The Bitter Kingdom

14

HECTOR

FIFTEEN captors. I work through several scenarios in my head, and always come to the same conclusion: Fifteen is still too many.

Too many for me to fight. Too many for Elisa to fight, for her party is bound to be small. I must get them to expend their energy fighting one another.

My skin is still welted from its last battle with mountain laurel. I grit my teeth as I shove more down my shirt, into my pockets, even down my boots—enough to poison many horses this time. It’s easier to hide my movements now that waist-high ferns bask in the shelter of giant sequoias.

When night comes, I slip the rope and creep over to the picket line. This time I feed the Invierno horses. I contemplate giving Franco’s horse an extra helping but decide against it. It’s not the horse’s fault his rider is a murderer and a spy.

As I’m tying myself back up, snow begins to fall. I still wear only light desert armor; my captors have not bothered to protect me against the cold. A smart strategy. The first fat flakes melt against my skin, and I shiver.

In the vast silence of snowfall, I suddenly feel very alone. I’m usually adept at shielding my mind against thoughts that could weaken me. But my resolve is failing. I miss my men, with their bawdy jokes and boundless energy. I miss the hot sun and the endless desert horizon. I miss sparring each morning with Prince Rosario.

I miss her.

For the first time, I allow myself to consider that she might not come at all. Ximena would try to prevent her, I’m sure of it. Elisa told Franco she loved me. Was it an act to get me quickly away? I wouldn’t fault her for it. I should reconsider rescuing myself.

But, no. She whispered that she would come, and nothing changes her mind once her course is set. I fall asleep hoping for it, dreading it, telling myself to be ready if the time comes. Imagining a thousand ways it can go wrong.

Sometime during the night I wrap my arms around my shoulders in a desperate bid for warmth. Which is how, in the morning, my captors discover my severed bonds. I wake to the splitting pain of a boot to my ribs. I can only absorb a few kicks before blackness retakes me.