Aligning the Forgotten ✓

Chapter 53: Roux

The next time my eyes open, my head bangs against the wall of a moving wagon. I wince, feeling the bump on the back of my head from the pommel of the sword, and attempt to reach up to feel it. My arm snaps back, and I yank, finding titanium shackles wrapped around my wrists. Where the hell am I?

My legs are spread out in front of me, boots scuffed from my fight in the throne room. I blink through my blurred vision, the rest of the world comes back to me slowly, not all at once. It doesn't take me long to recognize I'm not alone; the boots spread out across the wagon don't belong to me, and they're nearly touching mine.

I yank my legs back against my chest and wince against the rush of soreness through my abdomen. How long have I been here? My vision isn't clear yet, but I can recognize who is sitting in the wagon with me. He's not shackled by titanium, his head is thrown back against the wall, and he watches me through heavy eyelids.

With every bump the wagon hits along the trail to wherever we're going, his entire body rocks back and forth in a gentle wave of motion. But he doesn't move upon realizing my attention, the only thing he does is swallow—his throat bobbing in answer. His hands hang limply between his outstretched legs, and the faint bruise across his cheek and jaw prove that I got my point across in the throne room.

I snarl at Renit Marron, banished prince of Esaria, and yank on the chains keeping me in this spot. As lifeless as death, he doesn't stop watching me. I remember little about the fight in the throne room, other than him trying to make me believe something that wasn't true. Somehow, he found his way into my mind and figured out how to turn me against the king.

In the end, the king had been wrong, too. He ordered me killed—but that was a mistake. There's no way he would do that willingly, without a care, and I need to find my way back to the castle to explain the truth to him. I'll explain that the prince holds more magic than the average witch, and Binx is a rebel. At least that's the title he gave himself when he gave the illusion of my death.

Something is wrong—something is off. It wasn't supposed to happen this way, any part of it, Renit was supposed to die in that throne room and no one would speak his name again. Like the residents in Lona, I'd keep a tally of kills on my skin, and the prize of his life holds the most sway over the rest. If only I'd managed to complete that task.

My throat is dry, and I try to swallow my saliva to get the smallest bit of moisture. After all that screaming, my voice is hoarse. "Where are we going?" I demand coldly.

Renit flattens his stare at me. "I don't know."

"Don't lie, you fool." My voice cracks in anger, rasping into a wheeze, and I try to yank myself forward again. The chains hold, and the shackles dig farther into my skin. I imagine myself filleting the skin off his body inside this wagon with no one to stop me, not even the driver of the wagon moving at a rapid pace.

"I'm not lying." Renit's voice is as cold and simple as it once was when we first met. "I wasn't informed of our destination."

I scowl and continue yanking on the chains to hopefully rip something free in this ancient wagon. "You're useless." On the inside of the titanium band, small thorns prick at my skin, so with every yank, they dig in and blood drips down my forearms. Renit makes no move to stop my efforts. I take only a few seconds to realize that through efforts of setting myself free, I'm putting titanium in my system. Even if I escape, I won't be able to use my power. "Who is driving this wagon?"

Renit waits a second to speak as if the effort alone is enough to drain him completely. "The same person who gave me the illusion that you're dead," he says.

Binx. He's the reason for this. I ignore all hint of pain and keep yanking, but the wooden floorboards holding the chains where they are don't give. They remain locked tight, and more blood streams down from the open wounds in my wrists.