"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.
***
A familiar face welcomed her back when she woke next time. Sunlight filtered through the white cloth. The wagon was motionless.
"How do you feel?" Felix asked. His fingers measured the pulse in her throat. The chatty man was still sitting in his spot.
"Thirsty," she croaked out. Felix frowned. He glared at the man, who simply shrugged his broad shoulders.
Felix opened a flask, raised Summer's head with one hand and gave her a drink. "I'll give you a pain reliever. You'll sleep the rest of the trip."
"Leon?" she asked. "Alive?"
Felix pursed his lips but nodded.
"What's happening?" she asked. "I don't understand, the last thing I remember-"
"Alright, enough," the man said, his voice low and threatening. "Let's move on."
Felix sighed. He made me drink a bitter tasting potion and touched my forehead with gentle hands. "Sleep now. Don't worry. When Leon wakes up, he'll fix everything."
"Sir Felix," the man said, "communicating with the prisoner is not allowed. Please step outside."
Felix glared at the man. "I will treat my patient on my own terms, Wolfe. If you have any objections, you're welcome to voice them outside of my and my patient's hearing."
Wow. It was the first time Summer saw something other than a mellow expression on his face. He was usually so gentle and well mannered.
The man sat up straighter. In the little sunlight creeping through the opening, his features grew more clear. He was about the same age as Leon, short dark hair, dark eyes, a clean shaven face. His bulbous nose, paired with the permanent scowl gave his face a mean look.
Felix checked Summer's bandages. She no longer wore her blood soaked, dirty clothes. Instead, she was dressed in a new blue tunic and a brown long skirt. Well, at least her clothes were nice.
"You have a nicely colored bruise on your jaw. Your shoulder and your side were stitched, they will most likely leave scars. You have lost a great deal of blood. If we hadn't found you when we did, you and Leon would have died that very evening."
Summer frowned. "How long ago was that?"
"Five days ago. You slept for most of them," Felix answered. The wagon flap opened and Ida jumped inside. She looked at Summer, Felix, the man, then hunkered down beside Felix.
"How are you holding up?"
"Terrific," Summer replied.
"You look like hell."
"Thanks." Summer smiled. "You don't look half as good yourself."
Ida made a face. Her eyes were almost glowing with anger. Fury radiated off her in palpable waves. "Thanks, I try. What happened?"
"Ida, you should-"
Ida turned her blazing expression on to the man who just spoke, "you will either shut up or walk out of here, Wolfe."
Ida turned back to her. Summer was beginning to feel sorry for the man. Not really.
"We took a nice dive into the river," Summer began. "Leon got us out. We somehow survived the first night. Men were looking for us. They found our hideout the next day. I killed two. Leon bludgeoned the other to death. And here we are."
Ida rubbed her temple. "I guessed as much. How in the world are you two still alive is beyond me."
"Well, Leon almost croaked. He had a fever. But that asshole is too stubborn to die."
Wolfe made a choking noise. Summer glanced at him. He was looking at her with wide, shocked eyes. What was wrong with him?
"Where are we going?" Summer asked.
"The capital."
"I see." She held her tied hands up the best she could. "So I'm back to being a criminal."
Ida's nostrils flared. Summer expected her to breathe fire at any moment now.
"It looks bad. Al said something about one of the men recognizing you. Then we find you with a weapon next to a half dead Leon and those men. It looks bad."
Ah. So Summer had graduated from theft to murder now. "You think I did that to Leon?"
"I don't think that," Ida said. "Unfortunately, Al is Leon's second in command, his word weighs more than mine in Leon's absence."
Summer cracked a smile. "I always knew Al liked me." To actually think he suspected she would attempt to kill Leon. "Leon?"
"He comes and goes. Still not lucid yet."
Great. So her only witness, which also happened to be her supposed victim, was unconscious. Good to know her rotten luck still held.
Ida left after announcing they would reach the capital in another day. Felix fussed over her some more and left. The wagon moved, and Summer surrendered to the effects of the pain medication.
Her next bout of wakefulness found her in a prison cell.
She must be in the capital. She wished her first view of the capital was anything else other than the four walls of a gray cell, where the only light came through a small barred opening far higher than she could reach.
She woke up to a gray brick ceiling. Her shoulder and side were sore. Her head pounded. And her feet were cold.
The cot she lay on was lumpy. Summer sat up, wincing in pain. A piece of bread and some cold gruel was on the floor by her feet, along with a jug of water and a cup. A gray metal door locked her in. A basin was pushed against the corner. Where she was supposed to relieve herself, she thought wryly.
Tears pricked her eyes. Summer sniffed and raised her chin. She would not cry again. Whatever came her way, she would face it head on with a smile, as she always did.
But first she needed to be strong. She ate the bread, forced the gruel down and washed it with water. Then she looked at the walls.
Waiting was the most difficult part. She wasn't used to being idle. And she wasn't used to the confines of walls. They seemed to be closing in on her. Her breathing quickened, and it had nothing to do with her injuries.
Summer lay on the cot, closed her eyes and pictured the forest where she grew up. Her little cabin next to the creek. Birds chirped, critters scurried around, and wind combed through her hair.
The smell of soil and freshwater, the tangy taste of wild berries and the feel of rough bark against her fingers. Summer summoned every memory she had of her green home.
How she had taken it for granted. The freedom, the feeling of being hugged by the forest, the simple pleasure of seeing the vast sky. If she ever got out of here, she would never take those simple joyful moments for granted again.
The light coming through the window slowly dimmed and darkened into night. And with it Summer's hope that Leon would wake up and free her of all charges before sunset waned.
She would probably spend this night, and many others, here. Even if he did wake up, would he have the authority to break her out of here?
She thought of Ida's words. At least the other woman believed her. That was a reassurance for Summer. It made the loneliness a bit more bearable.
Steps echoed outside her door. Summer sat up and waited as the door unlocked from the outside.
Hope was a dangerous thing.
The door opened to let in a group of men. Summer's heart dropped. They were all dressed in similar green uniforms made of pristine material, their shiny boots touching the ground with resounding taps. There were four of them, all boys with clean faces and youthful eyes that hadn't yet seen the ugly of the world. They were younger than her. But the malice in their eyes made every instinct of hers honed by years of survival stand on end.
"She's awake," one of them said, looking out through the door. "Hurry up before the next rotation gets here."
Summer stood up and faced the three men who entered. The fourth stayed outside, presumably watching the hallway.
"So this is her," a blonde boy with mean hazel eyes advanced, "you'll regret ever thinking of robbing the museum, you murderer."
"I didn't rob the museum."
Summer stepped back. She was weak, but if the boys were as green as they looked, she could teach at least two of them a valuable lesson before they snapped her neck.
"Save it," another said, crossing his arms while his two friends approached her, "we heard the news. You will be hanged before the week ends. Especially after attacking his highness."
His highness?
The boy swung a punch. Too slow. She dodged easily. His fist breezed past her face with a mile to spare. She kicked his feet from under him. He dropped on his back to the ground.
There was a moment of surprised silence before the two others inside the cell charged towards her. She ducked down the first punch, countered with one of her own to his stomach and grabbed the leg of another as he kicked. He kicked with his other leg. Summer let go of him and he dropped to the ground.
A fist connected with her injured side, the boy she'd first kicked back on his feet. It felt like a wolf was taking a bite of her side. She groaned and stepped out of the way of another strike.
The kids clearly had some sort of training, though their movements weren't honed yet. They were also slow. But that didn't say much about their skills since Summer was faster than the vast majority of people. They were young, healthy boys however. And Summer was injured, with one shoulder useless and one side impeding her movements.
She went blow to blow with the three boys. Summer dodged most, but not all of their attacks. She was sure she'd be black and blue the next morning.
She couldn't hold on much longer. Summer's body began to fail her. She took a punch to the jaw as she blocked a kick to her ribs. Her mind almost went black, but she dragged herself from the clutches of unconsciousness by sheer power of will. The blonde boy took a swing at her. She held his wrist, dragged him closer and twisted, then struck her fist on the back of his elbow. His scream drowned out the loud crunch of breaking bones.
It was her final blow. Her breath was coming out in ragged gasps. Summer took a vicious blow to the stomach. Her legs gave out and she fell. She had no strength to stand up, so she just curled into a ball and covered her head.
It wasn't her first beating. She had endured the same thing when she'd been younger and weaker. So she told herself what she used to all those years ago when bullies beat her around. They would either stop or kill her, and either way, it would be a reprieve.
"Hey! What are you boys doing?!"
The blows stopped coming. Summer watched through her arms as the boys ran out. She heard some whispering and arguing, and eventually, "get out of here! Go before they come!"
The door to her cell slammed shut, the lock turned. Summer lay with her cheek on the cold floor, blood trickled out of her mouth as she whispered, "I told him not to make promises he can't keep."