Frey (The Frey Saga, #1)(45)

He had stopped here. “Okay.” I didn’t know what he was getting at.

“The problem is… meddling with the bindings, meddling with your mind is… well, it’s dangerous.”

And there it was.

“Dangerous,” I repeated.

They let me consider that for a moment. They were being careful with me, didn't want to upset me. I tried to ease them… no big deal, just dangerous mind meddling. “So we go back to the village and…” And what?

They glanced at each other before they looked back to me. “Not High Council, Freya. Grand Council.”

Oh, right. The ones that were trying to capture me. The ones that wanted to burn me. Their cautious demeanor made more sense now. I nodded, understanding. The council had sent trackers. The pair Chevelle had choked and released. And the other. The broken, limp corpse in the clearing by the ridge. We had killed him. And they were worried about my stupid binding? The circling cloaks from my dreams were back, filling my head. My thoughts were twisting, getting out of control. They’d be hunting us all down now. They would kill us. That was why I needed training. To protect myself. Because they intended to kill me, not capture. They intended to kill us all. And without magic, bound as I was, I didn’t stand a chance.

The anxiety must have shown; Ruby looked uncomfortable. I saw her shift her jaw.

“No.” I held my hand up to her. “No more dust.” I stood. “Let’s just get back. Back to training.” They didn’t argue, though they were plainly concerned.

We went to the ridge with the others but we didn’t train. Ruby and Chevelle were avoiding me, I was fairly certain. I waited on them through the morning and then, finally, around midday I gave up on them and relaxed back onto the ground, staring up at the sky. It was warm, the sun was shining brightly. I watched as a bird flew high overhead. It was gliding, slowly.

As I shielded my eyes with a hand to better see, I noticed the ink on my wrist and smiled. I suddenly knew the soaring creature above was a hawk. I closed my eyes and relaxed my arm at my side, imagining flying. I breathed deep and conjured the image it would see, looking down on us. The picture was sharp, even at the distance, but the colors weren’t as clear, and the outlying shapes not as defined. I laughed at myself for adding that detail to my daydream, imagining a bird seeing differently.

My vision sailed over us, past the ridge, south. I imagined seeing the twins, perched in two trees, watching. They wore bows on their backs. The dogs were mostly concealed but on the ground, vigilant. One glanced up at me… at the bird. I saw someone approaching, robe and tassels blowing in the cool breeze. The second wolf looked forward, he saw it, too, and abruptly pointed, calling out.

As I realized the howl was in my ears, not in my imagination, I jolted upright. The field was in motion, rushing in response to the warning. In seconds, they were set again, the same protective positions they had taken the last time. The last time a tracker had found us.

It was all I could do to steady myself as he was brought forward, he was the same one from my vision. He knelt, not under his own power, and then he was frozen there before us. Chevelle mumbled something and my ears began to ring, it was a few seconds before recognition came.

“Stop!” My voice was seething fury. All eyes turned to me but I glared directly at Chevelle. “Stop.”

He understood and my ears ceased ringing, my hearing cleared. I stepped forward, the rage still fuming. It had dawned on me that he'd been the cause of my hearing issues before, and I knew he was the one holding the tracker there. He bound him from magic for questioning. He had studied it, said he knew something about it.

I approached the kneeling tracker, daring anyone to stop me. “Tell me what you know about binding.”

He didn’t answer, his jaw tight in resistance. I had placed the sword in my newly acquired sheath this morning, during my boredom. I pulled it out, enjoying the ssshk sound of the steel as it passed. The tracker smirked, defiant. He wasn’t afraid of a sword. The other didn’t crack at broken bones, didn’t give even before death. I’d need something dreadful, a new tactic.

I noticed a tiny snake sunning on a nearby rock and smiled. I slipped the tip of the sword down to the tracker’s leg, just above where his knee met the ground, and sliced his trousers up to the thigh to reveal his leg. I drew the snake to us with magic and grabbed it with my left hand, the sword in my right. The prisoner watched me, almost smug.

It was a tiny snake, no thicker than my pinkie, but it would do. I took the sword and slid the tip across the skin above his knee, making a small incision. His faced changed then, a mixture of puzzlement and uncertainty. I smiled at him wordlessly in response. I left the sword tip there and placed the snake on the handle, letting it slide down the blade toward my mark. I closed my eyes to relax, settle into the snake as I had the bird.

My knees buckled as I released too much. I backed off, giving myself just enough to control it. As it entered the wound, I heard the tracker gasp and my smile stretched wickedly. I wormed my way up his leg, intent on getting the information I needed. They were getting closer. They had found us a third time now. They would kill us. I wanted to free my mind, free my bonds. They would not take me.

His screams broke as the serpent reached his thigh. I opened my eyes. The body of the snake made a defined lump, curving long and thin under the skin of his leg. His face was twisted in agony and fear. He cracked. Chevelle released his hand long enough to scribble a few words of a spell, not allowing him to speak or cast magic.