“These are Chosen Children. They weren’t Edmund’s best men; they were just men with weaker magic that he could use…” My words froze in my throat as I stepped up to the pile, the gaunt eyes of dozens staring at me, their mouths agape in death, the sounds of cries echoing from somewhere deep inside of them.
“Do you hear that?” My voice was strangled in fear, praying I was hallucinating. The eyes of the lifeless man before me stared, his mouth open in such a way that, for a moment, I was sure the sound was coming from him.
“Hear what?”
The sobs increased, the word “help” now intermingled in the panic, the single word a sobbing plea that cut through me. I could tell this was different. This was not some corpse come to kill us, not with the way it cried, not with the way it sobbed for help.
“That.” Looking to Ryland in alarm, I pushed my magic into Ilyan, part of me knowing I needed to take control, while another part not emotionally capable to make such decisions.
Ilyan, I said, and the sound of fighting behind us stopped. We need you.
He was with us in a second, his heart beating loudly within me.
“Be careful,” Ilyan finally said, his voice shaking as he took a step toward the mound, his motions and words making everyone’s fears clear.
After what Sain had done, after everything he had revealed, we had no way of knowing what was underneath there.
Without another word, we all moved, our motions slow as we sifted through something that I tried in vain to convince myself was nothing more than a pile of rocks. It didn’t work. My stomach threatened to turn itself out as we moved the bodies away, the heavy, limp masses sagging under our weight, our hands slipping on blood-covered skin. Everything smelled like blood and sweat, a vile combination that amplified as we moved the bodies, the sounds of the sobs increasing as we did so.
Wyn and I grabbed a hold of a young man, moving him aside as the blonde head of a little girl came into view, her cries ricocheting loudly around the street as the frightened child emerged. Her motions were frantic as she wiggled from the death she had been trapped in, her body covered in blood, her own blood seeping from cuts littered over her body, everything red except for her eyes, the panicked orbs desperate as she reached for freedom.
With a scream of fear and relief, she broke free, wrapping herself around the first living thing she could find.
Ilyan looked out of place as the tiny child clung to him.
“Please,” the little girl sobbed, her voice strangled as she tried to talk through her tears. “Don’t make me go back. Please. He’ll hurt me. All they do is hurt me,” she cried into Ilyan as she clung to him, her hands leaving bloodied prints all over his shirt.
His face twisted with the same question I could feel strumming through me. Do you think she is safe? he asked, his voice tenser than I thought it would be given the situation.
She’s a child. It was the logical answer, but one I knew didn’t really qualify in this situation.
Not with Edmund.
He had used children before. He had hurt them, abused them.
Destroyed them.
I knew that this was no different, but with the way she cried, with the way she sobbed and panicked, I knew as well as he did that we didn’t have another choice.
Everyone knew it.
Wyn moved toward the little girl slowly, looking from Ilyan to me as if for permission before kneeling before her, her motions slow as she reached for the child. The girl jerked away in obvious fear of a slap.
“You’re okay,” Wyn soothed, her voice soft and kind. My heart opened as I saw a side of my best friend I hadn’t seen before. “We aren’t going to hurt you; I promise. We’re the good guys.”
The little girl said nothing; she looked at Wyn, her lips quivering as the tears threatened to break free again.
“My name is Wyn, and this is Ilyan and Joclyn and Ryland. What’s your name?” Wyn kept her voice calm, mellow, her motions slow.
I looked from her to Ilyan who didn’t seem at all confused by this change. Ryland, however, looked at her like she had grown a third head.
“Míra,” the girl finally answered, her voice little more than a broken sob.
“Hello, Míra. We are going to take you to our home now. We are going to help you. Will you let us do that?”
She nodded.
I appeared in Ovailia’s room without so much as a preliminary check. Thank goodness it was empty except for its owner. The girl in question sat in her chair, propped up on pillows as though someone was afraid she was made of glass.
However, I knew she was stronger than that.
“Sain!” At my appearance, she jerked, anger rumbling through the shock that was clear on her face. I guessed I was lucky she didn’t attack me. Anyone else and she would have. “What happened? What are you doing here? Did you finish the task my father sent you on? Did Míra succeed?”