Blood Heir (Blood Heir Trilogy, #1)(33)
The arrow shot forward. May staggered. And then, slowly, she fell, soft and graceful as an autumn leaf.
Time had stopped. Ana was in one of those dreams where, no matter how hard she tried to run, she was moving too slowly.
Twelve paces.
Not. Enough.
From the shadows of the stalls, the black-cloaked broker emerged, the gold lining of his collar glinting in the setting sun as he bent down. May’s head lolled like a rag doll’s in his arms as he turned and sprinted for the prison wagon.
Fury exploded in Ana. “No!” she screamed, raising a hand and summoning her Affinity.
But there was nothing. Instead, she found that unfamiliar wall against her power again, unyielding and absolute.
Several paces from her, the yaeger pushed himself to his knees. Mud and blood ruined his perfect white cloak; already, bruises were beginning to blossom on his exposed skin. But Ana felt no satisfaction, only blind fury, as he lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. Her steps slowed.
A distance behind him, the broker had almost reached the wagon. May’s limp form was slung across his shoulders, and Ana could make out the shine of her hair.
She glanced at the yaeger. Glanced back at May’s disappearing head. And put a burst of speed into her steps.
The yaeger shot forward. His fingers latched on to her ankles and yanked. Ana flung her hands out, catching herself before she slammed into the cobblestones.
She twisted, spitting hair from her mouth and grappling for purchase on the ground. “Let me go!” she screamed, kicking at the yaeger, but his grip was steel against her legs.
Beyond the vast stretch of road, the prison wagon loomed, its doors open like the mouth of a hungry beast. The broker leaned into its shadow as he deposited a small, limp form into the wagon. May’s head lolled once, and then disappeared behind the wagon’s blackstone walls.
The other Whitecloak locked the doors.
Desperation as she’d never felt before twined around Ana, squeezing the air from her throat and wringing tears from her eyes. “May!” she bellowed, her voice cracking. “MAY!”
At her scream, someone looked back—but it wasn’t May.
The broker with the sun-bleached hair turned to her. His pale eyes locked with hers. They narrowed for a moment, and then he turned and was gone.
Ana’s hand closed around something hard—a piece of cobblestone, displaced by May earlier.
Picturing the broker’s hateful blue eyes, Ana smashed the stone into the yaeger’s face.
He let out a low groan, his grip on her legs slackening. His hold on her Affinity wavered again.
Ana was on her feet even before the yaeger rolled over, clutching his dripping nose. Dimly, she heard him shouting something at his squad, saw looks of panic flit across the Whitecloaks’ faces as they mounted their horses.
She threw her Affinity out and ran, fighting the yaeger’s block, her legs pumping desperately as she tried to close the gap between her and that black wagon.
The remaining Whitecloak spurred his horse, and the wagon jolted into movement, picking up speed. Only the kapitan circled toward them, bow and arrow out and cloak billowing behind him. “Ka?s!” he shouted.
The yaeger’s answering call was cut short as Ana hurled her Affinity against his power. For a moment, his wall splintered; she sensed a glimmer of the bonds in the kapitan’s body and grasped them—
The kapitan’s eyes widened and his horse careened sharply to one side as his body seized beneath her control. “What in the Deities—” His arrow tumbled from his grasp, and a glass vial shattered against the ground. Even from several dozen paces away, Ana could make out the green liquid oozing between the cracks of the road.
“Kapitan!” Behind her, the yaeger let out a choked cry. “You must retreat! She’s dangerous!”
The kapitan hesitated, his eyes darting between Ana and his fallen soldier. Ana seized the opportunity. “Come get me, you sick bastard!” she shouted. Make him angry. Goad him. Anything to stop that blackstone wagon from leaving this square.
Yet as Ana flung her Affinity at the kapitan again, he seemed to arrive at a decision. With a last glance back, he turned his horse and galloped after his squad.
“No!” Ana choked. But the wagon and its flanking riders sped off through the stalls, growing smaller and smaller.
Hopelessness tightened around her throat.
She had no idea how long she ran, chasing the wagon even after it disappeared between the red-bricked dachas of Kyrov. It was only when she tripped over a loose cobblestone and fell to the ground, splitting the fabric of her gloves and cutting her palms, that she realized she was crying. And a different voice filled her head.
Don’t go where I can’t follow, May had asked of her.
She’d let happen what she’d sworn she’d never let happen to May. May had saved her in the moment she’d most desperately needed saving. And she had failed May.
And…it was her fault. Ana bit into her hand to stop herself from screaming, her tears mingling with blood and dust. In another life where she might have been born differently, normally, she would still be the Kolst Pryntsessa Anastacya Mikhailov, second heir to the throne of Cyrilia. And in that life, a kinder life, the laws would be just and the people in power would be good and the good people would win.
She pounded the cobblestones once, crimson smearing on the dusty ground. She could sense, through her Affinity, people milling around her and slowing down to look, but none stopped to help.