Chapter 28: The Valen Famil

“Alma,” Evyn bites out once they return to the old building. The werebird sits, a little dazed, on the rough ground, her legs folded harshly under her.
“Where’s Eliana,” Jasper rumbles, stepping into the structure and quickly glancing around.
“She,” Alma pauses, her eyes glistening.
“What is it,” he barks, fear tightening around his heart.
“Jasper,” Evyn snaps, a snarl forming across his features as he helps the girl stand.
“They took her,” Alma sobs falling into Evyn’s embrace.
Jasper’s entire body begins to tremble. He steps up in front of the Boquiv, “Who did?”
“Climont,” she whispers.
He pivots around and sprints down the road.
“Jasper, wait,” Evyn shouts after him. “You don’t know where they are.”
“I will not stand around and let them do what they wish to her,” he growls, his gaze tinged with the crimson of his rage.
“He is correct,” Olisnia states, walking around the side of the building. “You do not know where to look.”
Jasper releases a guttural howl as he rushes the Drulian. He lowers his shoulders, ready for impact, but when he is only a foot away, his entire body freezes, an invisible force holding him back.
“Why didn’t you stop them,” he spits at her.
Olisnia sighs softly, “I was not here.”
“Find her,” he barks. “You can find her with your magic and track her. That’s how you found her here, right?” he fights against his invisible restraints, but it only wears him out.
Olisnia huffs, “That is not how magic works. I have asked the spirits to lend me their power, but it does not make me omnipotent. I have my limits.”
Jasper’s entire being refuses to calm. His heart is crushed as he tries to breathe. “Then what good are you?”
“Jasper,” Evyn pleads, “That is enough. We will find her, just calm yourself right now. You’re going rabid.”
“I will not calm down.” Jasper turns his anger on his friend, “I won’t let them harm her.”
Olisnia walks up to his side, her pale gaze soft and a sadness pulling down her features, “You love her.”

>><<

Eliana has lost all energy. Her body aches from pulling on her restraints. There is a hollow twinge in her chest as she wonders what Jasper and the others will do once they know she is missing.
As she blinks away tears and swallows her pain, she thinks to herself, “Will he come to save me?”
Shifting her weight so that she can sit more comfortably in the wagon, she groans.
She cannot see outside, but she knows it is some time in the evening. Every once in a while one of her kidnappers will come in and she will get a glimpse of her surroundings. The moon peels at her every time this has happened.
“Here,” the woman that has ridden in the wagon with Eliana the entire way, so far, reaches over with a small wooden bowl. Within is a thick stew.
Eliana’s stomach begins to roar, but she pushes down the saliva accruing in her mouth.
“You will need to keep your strength up,” the woman explains, not moving.
There are slight lines around her eyes and lips, but her hair is still a dark brown. She is still quite young. There is no malice in her gaze and her hands are quite clean. She does not do hard labor.
“Where are you taking me,” Eliana questions, her voice sore and raspy from screaming.
“Eat,” she responds, almost as though she had not heard the question.
“Please, just tell me what is going to happen to me?” Eliana fights the sob twisting her chest. Her vision becomes blurry, but she presses her lips together tightly.
The woman pauses for a moment before sighing and leaning back against the wall of the wagon.
“You are not going to be harmed,” as Eliana stares at the woman, shifting her chains, her captor cringes ever so slightly, “Any more than you already have been. It will make more sense when we arrive at our destination,”
“And that would be where,” she urges.
“I cannot say much more, I am sorry.” She places the bowl in front of Eliana before leaning back once more. “Please, eat, I do not want you going hungry.”
Eliana is not able to discern whether or not to believe this woman, a Climont citizen. There is a long purple ribbon in her hair as well as the rough family crest of the Valen family that all citizens wear. She warily stares out of the corner of her eye as she slowly picks up the bowl. If they had wanted her dead, they would have done so already, right?
She swallows once as she breathes in the rich scent of the stew. Hunger takes over her mind and she downs the entire contents before she can even exhale.
The woman chuckles as she watches, her gaze soft. She folds her arms and remains quiet.
When finished, Eliana coughs through the excess food stuck in her throat. She sets the bowl back down and wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand.
“What would my father say, if he saw me acting like a commoner with no manners,” she muses to herself.
To her captor, though, she asks, “How long have we been traveling?”
“It has been roughly a day’s journey, so far.”
Imagining the map in her mind, and the placement of the moon, she knew that they were heading East. The moon is still low in the sky because the night has just begun. They must be in Drein, or at least the bottom of Murduk, heading toward Climont. Fear begins to tug at her chest once more, causing a shiver to rip through her body at what might happen to her.
“Which Valen are you taking me to?” Eliana swallows her heart.
The woman slowly sighs, “What do you mean?”
“Which member of the royal Valen house are you bringing me to? Krite, or Drake? Or is it one of the other brothers.”
A tense line forms through her brow, “It is King Krite, and Prince Drake. You may be Princess of Drein, but they are still worthy of their titles as well.”
Eliana holds her words back, staring at the floor of the wagon. Her mind begins to spin with ways she can escape. She could mention having to relieve herself, but she knows with her restraints that she cannot run fast enough. She could attack her guard when his attention is elsewhere, but she does not have confidence in her strength.
“What do I do,” she whimpers in her mind.
Biting her lip, she looks around the area near here, but there is nothing of use. A change of clothes and bits of provisions.
After they ride in silence for quite some time, the wagon begins to shake, slowing down.
The woman looks at the back door, “We must be here.”
Eliana refuses to ask again, even as her mind becomes hazy with dread. A cold sweat forms on her temple.
Her captor stands, walking to the door as it is slowly opened.
In a panic, Eliana blindly reaches for something, anything that could help her.
“There has to be something,” she hisses under her breath.
Her hands land on a cold object. When she pulls it to herself, she examines it in the small amount of light allowed to her. It is a crude nail, larger than the palm of her hand. She pokes the point gently and winces with the pain. It is sharp enough to do damage to anyone she uses it on. Trying to control the smile fighting its way onto her lips, she tucks the nail into the waistband of her pants before two large men jump up into the wagon, picking her up by the arms.
“Hey,” she growls through the pain. Her chains are yanked on, digging into her flesh. “You don’t have to be so rough,” she spits at them as she is all but carried out.
After adjusting to the new light, Eliana glances around at her surroundings. She is in a camp, large tents towering over her and torches brightening the area. She is surrounded by men and women, a majority of them still in battle armor, blood soaking the metal.
In the center of the crowd is a tall man, not as burly as some of the others, but his long, ebony hair is tied back smoothly. His features are slim and elegant, his eyes a dark storm. There are splashes of crimson on his cheeks and neck. He holds his large helmet at his side. The Valen crest, tinted golden, is stamped on the center of his armor.
Eliana tries not to scream as one name drowns out all other thoughts. It escapes her mouth on a petrified whimper, “Drake.”