The Prince, the Thief & the Artifact

Chapter 17: A Prisoner Again

"Severe blood loss, at least two broken ribs, symptoms of poisoning and a dozen shallow wounds. It's a miracle he still lives. A miracle."

The voice was familiar. But Summer couldn't pinpoint it. She was floating in a stream of constant pain. Only voices filtered through the darkness. Was she dead?

"Keep him alive. The king will have our heads if you don't," a gruff unfamiliar voice. A dry laugh. "He will have our heads either way."

"What about her?"

"Al will explain everything. For now, keep her alive and tied up. Everyone else is dead, she's the only lead we have."

"She's not a bad person," the familiar voice said softly.

"We'll worry about that. You do your job and keep them alive."

***

The moving bed wasn't very comfortable. The hazy thought floated to Summer's mind. It kept swaying this way and that, jarring Summer's aching body. Her eyes opened. Wherever she was, it was dark, warm and empty. There was no one around, though. She was alone. Again.

Sleep swept her under.

She woke up several times. Each time less groggy and more alert than before. She realized that her hands and feet were bound. There was no strength in her to panic. She simply surrendered. She was too tired to fight. She was so, so very tired.

She realized she was on a moving carriage at one point. The burning pain in her shoulder and side grew in intensity. She opened her eyes to find the usual darkness had vanished. She was no longer alone.

The blanket beneath her was drenched with her sweat and who knew what else. Turning her head to look around took all she had. A man was sitting across the small dingy space from her, a small lantern at his side.

His features were a blur of shadow. But he was built like a fighter, with wide shoulders and a straight, stiff stance even while sitting. A dark, fur edged cloak covered his shoulders. Heavy, well-made boots. A sheathed sword rested on his lap.

"Where-" She cleared her throat, her voice came out raspy, "where am I?"

The man simply stared. He was looking at her, she knew that much.

"Is Leon alive?" she tried again.

The man didn't answer. Summer looked around again. She was in the back of a wagon. Dark wood surrounded her, except for the exit which was covered with a white cloth-like material. It was dark outside.

"Where are we going?"

The man didn't answer. Very chatty, wasn't he? Summer's wrists etched under the rope. Suddenly, she was taken with the overwhelming urge to cry. She turned her head away from the man, swallowed several times, but the tears still fell.

She was just so exhausted. Why was this happening to her? Why was her life so messed up? Whatever had she done wrong?

She'd always tried to be good. As good as she could, at least. Why was she thrown from one misfortune to the other? She just wanted to catch a break, for once.

Her sharp blade sliding into soft, yielding flesh. Bright red pouring down with the rain as she ended a life. The sound of bones breaking echoed in her mind; the man's neck twisted beyond repair. Another life. Her dagger hit another man's neck with frightening accuracy before he fell dead. Another life.

She deserved whatever was happening to her. Her hands were no longer those of a thief. She was a killer now.

Summer turned on her side to face the wagon wall, curled into a small ball despite the pain in her side, and begged sleep to come. She wished she could sleep forever.