Chapter 1
Vivien
I pulled my hood down lower as I peeked out of the alleyway in Port Taylon. The buildings were tall and narrow on either side of me and it was drizzling lightly, the moisture soaking into my woollen cape, making it heavy and damp. I longed to push back my hood and feel the rain wash away the perspiration and grime on my face, but I reigned in my desires. No one must see my face. For three days I had been travelling, dragging myself through ditches, freezing on my knees at any sound and eating what berries and nuts I could scavenge from the hedges alongside the road. Three days.
The streets were dark, but that wasn’t going to help me if the watch found me. I tried to run lightly and quietly from the feeble protection the alleyway afforded and fell in the shadows by the edge of the street, but exhaustion dulled my movements. I was clumsy and fatigued. Seven months of being on the run did that to you. The sea, wild and angry foamed beside me. The chilling waves lashed violently against the stone walls that kept it at bay on nights like this. I felt the icy droplets land on my face, so cold, it was blisteringly sore. I wiped them away with a long sleeve, but could still taste salt when I licked my thin lips. It was a miserable night. No sane person would be out tonight. Well. Sane was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? The smell of blood, salt and dirt assaulted my nostrils and I gagged quietly. I had forgotten the ugliness of the place. Most importantly, the stench.
Suddenly, I heard shouting behind me and turned desperately for something to hide behind. Footsteps and the sound of hoof-beats echoed down the streets; I was frantic now. I leapt behind a pile of empty wooden crates ungracefully, making a loud clatter that could thankfully not be heard over the sea’s crashing. I put my eye hurriedly to the sliver of light in between the piles of boxes. My blood went cold as the sea at the sight I saw.
Two men were on horseback, four on foot. The dawn watch. Easily recognizable from the bright crimson and gold uniforms they wore. Their pretty gold medals jingled on their chests and the pikes they carried gleamed in the weak light. They looked absolutely ridiculous, yet they were the ones to be feared. I knew from experience that there would be at least on magician in the group. They stopped for a few seconds and I desperately tried to see what they were doing, or if they were speaking. The wrath of the sea masked any noises they might have made and the rain blurred the scene. I pushed my eye harder against the crack to see well. The boxes wobbled lightly, threateningly.
I tried to leap forwards to seize them, but in my exhaustion, aimed badly and lunged clumsily straight into the crates. They tumbled to the rounded cobbles with an ear-splitting crack. I was frozen in terror. I must have looked like an animal to those soldiers, crouched down, blood and grime all over my pale face. They stared at me for a moment, faces frozen in the same mask of shock and fear. Then it registered on them that I was only a child. That I was smaller than them and unarmed. And that it was my face that was plastered all over the Port on wanted posters. In a second I was up and pounding down the street, rain and wind lashing my face.
I already knew that I couldn’t outrun them. Two were on horse-back and they were fit adults. I was an injured child. I ran faster, tears welling up in my eyes, taking ragged breaths. The hoof-beats were louder now. I skidded on the cobbled, grazing my legs, pushing myself up, wet hair flopping in my eyes. Faster..... I forced my legs to work harder, burning, aching. I was sprinting down, arms pumping furiously, face drawn and pinched, eyes welling with tears. My throat was burning and I gulped furiously as my bag hit against my hip. I was just about to stop, let them catch me. At least my cell would be dry. As these thoughts crossed my mind, I heard hoof beats and ducked instinctively. The mace swished over my bare neck, missing me by a hair’s breadth. But by stopping so suddenly I lost my footing on the wet ground and skidded out of control. The ground was hard and twice as unforgiving. I heard a sword being unsheathed and I stayed still, sobbing into the ground, cheek against the wet stone. My limbs were cramping up. I didn’t want to move. Ever again. I didn’t think, even if I tried, I could have made myself move. A boot caught my waist and I rolled over obediently. My eyes were too blurred to see properly. I curled up in a ball, hiding my face in my hands. Fingers caught my chin roughly, tore my hands off and yanked my face up. There was a moment of deliberation.
“So it is her.” The voice was brusque and grated against my frayed nerves like sandpaper. I peeked out of my fingers again. A man, towering over me like a giant.
“Well, you’ll bring us in a pretty penny. An earldom apiece. Very nice. Wouldn’t you say boys?” The boys agreed enthusiastically.
I was too tired to feel angry. Just bring me in please. What happened next was so vivid and sudden, it would haunt my nightmares for weeks after. The man leant in closer, to tie me up, I think. I screamed and scrambled back, eyes closed. There was a pause. Then several shocked yells and weapons being unbuckled. I cracked my eyes open. This time it was my scream that shattered the night air. The man was impaled on an arrow. His body was slumped on the ground. Another man in black grasped my wrist in his vice-like fingers and pulled me bodily from the ground.
“Get up Vivien. “ He was dragging me along, me stumbling behind, sobbing wildly like a puppy on a leash, tugging me each time I lagged behind.
“I...don’t....want....to....” I tried to wrench my wrist free weakly. I was so exhausted. His fingers were cold and vice-like. I tried to bite him.
“Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” He hoisted me up in his arms like a sack of flour. Actually, with food this scarce, he probably would have taken more care with the flour. I screamed, my throat raw and thumped his chest with my wrist.
“Put me-” I screeched, then stopped and thought. He called me Vivienne. No one knows my real name. No one. Vivien Scarlett was dead now. Only a few people had known me then. Even less were alive to remember...
“Scott!” I was so surprised I stopped crying. “Scott! What...How...” The man threw back his hood. Scott Handel’s pale hard-angled face came into view.
“Shut up.” Scott said gently, adjusting the position of his arms. “You need sleep, Vivi. Just be quiet and we’ll be home soon.” I was too fatigued to ask where home was. I drifted in and out of sleep, the streets spinning and trailing in front of me. I registered being put down on a soft surface eventually, but my dreams refused to leave me. Wraithlike figures in violent splashes of colour danced around the room and I tossed and turned, crying out and muttering strange words. Everything was blurry and disoriented. Exhausted as I was, peaceful sleep wouldn’t come until the fresh lights of dawn peeked over the tree tops.
