Page 46 of Crown of the Courtesan

I reel with confusion, ache with exhaustion. My limbs grow heavy like lead, sinking me. Slowly, I realize I can’t feel the frigid temperature anymore. Everything goes numb.

So numb.

Pressure mounts from below, lifting me to the top. Air strikes my skin viciously. I sputter and breathe.

I float along the waterway, not caring where it takes me anymore.

Something with silken scales grazes the back of my hand. With my ears beneath the water, I listen to a haunting song. The melody comforts me as the moat empties into the Hetaira River.

Twenty-One

“Who is she?”

“Dunno, probably some drunk wench who fell in the river during pickup.”

“You think she’s dead?”

“If not, hold her head under an’ finish the job.”

“We can’t do that⁠—”

“If she runs back to ‘Xandria and tells them we took her to Ashland, then we’ll be the ones on the chopping block. You know damn well trading with the enemy issa capital offense.”

My eyes fly open.

I’m still in the river, tangled in a fishing net at the rear of what seems to be a small barge. Although my flesh is nearly frozen, burning-hot blood courses through me.

“Cut that netting,” orders the older-sounding man. I feel the snaps of the cords as the younger one severs my bindings.

“Aye! She’s awake! And she’s getting away!” he shouts to his partner.

A surge of energy propels my heart and limbs into action. I don’t know where I am, but I’m not about to be dragged under. I fling my arms to swim, but the web of ropes still traps my legs.

Tight fingers curl and squeeze around my shoulders. I peer into a grisly old man’s face as he threatens, “You ain’t goin’ anywhere, little hussy.”

A scream erupts from my body, loud and shrill. It’s my only defense as it pierces the air, and I kick with all my might to break free.

More shouts come from the shore. “You two, over there!” There are new splashes in the water. “What are you doing with that woman?”

I twist in the river to see.

My heart sinks.

Ashland soldiers.

“She’s near dead.” One lifts and throws me over his armored shoulder, not caring that it’s a punch to the gut. “Haul those men in for questioning,” he orders the other soldiers riding horses. They fly Ashland’s black banners of an ivory tree.

I can’t control my chattering teeth or my shaking body. My eyelids grow heavy…

“Wait—look!” He tugs on the circlet, still tangled in my matted hair. The men exchange pointed glances.

“Take her to the Witch-King.”

Twenty-Two

They throw me into a circular stone chamber, bare of anything except a straw mattress and a stained-glass window depicting a white tree silhouetted against a fragmented blood-red sky. Its branches grasp upward as if its sole purpose in life is to climb to what is just out of reach. Crimson beams filter into the room at odd angles, illuminating the cobwebs that cling to the corners of the damp walls. Remnants of old hay scatter across the rough floor, digging and poking into my feet. Behind me, the heavy wooden door slams shut, and an iron bolt echoes as it scrapes into place.

Footsteps retreat into the distance.