Priestess

Chapter 38

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Ara couldn’t help but wrap her arms around Lodan’s neck when she saw him.

He returned her embrace, tucking her shoulder between his jaw and neck. “My Priestess,” he said in relief.

She studied his wound. “Zacar has been helping me. He knows you’re a Unicorn.” She glanced anxiously at Zacar as he handed her some salve for bruising. “Essenia’s herbs have been helping.” She said aloud, as she quickly knitted Lodan’s flesh back together.

Lodan’s inquisitive eyes searched hers. “Can we trust him?”

She shivered—the burden of healing four times had sapped her strength. “After my run in with Folt, I’m not trusting anyone.”

“You never trusted Folt,” Lodan reminded her.

Ara’s hands stopped applying the salve. He was right; she hadn’t ever trusted him. She’d thought that if she watched close enough, he wouldn’t have a chance to betray them. She’d been wrong. “I’d be a fool to trust someone with such obvious reason to use me.”

Lodan saw her plan and nudged her back. “Be careful, dear one.”

Ara rubbed his forelock. “I will.”

Zacar took her back to his room. She slept the remainder of the day. That evening, Zacar ordered a sumptuous meal. She hadn’t eaten so well since they’d left the Blood Mountains. She only wished she could share the rich food with her companions.

“Trying to store it for later?” Zacar asked.

            Ara rubbed her bursting stomach—that’s exactly what she’d been doing. “Zacar could you have the Miner and my brother moved to the Great Hall with the rest of the slaves?”

            He nodded. “After tonight, I can do so without suspicion.”

Only a few more hours, and we’ll be free.

“You seem pleased,” he interrupted her thoughts.

She shook herself. “I’ll be glad to get my friends out of that stinking hole. And it was so . . . nice to have a real meal.”

Zacar smiled. “I could arrange a bath if that would please you?”

She returned his smile. “It would.”

While he went to find a slave to bring the bath, there was a knock at the door. Absolutely terrified, she froze in place. The knock sounded again, louder this time. Then the door swung inward, and there stood Torzac himself. Judging by the smell and his general lack of coordination, he was drunk.

She forgot all about hiding her face in an attempt to find some kind of weapon.

“Where’s Zacar?” he asked gruffly.

Before she could answer, a slave came, followed by Zacar. His anxious gaze met Ara’s. “It’s very late to be out, my King.”

Sensing the tension, the slave immediately scuttled out.

Torzac eyed the tub. “Bring her to me after she’s bathed.”

            The hair on the back of her head stuck straight out. This she knew—one of them would die before he ever touched her. There! A dagger hilt visible inside a side table drawer. She slid towards it.