she went forward with her remaining rope, she might find the dragon’s limit, but she only had one ball left and no knife to cut it with. That wouldn’t get her far. She’d proven her point, found the escape route, and didn’t want to take any more chances. She couldn’t wait to share the news. Plus, her limbs had grown watery from the unusual exercise and lack of breakfast.

  Back to the fortress it was.

  She stayed as high as possible, swung back across the web rope with half as much twirling as the first time, and stopped almost above the dragon again. She rested for a moment, shook her arms out one at a time, and then leaned out towards the next tree.

  Before her foot found purchase, a blond head appeared in the distance.

  “Gwen, what are you doing?” Theo yelled. He stood well away from the boundary.

  Every muscle in her body jumped, and she lost her grip and balance. Before she fell completely, she managed to push off just enough to catch a low branch on the next tree under her arms.

  Pain shot through her shoulders and neck. “Thorns and thistles!” she yelled, partly in anger. What was he doing here?

  Grinding, grating sounds warned her she’d woken the dragon. She was dangling too low. Theo shouted something, and another voice joined him. A shock of red hair appeared. Holic. She groaned and swung her leg up, trying to hook her foot around the branch. It took three or four tries, but she did it. The dragon paced, its stone talons gouging the forest floor, slinging rocks and leaves. It rose on its haunches, so much taller than she’d imagined, and she flattened herself, trying to disappear into the tree. She wouldn’t put it past the beast to try to pull her out.

  “Get higher!” Holic yelled.

  She wanted to, but she wasn’t sure she could stand without first dangling her legs again. For a split second, she was glad her hair was short. No chance of a braid coming loose and providing a handy pull cord.

  “Higher, Gwen!” Holic pointed to the canopy as if she couldn’t hear him. “You have to climb!”

  “Distract it, will you!”

  He froze, and then he rushed forward, yelling at the top of his lungs.

  She climbed faster than she’d thought possible, slipping twice, before she reached a safe distance. “So glad I’m not afraid of heights,” she mumbled.

  “Stay there,” Theo said from the next tree. “I’m coming to get you.”

  How did he get there so fast? Her head prickled with heat like it might explode. He’d caused her to slip in the first place. She didn’t need him to rescue her. Either of them. She was fine. She’d found their escape route, and now they could get out of this place.

  She scooted to the trunk and pulled herself up.

  “Can I stop running now?” Holic called, still zigzagging through the trees.

  “Yes.”

  He retreated, and the dragon lumbered back to its resting spot, oblivious to all three of them.

  Theo was in her path.

  “Climb back down.” She didn’t care if she sounded rude.

  “I’m here to help you.”

  “I don’t need your help.” She crossed over to his tree.

  “You might want to reconsider.” He grinned and held out
a hand. “This makes two trees I’ve seen you fall from.”

  She glowered at him. “I did not fall out of this one, and both times were your fault. Now get out of my way.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He retreated annoyingly fast ahead of her. Once down, they joined Holic at the base of a twisted elm.

  Before she could stop him, Holic folded her in a crushing embrace. “Thank goodness you’re all right.”

  She shrugged him off. “How did you find me so quickly?”

  “You’re a lot easier to track than deer,” Theo said. “Plus, you left us a good sign for where to start.”

  The belt.

  Holic leaned against the tree and crossed his arms. “I feel like I should scold you, especially since you’ve told us not to wander off alone, but why don’t you explain yourself first?”

  “I found our path to freedom.” Just as Tharius said she would.

  Shock. Hope. Disbelief. Their faces mirrored everything she’d expected and more. She briefly outlined her theory and how she’d avoided the dragon’s notice in the canopy, leaving out the part where she’d slipped.

  “I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. I thought I would try it first, and it worked.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of Holic’s mouth. His freckles almost sparkled in the dancing shadows. “We’re going to focus on the fact that you found a way out of here and overlook how much you worried us all. Your sister has been beside herself since you disappeared from the tower.”

  She studied her dirty boots. “Sorry. I haven’t been thinking straight lately.” She glanced at Theo.

  He smiled. “You’re thinking straighter than any of us. We kept trying to tackle the problem head on, and you figure it out by watching the weavers and the squirrels.”

  As they walked back to the fortress, they discussed plans for getting everyone through. No one mentioned Sissi. They should at least tell her, offer to take her with them. As far as Gwen knew, Eddy might decide to stay behind. This place had been his home for nearly four years. An unfamiliar ache spread through her body, and tears clouded her vision. How could she have misjudged him so badly?