My arms were wrenched behind me, wrists bound so tightly I could feel my skin tearing. The rough bark of the tree bit into my back, and every breath I took was shallow and sharp. I could feel the blood still oozing from my thigh, warm and sticky as it soaked through the fabric. The arrow was still there, still pulsing, a cruel reminder that I was not in control anymore.
My head hung low, chin brushing my chest. Every part of me hurt. Every breath was a fight.
I heard her before I saw her, Ethenia. Her footsteps were unhurried, deliberate. The crowd had parted for her like obedient shadows. She stood in front of me now, a phantom carved in darkness.
Cold satisfaction shimmered in her eyes.
I looked up, barely. “What more do you want?” I rasped, my voice hollow.
She didn’t answer.
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