Weight of the World

Chapter Forty-Nine

—The Crooked Forest—

The world returned to him in fits and starts. Rost had enough sense not to groan or move too much, lest he alert anyone to the fact that he was waking up. The blood that had been dripping down his arm earlier had dried, pulling slightly against his skin as he flexed his muscles. It still hurt to breathe, reminding him of the two ribs that had been broken during his 'interrogation.' His left eye was still swollen, and his lip was split. Yet, all in all, the Wanderers had let him off easier than he had been expecting.

Finally able to blink a single eye open, Rost kept his breathing controlled as he raised his head to look around. He was alone in the small tent, for now, but there were likely guards outside who would respond if he made too much noise. From what he had been able to tell the first time he woke up, he had been taken to a secondary camp outside of the Wanderers' main base of operation. The Wanderers in charge of his questioning hadn't yet figured out who he was, a small mercy. But when he had failed to answer their questions to their satisfaction, one of the Wanderers had mentioned bringing in Tyen'enyal as a form of persuasion. The Wanderer commander was known for his harsh treatment of members of the Path, and once he arrived, Rost knew he would likely lose a finger or two in his efforts to get him to divulge the Path's position.

Which meant, he needed to leave as quickly as possible.

Tugging on his binds, Rost felt the rope dig into his wrists, but ultimately, it required little effort on his part to break the binds completely. The rope falling away, Rost rubbed his wrists carefully, the raw skin caked with blood in a few places. He had just begun to stand up when the flap of the tent suddenly opened. Rost hovered over the edge of his seat, eyes wide as he tried to think of something to say or do. If it had been a Wanderer, he would have rushed them and taken his chances in a fight.

However, it was not one of his captors that walked in but instead a slight looking woman wearing a long dark gray dress. She looked much too out of place in that tent, looking as though she should be headed to a ball instead, and so the sight of her left him unable to decide what he should say or do. The woman, too, seemed at a loss and merely stared at him and his loose binds before quickly stepping the rest of the way in.

"Well, I see the accommodations weren't to your liking," she said simply, a gentle smile on her face as she made her way over to him.

Rost returned to his seat, eying the woman warily. She didn't have the air of a fighter, and he sensed no ill will in her gray eyes as she moved a chair over to him, sitting opposite of him. But despite her gentle countenance, he couldn't be too careful. Why would she be here if not to continue his torture in some way?

She sat in the chair opposite of him and asked for his left arm. Rost complied, watching as she began to heal him of his wounds. He frowned, earning another gentle smile from the woman.

"You're wondering why I would bother healing you?" she asked, the soft lilt of her voice soothing enough to allow him to relax a bit.

"So that I don't pass out when you torture me?" he offered.

"You sound like Tyen'enyal," the woman shook her head. "No, I'm not here to torture you. Truth be told, I'm not even supposed to be here."

"Then, why are you?"

"I was told the prisoner had fallen unconscious during his questioning. I assumed that meant they hadn't been very kind. I wanted to see if there was anything I could do for you."