The Death of Duty | The Darkling

chapter iv.

PLAGUED BY HORRIFIC NIGHTMARES, I sleep fitfully that night. I am shot full of arrows in my dreams, then consumed by darkness. It feels so vivid, almost like it's really happening. The pain in my chest as the archers release another round of arrows radiates through me. The darkness terrifies and devours and I can't make it stop.

I wake with a scream, panting and panicked. The Grisha guarding my tent sticks his head in and tells me to shut up before retreating. It's still dark out, but I don't want to sleep again. I rub my shoulder, the phantom pain of an embedded arrowhead aching deep in my bones.

For awhile, I try to pick the lock on my chains using the end of my hairpin. But it's to no avail. Growing up a Fjerdan princess, I was taught many, many skills. But lock-picking was not one of them. Nor was fighting or what to do when kidnapped by the enemy. I was supposed to always be protected, always safe from the clutches of the evil Grisha. But by insisting on searching for my brother myself and refusing to let a full security detail accompany Bjorn and I - as to mitigate the risk of my parents finding out - I've ended up getting myself into an impossible situation. And getting Bjorn killed.

Frustrated, I drop the hairpin on the ground, the lock still firmly in place.

Even if I manage to release my shackles, I would still have to contend with the Grisha guarding my tent, not to mention the countless other Grisha soldiers throughout the camp.

The Drüskelle train their entire lives to fight these witches and even then, they are often outmatched.

What hope do I have against all of them?

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After three days in captivity, we move from the camp. I am unchained and yanked out of the tent, heralded onto a horse.

The Darkling is already mounted on his steed, along with a majority of the Grisha soldiers and a small regiment of First Army Soldiers as well.

"If you try and take off, my Heartrender will drop you in a second," The Darkling tells me as he rides past. I glare at his back, silently willing his horse to buck him off or suddenly get spooked. Alas, he takes off at a steady canter ahead of all of us, scouting the way. We ride for hours, heading closer to the Fjerdan border I think, though I don't know this land at all.

Off to the right of the trail we ride on, amongst the dense foliage and trees, I think I see a blurry shape more than once in the corner of my eye. But every time I turn to look, there's nothing there. Maybe the exhaustion and fear is finally getting to me and driving me insane, I'm not sure.

We stop to let the horses rest and drink at a brook. The Darkling has circled back to us and dismounts as well, leading his horse over to the water. Still, he stands away from everyone else, secluded. Though these are his people, he still doesn't seem to fit in with them. His kefta is black - the only of its kind, denoting his difference. All the others are a mix of purple and blue and red. I think it's almost sad. I fit in with my people, even the common-folk, those who the royals don't often interact with. The people of Fjerda operate as one, helping each other out, supporting one another. The Grisha and Ravkan way seems so segregated.

As I stand with my horse, one hand on the mare's sweaty shoulder, I see in the dense forest across from us another flash of movement. This time, I am sure it is real. My heart in my throat, I narrow my eyes, searching. None of the Grisha seem to have noticed.

And that's when I see, hidden in the bushes and fallen branches, a pair of glowing eyes. Familiar glowing eyes. Eero.

I had assumed in the skirmish on the Fjerdan border when I was taken by the Grisha, that Eero had been killed like Bjorn. But it seems my wolf found some way to escape and hide. Maybe he's been tracking me this whole time.