I screamed and stabbed the man in my grip, though my aim hadn't been as lethal as I'd wanted. I ran forward, determined to go down fighting if they attacked me too. Then Darrow's suffering cry echoed in the darkness and I stopped. We had cauterizing powder in the carriage. I had a chance to save Darrow, and to rescue Celia. But not by fighting.
"Drop that knife!" someone yelled at me. "Or we will kill this one too!" He held a blade near Celia's throat. The whites of her eyes had widened with horror.
"Release her, and let me save my driver," I countered. "Then I will drop the knife!"
Someone grabbed me from behind, and a blade pressed against my neck. "No," a voice hissed. "You're no longer giving the orders, Princess. Drop your knife."
It was enough effort just to keep myself standing. For three years in the Lava Fields, I had longed for more adventure, for any excitement beyond what Cook made for dinner or what Celia bought at market. Now that I had it, all I wanted was to return to that place and be forgotten once more.
I dropped the knife and closed my eyes.
Three years of Darrow's training, and a missed opportunity to escape. This was my own fault. I had just become a captive of the Corack rebellion.
Corack was the name of a weed that grew plentifully throughout Antora. It was brambly and dense and nearly impossible to get rid of except by fire. Thus the reason the rebels had adopted the name.
They are weeds, I told myself as the rebel at my back pushed me toward the man on the horse, the obvious leader. He's only a weed.
"Get her on her knees," the leader ordered.
"No!" I shouted. "First you must help my driver, Darrow. There's some cauterizing powder inside the carriage. If he dies, you might as well kill me too, because I won't cooperate." Darrow was somewhere behind me in the darkness, groaning with pain. I couldn't bear to hear it.
"We also have your other servant, the girl." The leader leaned forward in his saddle. "Does she matter?"
"Please do what I ask." I'd beg if he required that of me. "Darrow will die if you don't help him."
With a flick of the leader's head, a girl with dark hair ducked inside my carriage and came out a minute later with the sack of powder. I wasn't sure if she'd know how to use it. The powder was only available to loyalists to the Dominion. As soon as she knelt beside Darrow to begin attending to the wound, the leader dismounted. He was shorter than most of the men around him and of lean build, but every part of him exuded strength. He must have lost his right leg below the knee at some point, because it was now replaced with a gold-toned mechanical leg fitted with gears and tubes for fluid movement. With keen eyes, a closely trimmed graying beard, and faded scars on his neck and across one cheek, it was clear this man was not to be toyed with.
The rebel standing at my rear pinned my arms behind my back, forcing me to hunch over a little. I still stood as tall as I could, hoping to intimidate these people, and knowing it likely wouldn't work.
"My name is Captain Grey Tenger. I am the leader of the Coracks." His voice was calm, dispassionate. It gave me little to work with. "And you are Kestra Dallisor."
"If you want a ransom, I'm the worst possible target. My father would pay more for you to keep me away." That's exactly what he'd already done to my servants in the Lava Fields. Paid them to keep me as far from home as possible.
"We're not here for a ransom," Tenger said. "But it's helpful to know that you and your father are not on the best of terms."
That was an understatement. "Anything you want from me, your threats to Darrow are enough to get it. There's no need to hold my handmaiden too."
"Everyone you care about is useful to me." Tenger took a lock of my hair that had come loose and raised his knife, slicing off the end of it.
"Troll," I breathed out.
"Murderer," he replied.
"I'm nothing of the sort, you foul-smelling pig!"
"Just like a Dallisor. Always wanting the last word." He tucked the lock of my hair into a pocket of his vest. "We know the kind of person you are, my lady. We're not stupid."
I smirked. "Aren't you? If Lord Endrick was eager to mop the earth with your blood before, what will he do if you kill the daughter of a Dallisor?"
He gestured to his golden leg. "Probably finish what the Dominion started here." If that was supposed to be humor, it was crass, and his smile was wolfish. "Besides, Lord Endrick won't know this conversation has happened, not until it's too late." When I remained silent, he added, "Your father is Henry Dallisor, enforcer of Dominion crimes, murderer of innocents, and chief footstool for the tyrant, Lord Endrick."
"Don't you say another word about my father!" I could think whatever I wanted about him, but I'd defend him to his enemies with my final breath.
However, I couldn't, and wouldn't, defend Lord Endrick. The darkness surrounding him was tangible, and terrible. Endrick had taken power shortly before my birth and to do so, he had all but destroyed the Banished and everyone who stood with them. The Scarlet Throne of Antora, once a symbol of honor and nobility, had become the blood throne of Lord Endrick, who wielded an iron fist against anyone who defied him. Most Antorans believed he was immortal, or close to it. To serve such a man, my father had to prove himself equally strong. He did not tolerate weakness in his servants.
Or his daughter. I had to be strong, now more than ever before.
Celia was still on her knees near me. The oropod closest to her was craning its leathery green head toward her scent, but if she remained in place, she'd be safe. Farther off, the Coracks were preparing to carry Darrow away. A silver line had raised along his wound, so at least they had figured out how to use the powder. But if these rebels weren't careful, the wound would tear again.