Arwick (A Light Of Roria Sequel)

Chapter Six

"You look beautiful and strong," Agatha said as she finished braiding my hair. She had parted my hair in two very snug Dutch-style braids that came together at the nape of my neck. Sitting at the center of both braids was another thin strand braid, creating an almost Viking-like style.

Giving Agatha back the handheld mirror, my eyes full of thanks, I began to notice that despite her frailty, she was much stronger than one might think at first glance. I could see it in her eyes. The kind of strength that had carried her through the obvious dark life she'd had to live.

The armor was much lighter than I'd expected. It was made so the wearer could move smoothly. The thin chain mail was a dark shade of red and fit like a long-sleeved shirt that reached my upper thighs. Hidden beneath was a thin tan tunic. My tightly fitted pants were smooth and breathed like cotton, tucked beneath a pair of black leather boots. Fastened around my waist was a sheet of silver armor attached to the chain mail, which I believed was meant to prevent my organs from being slashed.

I grew queasy at my own thoughts before trying to move past the possibility of death. In truth I didn't have the luxury of fearing for my own life. I had the weight of my friends' lives on my shoulders, and if they were going to survive, I had to stay focused.

"Master Ahaz did not leave me with a sword when I went to retrieve your armor. Perhaps he intends to give you one himself?" Agatha asked as she began making her way to the door. She paused, looking back at me, waiting for me to follow.

I smiled, doing my best to ignore the intense anxiety building in my chest. "Maybe he does," I replied.

"Leave us, servant," Ahab hissed to Agatha.

He glanced up and down my figure, grinning in approval. His son, Ahaz, joined us seconds after Agatha departed, dragging John, whose hands were bound together with heavy chains and cuffs. With a horrified gasp, I took in the sight of his wounds. Dried blood stained his face, with streaks having reached the front of his shirt and neck. His left eye was practically swollen shut, and painful shades of black and purple were scattered across his shoulders and arms.

"John," I called out in agony. I hadn't even realized I was moving toward him until Ahab formed a dark blade and pressed it against my throat.

"My son intends to hand you your sword. If you choose to do anything other than remove your magic on her, I will slit her throat as you watch."

I closed my eyes, intentionally seeking solace from everything around me. An image of my mother standing in the kitchen while she cooked her meat loaf, a favorite a mine, came to view. The wrenching pain of her death still clung to my heart like glue, and I wasn't entirely sure why I'd pictured her just then, but perhaps Divinity wanted me to remember why I'd chosen to fight in the first place. To fight for everything I cherished, even the memories.

"Okay, okay, just remove the blade," John pleaded.

I opened my eyes and met John's. His shoulders shook in a silent sob. Both from the pain they'd clearly inflicted on him and the threat against my life. Ahaz handed him the blade before gripping his chains. With a forced smile, John waved his sword, causing the blade to glow. Within seconds, my indigo markings began to appear all across my skin. They swirled across my left hand, even encircling several of my fingers. My right only had several uneven lines, causing me to pull at the chain mail and tunic, curious to see a design I wasn't used to. They were sporadic, some more prominent than others, and had I been in my own world, people would have likely thought they were bizarre tattoos.

Ahab let out a bark of a laugh before slapping my shoulder in triumph. "Call for a guard to escort our prisoner back to his cell, son," Ahab commanded before circling me. "Fairies are just as magnificent as stories say, if not more." Ahab grinned.