CHAPTER 352: FUGITIVES

They moved through the darkness like ghosts.

Or, well, at least Raven did. Melisa mostly just tried not to trip over roots and curse too loudly when branches smacked her in the face.

The forest edge was so close she could taste it. Freedom right there, just past the treeline where her friends were waiting.

Then everything went to absolute shit.

"Movement ahead," Raven whispered, her voice barely audible.

Three darian scouts emerged from the trees, probably heading back from patrol. They spotted the fleeing women immediately.

"Hey! Stop right there!"

[Fuck fuck fuck. Of course. Of fucking course.]

"Run or fight?" Melisa asked, her heart hammering.

"Fight. Can’t outrun them."

The scouts charged like angry bulls. Melisa’s hands moved on pure instinct, tracing a spellsign in the air.

"Ignis, core, protev mein!"

A flame shield erupted between them and the scouts, fire crackling and spitting. One warrior slammed into it full-speed, screaming as fire licked his skin and turned his beard into a torch.

Raven was already moving, flowing around combat like she was born for it. She ducked under a sword swing that would’ve taken her head clean off, her stolen blade finding the gap in the second scout’s armor. Blood sprayed across pine needles in a dark arc.

The third scout circled around the flame shield, eyes locked on Melisa with the kind of hatred that promised pain.

"Nim bitch!"

She barely got another spell off—a blast of ice that caught him square in the chest, sending him stumbling backward into a tree with a crack that definitely meant broken ribs. Raven finished him with a knife to the throat, quick and efficient.

The first scout, still smoldering and smelling like barbecue, tried to crawl away. Raven’s boot connected with his temple.

He went still.

"We need to move," Raven said, wiping blood from her blade on the dead scout’s shirt. "Others will have heard that."

They ran deeper into the forest. Branches tore at Melisa’s cloak, trying to hold her back. Her lungs burned from the effort and the taste of smoke.

"Where exactly are we going?"

"River crossing. Two miles west." Raven vaulted over a fallen log without even slowing down. "Isabella and Armia will meet us there."

"And then?"

"Safe house in the mountains. The captain arranged it."

[Of course she did. That woman comes off like she thinks of everything. Probably has backup plans for her backup plans.]

Behind them, horns sounded through the night air. The alarm spreading through the camp, echoing off trees and rocks.

"They know we’re gone," Melisa panted, stumbling over a root.

"Good. Means the distraction worked."

"How is that good?"

"Would you prefer they discovered it now or while we were still tied up in that tent?"

Fair point.

They pushed harder, following game trails and creek beds that only Raven seemed able to see in the darkness. She led with the confidence of someone who’d memorized every tree, every rock, every possible escape route. Which, knowing her, she absolutely had.

"Left here," Raven said, pulling Melisa behind a cluster of boulders.

"Why are we—"

"Shh."

Footsteps thundered past their hiding spot. A whole squad of warriors, breathing hard and cursing, heading back toward camp. Probably called back by those horns.

They waited until the sounds faded completely, until even the echo of boots on dirt was gone.

"Okay. Almost there."

The trees started thinning. Melisa could hear water rushing somewhere ahead—the river. Safety. Her friends waiting on the other side with escape routes and maybe some food because she was fucking starving.

They broke through the treeline.

And stopped dead.

Sirah stood at the river’s edge, sword drawn, looking ready to murder someone very slowly. Preferably Melisa. Her armor was splattered with mud from running through the forest. Those blue eyes burned with the kind of fury that promised a lot of pain before death.

"Going somewhere?"

[Oh, fuck me sideways with a rusty spoon.]

"Sirah." Melisa tried to keep her voice steady. Failed miserably. "You’re supposed to be—"

"Fighting Syux soldiers? Yes. Funny thing about that." She took a step forward, boots squelching in the mud. "The timing was too perfect. Too convenient."

Raven shifted slightly, hand moving toward her weapon with careful precision.

"Don’t," Sirah warned without even looking at her. "I’ll cut you down before you draw steel."

"You can try," Raven said, voice flat as paper.

The temperature dropped about ten degrees. Or maybe that was just the murderous tension.

Melisa swallowed hard and stepped forward, putting herself between them.

"Look, this isn’t necessary," she said quickly. "Just let us go. Tell them we escaped before you got here."

"Let you go?" Sirah laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound. More like glass breaking. "After I claimed you? After I fought for you? I’m afraid I can’t do that."

"Oh my god, that doesn’t matter!" Melisa exclaimed, frustration bubbling over. "It’s just some stupid darian ritual!"

"It matters to me," Sirah replied, her voice deadly quiet.

The river rushed behind them, so tantalizingly close. If they could just get across, wade through the water, reach the other side where Isabella and Armia were probably waiting with horses and weapons and a way out of this nightmare...

"I know what you’re thinking," Sirah said, reading her face. "The water’s too deep. Too fast. You’ll be swept away before you make it halfway."

[Fuck. There goes that plan.]

"Yeah? So what now?" Melisa asked. "You drag me back? Chain me up like a real prisoner this time?"

"That depends." Sirah’s grip on her sword tightened, knuckles going white. "Do you come quietly, or do I have to hurt your friend first?"

Raven pulled her blade free in one smooth motion, the steel singing as it cleared the sheath.

"Like I said," Raven said, exuding that usual silent murderous intent. "You can try."

The words hung in the air between them, sharp as the weapons they held.

Melisa inhaled slowly, her mind racing through options. None of them were good.

[This is turning into quite the shitshow, isn’t it?]