Young Writers Society

The night was nearly as long as the one she spent in the dungeon. Rana didn’t breathe easily until she was back in her room. She hurried as fast as she dared through the city and through the castle halls until she managed to get back to her room, then slipped out of the dripping clothes.

She stayed awake for nearly an hour longer, worrying that somehow something else was going to go wrong with her half-thought-through plan. What if she’d been spotted but didn’t realize? What if Synakrein somehow found out about her escapade? What if the bandits managed to follow her back?

Eventually she forced herself to relax. She settled into her night gown and snuggled back into the pillows. After a long while, she drifted off to sleep. When she woke the first rays of the morning sun were streaming through her window, and it felt like she’d been asleep for mere minutes.

She rolled out of bed and changed into another gown with the help of the servant who helped her the other days. Rana was careful to dawdle until she was sure that breakfast passed without her, then finished packing her belongings into the chest. Before long Nikolas came to carry her chest downstairs.

“It is time for your departure, miss.”

“Thank you,” Rana answered. She followed him in silence, heart racing by the time she stepped through the castle doors. Synakrein and Father were standing on the spacious patio in front of the castle, the carriage waiting for them. Rana saw Denton sitting at the front of the carriage, next to the driver. She didn’t return his smile when they locked eyes.

She dropped her gaze and walked towards Father, doing her best to ignore Synakrein. She couldn’t look at him without seeing the blood dripping out of his mouth again. That would be the image that was forever sketched upon her mind.

“Feeling better?” Father asked, his voice too chipper.

“A little,” Rana murmured, forcing herself to look up into his eyes.

“Good,” Father said. “Well you can rest more in the carriage. Ready?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered, still refusing to look at Synakrein.

“A word with the lady?” Synakrein cut in as Father turned towards the carriage.

“Of course,” Father said, nodding. He bowed slightly “Thank you again for your hospitality.”

Rana hesitated for a long moment, waiting for Father to crawl into the carriage. Her jaw was set, eyebrows drawn together, not even trying to conceal her disdain for him as she looked up at Synakrein. He seemed unimpressed at her sulking.

“How did you sleep?” Synakrein questioned, voice impassive.

“Fine,” she answered shortly.

“Liar,” Synakrein retorted, lowering his voice to a whisper.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Murderer.”

“Oh, come now, you weren’t even awake to see that part,” Synakrein said patronizingly.

Rana felt sick to her stomach yet again. She’d assumed the man’s fate, but it was still hard to hear. She only hoped he hadn’t suffered too much longer, before Synakrein finished him off. She glared at him with all the intensity she had left.

“I know all about your little escapade last night,” he said, voice accusing. “I told you, nothing in this city happens without me finding out about it. Nothing.”

“Congratulations,” she snarled. At this point, she didn’t mind whether he knew or not. She was about to leave — and she was never going to come back. She didn’t care what Synakrein said, or Father, or King Thracker himself; she wasn’t going to marry a cannibalistic monster, and that was that. She almost was glad that he knew she defied him.

“Don’t think that you can outwit me, little girl.”

“I’ll do anything I very well please,” she retorted, turning her back to him. She stepped closer to the carriage, about to climb inside. He caught her wrist.

She jerked on her wrist but inhaled sharply as his fingernails dug into the raw flesh under the bandages. He yanked on her arm, forcing her to turn back towards him. Denton tensed, watching the exchange, wondering if he should step in.

He couldn’t hear what was being said, but it was clear that Rana wasn’t comfortable — and it was his job to keep people from hurting her. He just wasn’t sure if he was allowed to step in against royalty.

“I’ll look forward to chatting with the widow later,” Synakrein hissed.

“You have no cause.”

“She has my gold.”

Rana stopped short, staring at him in horror. She’d never thought that such a simple act of charity could be turned into cause for cruelty. Then again, Synakrein seemed to have a knack for creating suffering where there didn’t need to be any.

“Bye bye, now,” he said, voice mocking. He turned loose of her, giving her a slight shove. She stumbled forward, then hurriedly crawled into the carriage, slamming the door behind her. She sent him one last venomous glare out the window, then decidedly looked away.

She crossed her arms and turned her back to the window, waiting until the driver steered the horses down the path and out of the city gates. She finally relaxed back into the seat as the scenery around them changed to rolling hills rather than houses crowding the path.

Rana wrestled with the crushing sense of guilt that Synakrein planted. It wasn’t her fault, no matter what Synakrein did to that poor woman. She was trying to help. She couldn’t have known that he’d find out about her defiance or decide to punish someone else for it.

“Try to get some rest,” Father said.

His gentleness was unsettling. She wasn’t sure whether she preferred this, or his harshness. She appreciated his care, but it was so strange. Never before had he doted upon her, and she wasn’t sure why he was now. Perhaps because he was still so pleased by the gifts from Synakrein. But she didn’t know how to respond.

“Yes, Father,” she answered respectfully. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but her mind tormented her. It was over an hour before she drifted off to anything deeper than a nap, the memories from the day before jolting her awake just before she could sleep. Finally, the exhaustion overpowered her fear.

Her sleep was dreamless, affording her some much-needed rest. The assurance that she was no longer in the grasp of the brute, and that Denton was watching over their procession to offer protection, gave her the confidence she needed to relax her guard enough to sleep well.

She was jolted awake as the carriage suddenly lurched to a stop. She gasped, picking herself up off the floor, confused. Father looked as disheveled as she felt, as she sat back onto the seat. His face quickly flushed deep crimson and he drew in a breath to start bellowing at the disruption.

Suddenly the carriage door was yanked open, flooding the inside with painfully bright sunlight. A moment later a man climbed inside and sat down next to Rana, turning his sword towards Father. Rana’s breath caught as she stared at the man with wide eyes, but she suppressed the urge to cower in the corner.

The man looked and smelled every bit the part of a ruffian that Rana imagined. He was an average sized man, but he looked like it had been weeks since his last bath. His brown hair was stringy and greasy, making it stick out wildly in the back. His beard was bushy and untrimmed, his clothes scraggly and torn in places.

Father spluttered for a long moment, trying to straighten his jacket and look as dignified as possible. “This-this-this is an outrage! I demand an explanation!”

“Nah, I’ll be doin’ the demandin’,” the man said, poking Father’s abdomen with the sword. Father fell silent, staring at the man with wide eyes, body trembling even more than Rana’s was. “And right now, I demand that you be exiting from this here coach.”

“I am—”

“Going to get out of the coach,” the man repeated, flicking the tip of his sword to cut off a single button from Father’s jacket. “Now.”

Father huffed indignantly but scrambled out of the coach as fast as he could. The man watched him go before turning his gaze towards Rana. She stared at him rigidly, trying not to look as scared as she felt. He nodded his head towards her. “You stay here, miss.”

He followed Father out of the carriage, then slammed the door shut. The door quivered as someone leaned against it heavily. She stared after him for a long moment, perplexed. She’d heard bandits were all cutthroats, ruffians that would take advantage of her if they could. He was kinder than Father usually was towards her.

She took a shaky breath, trying to calm herself. Her fearful thoughts were doing nothing to get her, or Father, out of this mess. She had to be rational; to stay in control of her emotions. She swallowed hard, wondering what happened to her guards. They’d brought Denton and his men specifically came to be sure they didn’t have any run-ins with the outlaws.

Rana glanced around the carriage, and her eyes landed on Father’s sword. She was pretty sure he’d never actually used it, and doubted how sharp it was, but it was more of a weapon than she had herself, now that the dagger was packed away in her chest. She dug the sword out from under the pillows that were jarred loose when the carriage stopped.

She looked out the window, at the men that were still pouring into the clearing. Their guards were nowhere in sight, but it looked like two dozen outlaws were roaming around the area. Some were digging through their luggage, others were taunting Father.

She had to do something.

Rana swiftly leaned down and grabbed the sword, grimacing as the corset she was wearing dug into her side. She’d never fought while wearing one before, and doubted she’d be as good with the handicap — but she couldn’t just sit by and let her father be murdered by a band of thieves.

She twisted quickly and unfastened her underskirts, kicking them off with the least amount of noise possible. Her shoes quickly followed them onto the pile, and the petticoat landed on top. She knew there was no chance of being able to wriggle free of the dress on her own but removing some of the other layers would help her move. She needed to strike quick, while she still had the element of surprise on her side.

Rana took a deep breath and drew the sword from its sheath. She took a moment to weigh it in her hand, then eased the window on the back side of the carriage open. She cautiously poked her head out, but there were no outlaws posted on this side.

She slid her upper body out of the window, then pulled the sword out after her. She set the sword on top of the carriage, then hefted herself up after it, being sure to keep her body pressed flat. She eased herself forward until she had a clear view of the scene unfolding in front of her.

The clearing was completely surrounded by the outlaws, even more than she’d estimated at first. She guessed there must have been thirty men in all, including the ones who were taking the rest of their company hostage. Their guards were struggling and cursing as the ruffians were tying them up at the very front of the procession.

Two men strode cockily towards the carriage, eyes locked on Father. One was an average sized man, wearing a hunter green tunic and brown trousers. He strutted with the authority of one who was used to being obeyed. He had dark brown hair and a clean shaved face, his skin pale. He didn’t bother to draw his sword as he approached Father.

The man next to him was heavy set and broad shouldered, looking capable of inflicting as much physical pain as he wished on anyone who dared to cross him. He wore a faded brown tunic with brown trousers.

As she glanced around the clearing, she noticed that all of the men were wearing greens and browns. Her eyes locked back on the first man, as he stopped just in front of Father. He smirked at Father for a long moment before he spoke.

“Ho, sir,” the man said. “Your purse looks mighty fat. Let me help you get it down to a healthier size.”