Page 28 of White Raven

My white ceremonial dress lay in tatters on the floor with a drift of my hair, as if little by little I was being peeled away from myself. There was no doubt he would try to break me, strip me of every last fiber. I couldn’t let him do it, no matter how many layers he tried to take.

Suddenly despising the choice of the red skirt and floral bodice, screaming betrayal of who I was, I whirled around and strode out of the room. His presence, especially half naked, made me want to grab his blade and stab him in the groin.

“Are you hungry?” The older man smiled when I reentered. “You must be starving. Here . . . sit.” He motioned to a chair. “I’ll get you a bowl and some mead.”

My belly still rolled, but I forced a thin polite smile, sitting down. My fingers played with my short strands, stroking at it as though I could magically grow it back. The soothing action ebbed the panic wanting to curl me into a ball.

The Northerner was a monster. The further he got me away from my kingdom, the less likely I could get home. I needed to get away from him.

Tonight.

My eyes darted from the room my kidnapper was still dressing in, to the old man. His inquisitive gaze flicked to me as he ladled out the stew. Sitting straighter, I dropped my hands from my hair, taking the steaming bowl he was scooting toward me. Leaning in, my fingers brushed over his, my voice barely above a whisper. “Help⁠—”

It was the only thing I could get out before the Northerner came back into the room, dominating the space, his dark eyes tapering on me. I sat back, my focus lowering to the stew, fear pumping in my ears, afraid he had heard me. Comprehended what I was doing.

“Come, have some stew.” The man nodded to the chair farthest from mine, doling out food for him, like I didn’t just ask him for assistance. Did he not hear me?

“Not hungry.” The Northerner wrapped a belt around his tunic, the new clothes fitting him snugly. The dark-colored clothing made his features more pronounced and intimidating.

“Nonsense. Sit.” The stout man practically dragged his huge frame to the table and shoved him down in the chair in front of the stew. I almost wanted to laugh, watching the Northerner bristle, his lip curling, bewildered by the man’s conduct in daring to touch him. He was used to people cowering at his feet. “Everyone around here is hungry. Food isn’t easy to get in these parts.”

“Yet . . .” The Night Raven lifted his spoon, scooping up bits of meat.

“That was the last of the livestock.” The man poured mead into our cups. “Every season it gets harder here.”

The steam from the stew wafted up, the strong vinegary aroma wrinkling my nose.

“Not up to your standards, kanin?” the Northerner muttered to me, picking up the cup of mead and taking a huge gulp.

Glaring at him, I forced a spoonful of broth into my mouth, the thick acrid substance attacking my throat. It took everything I had not to gag and spit it out. I had never tasted anything like it before, nor did I want to again.

“Eat up.” The other man was seated, slurping happily at his soup, encouraging me to take another bite before addressing us both. “You two have names?”

“No names.” My kidnapper shook his head, consuming more of the mead, placing his blade on the table.

“Of course.” The man bobbed his head and continuing eating.

Scooping a small spoonful of broth into my mouth, I realized I never thought about the Northerner having a name. Someone with a family, a life besides being a brute. Did he have a wife? A child?

I shoved the notion out of my head as quickly as it arrived. He was nothing more than a monster. A fiend I needed to escape from. Kill if possible.

My mind was busy, threading through ideas on how to flee, when the Night Raven’s mug clanked heavily onto the table, snapping my focus to him. He blinked, head shaking as if he was trying to clear his vision. Confusion stopped the spoon at my lips and a prickle of warning burrowed into the back of my head, watching his countenance.

What was wrong with him? Was he drunk?

Swaying, he tried to lift his arm, reach for the mug, a panic widening his eyes. I could see the shift, a dawning in his expression. His attention snapped to the host, fury straining his jaw. “Whaaattt diiidd yoouu dooo . . .” he slurred.

The older man smiled, taking another bite of his food like nothing was wrong.

My heart beat faster, frozen to the chair.

A noise hissed from the northerner’s throat as he tried to stand, his hand grappling for his blade, lurching for the man. Stumbling, his legs bowed, crashing him to the ground, knocking over his seat. His knife tumbled to the floor.

I couldn’t move. A numbness held me in place, watching him struggle to reach for his weapon. His regard slid to me, an intense emotion I couldn’t decipher on his face. Lids heavy, his mouth moved lazily around his words, producing a hum which sounded like run, but too garbled to understand. The Night Raven’s eyes closed, his huge body going limp.

My breath filled my ears, my pulse hammering in my neck. “Is—is he dead?”

The man scooted back his chair, the sound grating. “Not yet.” He rose, walking over to my abductor and picking up the knife near the Northerner. He kept his gaze on the Night Raven, a smile pulling at his lips.