A Touch Of Darkness

9 || Another Choice

Handcuffs may be more effective than gloves at their purpose, but I certainly don't prefer the sensations they leave behind. While leather tight around my palms was uncomfortable, it was easier to bear than the icy press of metal closed around my wrists, leaving the skin raw and aching. Even with the relief of having them removed, I can't stop rubbing at every spot they touched.

Someone will be back to reattach them soon. Most likely Harlow, since he was the one who left with them clinking at his belt.

Taking a long sip of the water skin clutched in my hand, I lean back into the side of the tent, though I'm careful not to rest too heavily on it. The material's supposed fragility unnerves me somewhat. I'm half afraid that it will come crashing down at any moment and suffocate me in a patchwork sheet of white and blue. Yet the poles continue to hold strong even as the side opposite dips inwards, buffered by the gathering wind.

Then again, I am impressed by how quickly they managed to raise the tent, as well as the half a dozen or so others I saw dotted about outside as Harlow led me through. The carriages have gone now, and the whole camp has shifted southwards. If I listen closely, over the noise of the wind and the flapping material I can hear the tinkling rush of water. We sit on the bank of the River Oscei. I assume we are waiting for a boat of some kind to carry us to Neyaibet, although no-one has precisely informed me.

Beside the tent's central pole, my discarded clothes form a bloodstained heap. Now they're off, they look like little more than greying rags; at first glance, it isn't clear which tear in my shirt was formed by the strike of a sword, and the original colour of the trousers is lost to wear and stains. I'm sure they weren't in that much of a state when I wore them.

Shaking my head, I cast away the prickle of shame. The only aspect the soldiers judge me for is the scarlet streaks -- my own blood, although they've most likely concocted another story. It doesn't seem likely that Harlow will have explained exactly what happened. All across camp, I can picture them: huddled in their own tents, talking in low voices of the Anathe and how he claimed the lives of their comrades without mercy.

Another gulp of water empties the container. I savour the cool trickle of its passage down my throat, then set it aside as I rise, reaching to rub at my wrists again.

The new clothes they've chosen for me don't exactly help matters. With the jet black colour of my tunic, complete with strands of silver thread along the edges of the sleeves, it's almost as if Harlow wants them to be afraid of me.

He has, however, continuously surprised me with his kindness. First the clothes brought by Leofric, the water, and then a piece of salted fish to serve as a meal. I'd thought I would be too sickened to eat, but apparently the lure of something with real taste was able to conquer the lingering coppery scent that still clings to the air.

My lips quirk. I hope Finlay got some fish, too. He didn't seem overly keen on the cracker alternative.

Almost subconsciously, my fingers drift to my belt, running along it until they find the blue feather trapped there. At least they let me keep the belt. It may have been Camdyn's, but I like the growing familiarity of its presence around my waist.

I spin on my heels. I've started pacing without realising it. I glance up, tracing each of the sharp white and blue boxes forming the tent's sides, and release a sigh. A nicer cell, but still a cell.

Perhaps I should conjure a black snake to complete the image. I turn my hand over, a sudden longing for the flame's company rushing in with the thought.

Before I can act on it, however, the brisk march of footsteps jerks my head up. Probably for the best. A hand slips through a break in the tent's material, yanking a blue flap upwards to reveal Harlow bent to pass through the gap. I catch a brief glimpse of the rest of the camp, the bright eyes of a milling group of soldiers following the captain, before he lets the flap fall closed behind him.