Somehow, despite the knot of fear in her gut, Azrya had drifted into a fitful sleep—the ordeal had drained her more than she realized.
She woke with a start when rough hands yanked her from the cart.
Lifted over a shoulder like a sack, she had no sense of place. The world was a muffled jumble: heavy footsteps, slurred voices, the sour tang of sweat and stale ale, the coarse fabric of a sack rubbing her skin.
This must be the rebels' base, she thought, every sense narrowing to the smallest detail.
The bustling and rowdy chatter of men began to fade as she sensed herself being taken through a door and descending deeper into the building, down a flight of stairs. Finally, they reached their destination.
Azrya heard the squeaky opening of a gate, then was roughly set down on the ground, and the sack covering her head was ripped off.
She blinked into a dim, musty room. Dozens of other girls sat huddled on the floor—some wide-eyed with terror, others hollow and expressionless. The air smelled of damp and fear.
The man who had brought her in smirked and said with a sneer, "Enjoy your stay, m'lady. Now you belong to the Brothers in Arms." He turned and locked the barred door behind him.
For a moment despair had its teeth in her. The walls felt like they were caving in on her. Then she looked at the women around her—their faces each a small, private ruin—and something fierce rose inside her.
She forced her voice steady and loud. "Do not lose hope. Help is on the way. The Ironwolf Knights are searching for us now. They will find us. Trust me."
A few heads lifted. In some eyes she saw a flicker of something like hope; others merely stared blankly at the floor as if their souls had been boxed away.
A woman with hard eyes scoffed.
"You stupid noble, you know nothing. You've not even been here five minutes. Some of us have been locked up for months, but here you are preaching to us about rescue. Do us all a favour and save your breath on topics you know nothing about."
The woman's harsh words were like a slap to thecheek, but Azrya met them with a small, calm smile.
"You're right - I cannot for a moment claim to understand or relateto the suffering and injustice you women have faced. But I promise there are people looking for us. I trust those who protect this realm. I bet my life on it."
The cynic turned away with a frosty glare.
A child—no more than twelve—crawled free from the cluster and shuffled toward Azrya. Seeing her reduced to such smallness tightened Azrya's chest.
The evil nature of the rebels, going as far as kidnapping children to exploit them for their selfish desires, made her stomach twist in disgust.
She quickly masked her emotions as the girl approached, offering her a reassuring smile.
"Is it true?" the girl whispered. "Will we really be rescued?"
Azrya rose, getting down on her knees so she could be at eye level with the child. She took the girl's thin hands in hers and looked straight into her tired eyes.
Azrya swallowed and answered, every word chosen like a stone to build a bridge. "I promise. We will escape, and when we do, you'll be free to do whatever you want. I will personally make sure of it."
The girl though clearly fatigued and malnourished, was able to muster a weak smile. The girl's smile was small, but it was real, and Azrya hugged her tightly.
Now all she could do was put her trust in Akio. Her husband—this cold, dangerous man—was the only one with the reach and the power to find them. But she, who had always depended on no one but herself, could she rely on him?
She didn't know, but she had no choice but to.
She folded that decision tight inside her, as if wrapping it against the cold. Betting her life on Akio was no figure of speech. It was the plain truth.