Chapter 54:
Don’t Run
“Lady,” a man grumbles in my ear. My eyes snap open. I leap upright, scrambling away until my back hits a wooden wall.
I’m in the wagon. A soldier is kneeling across from me. He’s the middle-aged man who led us to the queen last night, sporting dark bushy eyebrows that match his hair. This was supposed to be my space, and now he’s in here with me.
He reaches out.
“Don’t touch me,” I growl.
The man lowers his hand to the floor.
I take a moment to gather my bearings, squinting at the sun outside. It’s morning, and we’re moving again. The chain is attached to my left wrist, and my right leg is still bruised from the fall. Trevus isn’t here. They separated us last night. Now I’m alone, except for the soldier still in the wagon, sitting only four feet from where I’m huddled.
“I didn’t touch you,” the soldier says.
“I saw you reach out,” I say.
“I was handing you breakfast.” He knocks the wooden bowl on the wagon floor. “I didn’t touch you.”
He slides out the back of the wagon, walking on foot but keeping up. His jolcan leaves his right arm bare from shoulder to finger, designed to minimize obstruction when throwing the javelins hitched to his hip. A leather bracelet is strapped around his wrist, and his eyes are hard like the guards from Antiock.
He left a bowl of steaming carrot soup before me. My appetite has vanished after waking up to a stranger so close to my face. “I know what you guards are like. You’d beat me if you had the chance.”
His brows twist up. “Don’t fabricate accusations. Laying a hand on a noble lady is a great dishonor.”
“You revel in the power you-” I stop. What did he say? Touching a noble lady is dishonorable? “What does that have to do with anything?” I ask.
He glares with his dark brown eyes, but he doesn’t come any closer, and his weapons remain sheathed. “While we may be adversaries, I’m not a dishonorable man who would strike a noble lady.”
Nobility – that word conjures the image of the people who I was paraded before in Antiock, and the ones who cheered for my death in the palace. Individuals who were born into great prosperity and wield power without compassion.
I’m from a poor, rural village, and I’ve never been in a position to order anyone around. He must be confused. “I travel with a prince,” I say, “but I’m not a noble.”
His brows remain twisted, but his shoulders relax a little. “I attended your meeting with the queen. You are the Seventh Grand Mage of Mephia.”
“I have magic, but I wasn’t born of noble blood.”
He shakes his head, but his expression softens. “Two aspects make a noble – power and renown. Being of noble birth may be the easiest route, but it’s not the only one.”
Versillians do talk about me, though it is to curse my name. But even being well known, I’m still either hiding in Zaybeth or am held prisoner. “Nobles have real power – political power,” I say.
“You are the Seventh Grand Mage of Mephia. Had you chosen to align yourself with another land, Mephia would no longer be the sole nation wielding the might of magic. Your decisions hold greater influence than most nobles.”
It’s strange to hear myself described with reverence. Offering my connection to a kingdom is not a path I can take, as I’ll never march with an army or be used as a weapon of war.
I want a different life – to be a tailor, a peaceful existence with Trevus at my side. That’s what I had in Zaybeth, but I couldn’t accept it. While I may no longer be physically trapped in that tower, it has a hold on my heart. When I was locked up, gaining my freedom seemed like all I needed to be happy, but escaping didn’t take away the pain of the years I lost. It didn’t take away the memories.
“Enjoy your breakfast, Grand Mage.” The man walks off, leaving me alone in the wagon again.
The queen’s army travels east over the next three days. Tomorrow we’ll reach the tripoint, and the queen will trade us to King Tytius or the Mephian Council of Six.
Trevus’s saddle bag was left in the wagon. When the guards have me under close surveillance, I spend my time puzzling through the old tongue written in Lord Asarus’s book. What was so important on those last three pages that Asarus would tear them out and take them with to pursue me? Despite my effort, I’m no closer to deciphering the symbols and understanding why he orchestrated my abduction.
While Trevus and I are no longer walking Asarus’s trail, we know where he’s headed – my home village inside Mephia. His map shows the village is only a day’s journey from the tripoint. My leg has recovered. If we escaped on foot, we could find him.
That’s our biggest problem – escape. The chain is my first obstacle, the guards are the second, and freeing Trevus is the third. While the middle-aged soldier, Elias, often approaches to deliver food, the other three guards who tail my wagon never venture within my reach, but always stay close enough to hurl their javelins.
I approach one obstacle at a time. Under the cover of darkness offered each night, I’ve been working a metal spoon that I swiped between the chain’s eye plate and the wagon frame. After long hours straining against the nails, two of four are free, now only loosely resting in their holes to hide my tampering. With a little more effort this evening, the last nails will give, and my chain will be free.
The sun sets. The camp settles down, with small tents, warm fires and sweet soup brewing. I scan the camp, but none of my three guards are visible. Usually they’d take turns fetching dinner, ensuring there were always two sets of eyes on me.
Not wanting to waste the best opportunity I’ve had since waking up in this wagon, I grab my spoon from its hiding spot between the blankets and jab it under the eye plate.
Using the spoon and an empty bowl for leverage, I pull against the eye plate’s nails. My hands ache from the pressure. Adjusting the angle of my shoulders, I yank it with all my strength. The last nails slip free, and the iron eye plate drops to the wagon floor with a clank.
Yes
.
Footsteps on the other side of the wagon make me jump. Salts. I press the eye plate back against the frame, and my shaking hands struggle to thread the nails back through their holes. The footsteps grow louder. They’re coming closer. Salts. Salts. Salts.
Finally managing to balance the eye plate against the frame with loose nails, I shift to the middle of the wagon, careful not to adjust the chain on my wrist. The slightest movement could cause the precarious eye plate to fall.
Elias comes around the wagon with a bowl in his hands. “Dinner,” he says.
“Thank you.” It’s difficult to resist the urge to glance at the eye plate. I’ve just got to trust it’ll stay in place.
I take the bowl of barley soup in one hand and slowly sip, cognizant to keep my chained wrist still. Their meals don’t approach what Trevus could do with just the supplies in his saddle bag. He must be wincing at the taste, maybe even insisting he make the dish himself.
Elias nods before heading off again, disappearing back into the camp of men. I let out a breath. The eye plate is hanging at an angle, held on only by the bottom two nails. He didn’t notice.
I watch the camp. No one is looking in my direction, and my three guards haven’t returned.
I bundle the blankets up into a ball to resemble a sleeping figure. I’ve been sure to spend hours deep in the wagon covered in blankets whenever the guards were looking. The eye plate falls off the wagon’s frame again, but this time I don’t bother trying to balance it back in place.
With so many people wandering about for dinner, this is my best chance to slip away. An army this size has watchmen posted each night, making walking around when others are asleep much more conspicuous.
The long chain is still attached to my wrist, so I wrap it around my arm before stepping out the wagon. I’m on the north side of the camp, meaning not much stands between me and a maze of tall dirt ridges – a perfect hiding place.
With the saddle bag strapped around my torso, I walk at a brisk pace, shoulders back with confidence, and eyes facing forward, not daring to look at the gatherings of men to my left and right. This plan relies on luck – luck that any men that notice my presence will confuse me for a servant. With the tripoint only a day away, it’s a risk I need to take.
My muscles are tense, ready to bolt at the first shout that a prisoner has escaped. Keep walking, eyes forward. Running will raise suspicion. Looking around will draw attention. I must act like I belong.
I pass the last group of men standing between me and the dirt ridges. Once I’m out of sight, I’ll sprint.
I’m so close. If I hear a shout now, should I run? What if they hurled their javelins? My heart is racing, and my breathing is anything but steady.
Eyes forward. Don’t run. Just a few more steps. Eyes forward. Don’t run.
Author’s Note:
Trevus returns in the next chapter.
😂😂
🤣🤣🤣
😍😍
Yay!
And there’s the title of the chapter, as the last words of the chapter lol
Yeah for real. I bet this is gonna fail tbh, and I’m curious what would happen if it does
It’s even more conspicuous when you aren’t suppose to be walking around in the first place
Is this a trap? This seems oddly convenient
Yes, he’s the boss of food!
At least she’s not going hungry I suppose
You were too loud I suppose
Crafty! nice
They see her as a threat? or is it to subdue her if she tries to flee?
You need some kind of document to compare texts like the Rosetta stone which allowed ancient Egyptian to be translated since it had a version of the text in ancient Greek which historian already had translations for…
Or you could decide to align with Ceramaya…
Grand mage… it’s such a strange concept to her
I bet he’s going right back to the queen to share these details though lol
Grand mage… it’s such a strange concept to her
I bet he’s going right back to the queen to share these details though lol
Grand mage… it’s such a strange concept to her
I bet he’s going right back to the queen to share these details though lol
Is he hinting that she could align herself with Ceramaya?
That’s not how the political power of magic works
I know you don’t like it but you can use it to your benefit…
Yup, it’s gonna hit her so hard once it does lol
She’s oblivious to her status as a mage lol
Noble… I suppose since she’s a mage she’s a noble of Mephia hmm
Carrot soup? That’s not something I’ve heard of but I’m sure you can really make soup from anything lol
Also she’s revealing her past as a prisoner with this line about being beaten
I think he’s been told to be nice, compared to the guards she knew in Antilock where no one really cared if they messed with her
Our girl is brave – my nerves would be shot
can’t wait for the next chapter 😁
Girl is the luckiest and unluckiest person lol
Gordan Ramsey these suckers Trevus!
all other ladies are fair game though
Girl, you’re supposedly the 7th, which is technically nobility
My brain was conflicted to read this as a sibling going “I’m not touching you” vs reading it as him being nice haha