than the night, they killed Donarre and snatched Willow, keeping a tight hold over her mouth.
Jonas’ eyes flew open at the sound of her struggles, and in one moment that seemed to last a lifetime, her eyes met his across the firelight. Fury, terror, and sorrow filled him all at once as a dagger, as long as his arm, disappeared into his belly.
Willow saw the blood and her eyes opened wide in horror. She screamed under the hand that silenced her, but only a muffled, aching groan could be heard in the night. She was yanked to her feet and dragged to their horses.
They were snatching her! No! No! But this was truly happening. Jonas was dead—they were all dead judging by the silence. Terror washed over her. Her heart boomed in her ears and she opened her mouth to scream. She didn’t scream a word, though her heart wanted to wail Caleb’s name. She lifted her chin and screamed the Warrior chant, hoping…praying that someone would hear and come to help.
And then something—the back of a hand—struck her in the temple and she fell into blessed unconsciousness.
“They were Warriors.”
“Doesn’t matter. They’re not anymore. Tie her to the horse and keep her quiet.”
“Do you think she is the famous woman Warrior, Shauna?”
“No. Shauna is pale. Now shut up.”
Willow didn’t move for the next hour. She may have dreamed of Caleb and of calm, blue-green oceans, feathery fields dancing in golden light, and flowers blooming in her hands.
By the time the Catchers reached Culderia, it was almost morning. Willow was dragged, still unconscious, through the wide, wooden doors of an old church and then deposited in a small room as black as the hearts that had captured her. She opened her eyes sometime later and the first thing she felt was the noose around her neck, then she felt the chains around her wrists and ankles. She began to scream. She didn’t hear the heavy metal door opening, but suddenly there was light in the cold, dark room.
A man entered and stood over her. “Don’t scream again,” he snarled, his deep, raspy voice sent a tongue of frigid fear over her spine.
“Where am I?” she cried. “I am Princess Willomenia O—”.
He hit her and then poked her with his boot, but Willow was unconscious again on the floor.
“You’re in hell,” he said to her, and then left the room.
Her blessed slumber didn’t last long. A few minutes later she was yanked to her feet and led by the noose to another room filled with people. They were all chained to the walls, some sleeping or unconscious, she couldn’t tell which. The smell of urine lingered over many. Most were sobbing pitifully or just staring blankly into space with mouths hung open in a suspended and permanent state of shock and terror.
Gathering some of her wits back from the sight of them, Willow spun on her heel to face the man who brought her in. “Let these people go!” she demanded.
“Shut up.” It was the same voice of the man who hit her before. He gave her a hard shove, knocking her to the floor. She watched him chain her ankles to shackles bolted to the walls. She tried to kick him, but he twisted her ankle in his gigantic hands, almost breaking it. After that, she was still.
Her captor was well over six feet tall, with skin stretched and shining over bursting muscles. His dark hair was tied into a long, thin ponytail at the back of his thick neck. His eyes, when he looked at her, were as void of life as the plains of Predaria.
“I order you to release these people. I am…” she stopped and looked at him, then began again with a slight upward thrust of her chin. She was the princess as long as her father still held the title of King. “I’m Princess Willomenia, daughter of King Baltrasard.”
The man lifted one thick brow and laughed. “And I am King Samuel, risen from the dead.” His smile left him. “Now shut up or I’ll quiet you myself.” He stepped over a man, filthy and covered with dried blood, and then he left the room.
“You’d best not anger Drakar. He takes pleasure in torture.”
Willow turned to the gaping, toothless mouth of a small old man with sunken cheeks and cloudy blue eyes. He was smiling at her. “He’s a mean one, just as soon cut your tongue out if you don’t keep quiet.”