A Dawn of Onyx (The Sacred Stones, #1)(13)

Broad Man, who was now moving at a steady, slow pace, much to the shock of his fellow men, nudged me forward, and I dismounted off the beast, my limbs moving before my mind instructed.

Without realizing it, I touched the long neck of the creature, steadying myself on shaking legs. Its peculiar eyes darted to me, and I mustered a weak smile. Don’t eat me was all that came to mind. I had the vague, diluted thought that I was probably in shock.

Only then did I notice the unbearable chill. It was much colder here in the north, and my body was covered in gooseflesh, my lips and nose going numb.

The rest of the soldiers had walked ahead into the darkness, uninterested in the newly captured girl. A small mercy, maybe. Broad Man wrapped the twine around my wrists once more and I grimaced at the raw skin being abused again in the same spot.

A sound like lightning cracking startled me, and I turned just in time to see the creature take off into the skies, dirt flying into my eyes. By the time I pried them open again, I couldn’t make the dragon out in the dark above any longer. Gone just as quickly as it had appeared, it was as if I had fabricated the creature out of my own imagination.

Except I never could have crafted something so disturbing.

I stared after the beast, into the textured darkness of night and forest and trees.

My only way back home, gone.

Broad Man jerked me forward and my wrists wailed in response. But I shuffled forward, one after another. Bert and Broad Man before me, two of the soldiers carrying the burlap-wrapped body behind us.

All I could make out in the slivers of moonlight were gnarled trees and lush greenery that came up to my shins as I stamped through.

We were clearly not in Willowridge, the capital of the Onyx Kingdom. There was no city, no life, no noise. Just a forest of some kind. The smell of damp moss, lilac, and night-blooming gardenia filled my nostrils. Different than any forest I had been in—no sweet spice or pumpkin or familiar decay of falling leaves. I had only ever been in forests that were endlessly brown and golden, or bare of leaves altogether. This wet, foggy enclave was already unlike anything I had seen or felt. All oaks and pines, cold and floral and crisp. For a single, nonsensical moment I could almost forget where I was, how I had ended up here.

My eyes were slowly adjusting to the night. We rounded a great, knotted willow tree, and in the distance loomed an imposing stone castle, with hundreds of lit-up tents in the field surrounding it. They were a cacophony of wartime colors, like a handful of mismatched jewels. Each a different size and shape, pitched alongside and on top of each other like picnic blankets on a summer day, haphazard and overlapping.

What… what was this?

As we walked further, I finally heard something other than the crunch of our feet on the dirt—the sounds of people and music and unhurried swords on swords in practice.

A wave of dread crashed over me.

It was more than just a castle or fortress, but rather an entire keep. Almost like a walled village of its own.

The hold was bordered on every side by the twisted woods we had traipsed through—no way in or out without making it across these haunted trees and vines and roots. No sign of life in any direction past the woods. Internally, I cursed myself for falling asleep on our ride here. A bird’s-eye view would have been helpful. But the come down from both the adrenaline of anxiety and then exertion of my powers on Ryder and the Broad Man had been a sedative I couldn’t fight.

Vast iron gates appeared through the maze of trees, creaking open for us as we approached. I allowed Broad Man to pull me through, my eyes glued to the rolling land and castle before me.

“Welcome to Shadowhold, girl,” Bert said, before striding ahead of the pack.

I shuddered.

As we walked through the road that bisected the sprawl of canvas tents within the castle gates, it dawned on me—this must have been the Onyx army outpost, as evidenced by the blacksmith tables, cooking pots, and hung-up armor spotted among the encampment. As we drew nearer, I noticed a few small cottages and huts to our left, and stables to our right.

Most must have been asleep, but a few soldiers were playing the lute and drinking by a crackling fire. Some looked up at the body being carried behind us, or at my half-clothed form, but all kept their eyes averted from their lieutenant.

I shivered against the freezing night. I tried to wrap my arms tightly around myself before remembering they were bound behind me.

The longing to be back with my family was a greater pain than I had ever felt, far worse than any of Powell’s beatings. It welled up inside of me, threatening to bring me to my knees at any moment.

What would they do then? Drag me along the dirt as I sobbed?

Yes. That’s exactly what would happen.

I almost choked on the desperation—I wanted to be anywhere but here. Anywhere.

My feet towed along the gravel and dirt, dust forming a thin layer on my ankles, as Broad Man hauled me forward, and my eyes pulled up to the castle before me.

It was like nothing I had ever seen before.

This was the most chilling, twisted, somehow awe-inspiring fortress I could have imagined.

The all-stone stronghold was a feat of gothic architecture with towering turrets and strong, stone pillars. Stained glass windows glinted in the darkness, eerie in their glass depictions of war and brutality, a strange contrast to the warmth that radiated from within them. Inside, the light cast shadows in their frames that moved fluidly like specters. The exterior, dotted by large black torches and a few heraldic flags donning the Onyx crest, only bolstered my assumption that the keep was the Onyx army base.