Luminous

19 - Aria on the Moonlit Moor

The freezing wind blew without rest, chasing murky clouds from the forest toward the moon. Meya considered herself resistant to cold, but tonight's wind chilled her to the bone.

The bandits had spread out in a loose circle, patrolling with either clubs or swords. Gillian and Dockar were deep in discussion above their map.

Meya eyed them in silence as her hands twitched behind her back. The icy, tiny blade burned her sweaty palm as she forced her frigid, tired fingers to find purchase and wiggled her wrist, sawing against the thick rope binding Zier's hands.

Judging by the moon's position and her sense of passing time, Meya guessed about two hours had passed since Gillian sent Jerald and the servants off with his ransom demand. It probably took half an hour to get to the castle from the forest and another half through the forest to this moorland. Coris should be arriving soon. If he was coming for them, that was.

Biting her lip against the wave of fear, Meya concentrated on the task at hand, though she still couldn't understand why in the three lands she was even bothering. First, she wasn't counting on Coris coming to rescue them. Second, she and Arinel were almost free, if not counting the rope tying them to the boulder, but even that was loose enough to wriggle out of.

For lack of a better euphemism, Meya had large lady pillows. She simply needed to recline a little, stick her bound hands up high on her back and draw in the deepest breath she could hold when the bandits tied the three of them to the boulder.

She was only waiting for that sluggish storm cloud to move over the moon and blot out its light. It would give her that one opening when she could slide off these ropes and escape with Arinel.

So, why was she risking her chance by sawing Zier's ropes? What good would it bring? He was sleeping like dead. Running off on her own was hard enough without dragging along a boy almost twice her size.

Yet, the wind still hadn't done its job, and Meya had nothing else to occupy her wait. Focusing all her being on sawing Zier's rope provided a much-needed outlet for the boiling emotions that threatened to drive her insane with every minute that dragged past.

"So...is it true that you stole The Song of May Day?"

Arinel's voice penetrated the silence. The same old pang of pain seared against the scabbing wound in Meya's heart. Although it was that one question hurled at her all her life, the pain didn't dull with time as she'd liked to hope. Meya's grip on the brooch knife trembled. She clenched her fingers so she wouldn't drop it.

" 'Tis been what? An hour? That's what you came up with?" She spat, hacking at the ropes with renewed vigor,

"We're about to die here, and you just had to bring it up so I'll have it on me mind when I kick the bucket? What, a flogging and the bridle not enough to satisfy your sadistic urges?"

Meya snarled, exasperated, tugging against the stubborn rope with her minuscule knife. She regretted bringing up the town square flogging. That was uncalled for. And it only served to make her feel worse.

Arinel was silent for a beat before she retorted, her voice cold as the wind,

"I ask because Crosset needs to know if we'll ever get back our Song. Our crops haven't been doing well since the Famine—caused by you, in case you've forgotten. We could use a boost from tourism."

Meya hitched up a savage smirk. If Freda would be offended enough by one cross-dressing lass working in the fields to strike a whole manor with famine, there'd be a disaster striking every other damn day all over Latakia with all the killing, cheating, thieving, raping and who knows what else going on.