By the morning of the fifth day, Leonie seemed to have completely withdrawn into herself and barely even looked at Dorian. The thought that he judged her because of what had happened in the castle filled her with shame and guilt. If only she hadn't told him the truth; if only she'd kept silent like she had for so many years. Then she wouldn't feel as if Dorian thought she was a whore. How could she ever fit in among the elves if this came out and everyone looked at her that way?
She ate her breakfast in silence, while Dorian quietly watched her. Several times he opened his mouth to pick up their conversation from the night before, but she seemed so closed off that he always chose silence instead. The entire day passed that way, wordlessly. They were well into the afternoon when Dorian suddenly reined in his horse and went rigid, listening.
"What is it?" Leonie snapped out of her apathy, but by the time she finished the question, Dorian had already spurred his horse into a gallop and was driving it to an unbelievable speed.
"They've caught up to us!" he shouted into the wind roaring past their ears.
He could have stopped to fight, but he didn't know exactly how many there were, and he couldn't risk Leonie having to face their pursuers herself. He knew Marcus and the others couldn't be that far, so he tried to warn his friend of the danger while forcing his horse to go even faster. They were practically flying over the ground, and he could hear their pursuers falling behind, but he still didn't slow down. For at least a quarter of an hour he pushed on like that, until the sound of crashing branches rose ahead of them as well, and through the distant trees five horses appeared, riders thundering straight toward them. Leonie pressed herself against Dorian as if she were trying to merge with him.
"They're ours," he reassured her, and began to slow. Moments later the riders were close enough for her to see them clearly. Marcus rode at the front, and behind him came four elves in full battle gear, each at least as imposing as Dorian himself. The sight should have comforted her, but elves in full armor made for a fearsome sight.
"Brought trouble down on our heads again?" an older-looking elf with short gray hair called out from a distance. Dorian ignored the remark, and when they finally met, he brought his horse to a halt, as did the others.
"They'll be on us soon, Xav. Take the girl and get her out of here," Dorian said, and before Leonie could react, he practically tossed her into the arms of the older elf who had just shouted.
"All right," the man nodded without question and had already begun to turn his horse when Leonie started struggling.
"No! I'm not going anywhere!" She thrashed in the elf's grip, which felt like a vice. She had no intention of letting some stranger ride off with her. For all that Dorian had deeply hurt her, in her shattered world, he and Marcus were the only things she could cling to.
"Easy now, girl!" the gray-haired elf said, but she twisted and writhed until she managed to end up semi-facing him.
"Let me go!" she cried again, but as Xav's grip only tightened, panic surged and she clenched her fist and drove it at him with all her strength. A loud crack announced that her hand had broken again. Silence fell in its wake. Only Leonie's ragged breathing could be heard.
Then Marcus's cheerful comment broke the spell.
"You see, Dorian? You're not as special as you thought."
He did feel sorry for the girl who'd nearly died of fright at the idea of riding off with Xav, but he couldn't deny he was also entertained by the fact that Leonie seemed determined to punch his entire squad in the face. Dorian, on the other hand, was anything but amused; deep furrows formed on his brow. The last thing he wanted was for those wretched humans to get anywhere near Leonie.
"I'm not arguing about this," he said flatly, anger burning in his eyes in a way that made it clear the topic was, as far as he was concerned, closed.
"You can't tell me what to do," Leonie insisted stubbornly. She wasn't a sack of grain to be tossed around however they pleased. The elves surrounding them displayed a whole spectrum of reactions. The very young-looking boy stared at her, mouth hanging open, while the other blond man watched her with a genuinely soft, curious gaze. The older elf who held her seemed understandably sour about the situation, but she couldn't care less. The fourth, with shoulder-length light brown hair, was clearly trying not to smile, which only made it look as if he had a stomachache.
"Of course I can tell you what to do. I'm responsible for getting you home alive, and for protecting my squad. You'd only be in the way during a fight." Dorian's hard face showed nothing but irritation. Why couldn't Leonie act logically just once? His life was complicated enough because of her as it was; she could at least try not to make it harder.
"I can protect myself!" Leonie fought stubbornly to slip down from the elf's arms, but she froze when Dorian gave a short, humorless laugh, the sound utterly devoid of mirth.
"It hasn't looked that way so far."
From the expression that flickered over her face and the hurt in her eyes, he might as well have slapped her.
"Leonie…" he began, immediately regretting his words, but Marcus intervened, leaping down from his horse and appearing at Xav's side in a heartbeat.
"We don't have time for this right now, children. I'll watch over you," he told the girl, and with that he lifted her off in one smooth motion and set her on the ground beside him. Leonie clung to his arm, looking up at him with gratitude. The panic slowly began to drain from her body.
Dorian watched them for a few seconds, then swung down from his horse in a single, fluid motion. The others followed suit. He handed his reins to the young elf, who led all the horses away and tied them at a safe distance.
"Don't leave anyone alive. And you…" he pinned Leonie with a stern look "…do not move from Marcus's side."
Now even she could clearly hear the thunder of hooves, and soon after that, the riders came into view — a small army charging straight at them. At least thirty soldiers approached, and Leonie couldn't help thinking it was too many. But when she looked over the elves, she saw no trace of fear; on the contrary, most of them looked almost excited. All six were armed to the teeth, with Dorian at the front and Marcus and Leonie bringing up the rear.
"Stay behind me, and don't get yourself killed, all right?" Marcus glanced at her with an easy smile as he drew a dagger from his belt and pressed it into her good hand. "Use it if you have to."
He'd barely finished speaking when the soldiers reached Dorian and the battle began in a spray of blood.
He had meant what he said about not wanting survivors.
With three light steps he shot forward, grabbed the saddle of one of the horses, and vaulted up behind the rider as effortlessly as if it were the most natural thing in the world. In one swift motion he snapped the man's neck with his bare hands. He dropped back to the ground, slamming straight into another soldier, knocking him off his feet, then drove his fist into the man's chest. When he pulled his arm back, a bloody heart gleamed in his hand.
Leonie stood rooted to the spot, staring at him. He looked like the angel of death itself — terrifying and breathtakingly beautiful at once, his fury more devastating than a flood. The others were not far behind him; all six elves fought with the soldiers as if it were some strange form of art. The fair-haired, braided elf battled two men at once, turning his sword as gracefully as a conductor's baton. The younger elf shouted, "Catch me if you can!" and proceeded to play tag with a group of soldiers, seemingly enjoying himself as he took them down one by one. The older elf and the light brown–haired one fought back to back, moving as if they were following a carefully rehearsed choreography.
Leonie tried to summon at least some shred of pity for the growing number of corpses on the ground, but deep inside, all she found was relief. She took a couple of steps forward just as her gaze fell on Marcus, and saw that four soldiers had surrounded him not far away. One of the men spotted her movement, broke away from the group, and charged in her direction. Leonie immediately raised the borrowed dagger and began to retreat. She had never fought in close combat before, and in her current physical state she wasn't sure she could have bested even a child. She had no choice but to back away from the snarling, burly man, right up until her shoulders hit a tree.
Seeing her halt, the soldier gave her a vile grin, clamped his hand around her throat, and slammed her against the trunk, wrenching the dagger from her grasp with ease. Leonie's heart plunged into her stomach.
"Playtime's over, you little whore," he sneered, tightening his grip on her neck. Leonie's mind went completely blank. Maybe Dorian had been right — she shouldn't have stayed; she really couldn't defend herself. Her breath grew shallow, panic flooded her, and terror fogged her brain.
"The baron's not exactly in a forgiving mood after you—"
Suddenly he looked down, confusion twisting his features as he tried to kick off the roots creeping steadily up his legs. It all happened at once. Somewhere nearby, Marcus shouted her name. The man's grip on her neck loosened, and Leonie used everything she had left to shove his arm away. At the same moment she felt a yank at her waist and flew through the air, landing hard on her backside as if a gust of wind had flung her aside. She whipped around just in time to see the soldier's eyes go wide with terror as the roots wrapped around him, leaving only his head exposed. He opened his mouth to scream, but a root speared out of it, and then everything went still.
At least, it did around Leonie.
She stared, horrified, at the scene before her, with no sense of how much time passed until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and turned instinctively to defend herself, but found only Marcus's worried gaze.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly, kneeling beside her. There wasn't so much as a scratch on him; he was spotless, as if he hadn't been fighting at all.
"It's over," he soothed, and she could only nod before turning her head aside and vomiting up her lunch. As the last waves of panic ebbed, the nausea faded too, but her trembling hand still clung to Marcus.
Her eyes searched for Dorian. He only spared her a glance as he strode past, fury darkening his features, heading straight for the man trapped in roots. As he walked, he wiped the blood from his hand with a scrap of fabric. Leonie assumed he was still angry with her, but Dorian's rage was in fact aimed at the human who'd laid hands on her. If he could have, he would have brought the man back to life just to cut off his hands and kill him again for daring to touch her.