Alora: The Maladorn Scroll (Alora 3)

He spent most of the day sitting on the ground beside her, taunting her with promises of a painful death. But when she grew too weak to retort, he lost interest.

Later he offered to spare her life and that of her soulmate, if only she would serve him. He even suggested he wouldn’t force Kaevin to take the oath of fealty and accept the bloodbond. She’d only have to promise to follow his commands without question.

It occurred to Alora that Kaevin would find his offer hilarious, and she heard his voice saying, “As if Alora could ever follow anyone’s commands without question.”

Her ensuing chuckles irritated her father, whose face turned red, with veins standing out on his temples. This expression made her think of her Aunt Lena saying, “You have a bee in your bonnet,” which caused her to laugh even harder. The painful rasp of her laughter through her dry throat was nothing compared to Vindrake’s blistering slap, busting open her crusty, swollen lip.

I guess he doesn’t like people laughing at him when he’s trying to be serious. But if he doesn’t want me to laugh, he should probably feed me something so my brain starts working again.

After that, she tried hard to restrain her illogical mirth. But holding in her emotions, even the ones that made no sense whatsoever, put a strain on her bulging empathy balloon. That was how she’d come to picture the container deep in her head that housed all her pain and emotions, including that which she’d erroneously stored up. Laethan had described it as a “well” but Alora thought that sounded deep and strong. Hers felt much more fragile, stretched to capacity and ready to break open. Perhaps something like an overstuffed trash bag with sharp objects inside.

At any rate, she was quite certain, as weak as she felt, she wouldn’t survive another pain-emotion spill. And had Kaevin’s life not depended on hers, she would’ve allowed it to happen. Though it would be painful, at least her death would come on her own terms and not via her father’s promised torture.

If I don’t eat something soon, I’m going to die anyway. Though she barely had strength to breath, she reached out to Kaevin with her mind.

Pain. Terror. Relief. Longing. Sadness. Pain.

Knowing her soulmate was conscious brought her new courage. Careful to shield her pain and fear, she shared only her love with Kaevin. By his loving response, she knew he’d received her emotional message. She drank it in, warming her cold heart long after she should’ve stopped.

**************

When water splashed in her face, Alora realized she’d passed out. The sun was dropping behind the distant mountain, and she shivered in the chilly air. Or maybe she was shaking because she was weak. No matter the reason, no one was offering anything for her comfort.

The setting sun shined through the wispy blond hair of the man standing over her, creating a glowing orange halo.

“Are you an angel?” she mumbled.

The angel grimaced, revealing a rotten tooth right in the front. Her vision blurred, and she squinted to bring him back into focus. The black tooth was still there.

“You really ought to see a dentist, you know. Don’t you have insurance?”

He set a bowl on the ground beside her. “Eat this. Master Vindrake doesn’t want you to die. Not yet.”

Every muscle and joint protested when she tried to move, and the pain cleared some of the fog from her mind.

“I don’t suppose you could help me get up on my knees.”

“I’m not allowed to touch you, because you might transport me somewhere.”

“I...” She started to tell him it didn’t matter whether he touched her or not. That she couldn’t transport him if he had on an iron belt, which she was certain he did. But she changed her mind, deciding it was better if this goon—who was certainly no angel—was afraid to touch her.

“I thank you for the... uhh...” What’s in that bowl? It looks like someone dug it out of the disposal. I liked it better last night when I ate in the dark. “I thank you for the food. Could I also have some water to drink? I assume you don’t want my father to be angry with you that I died of dehydration.”

Glancing at the empty bowl he held in his other hand, he grunted. “I’ll fetch you some more. I wouldn’t have had to throw it on you if you’d woke up when I yelled.” He stomped away, muttering something quite un-angel-like.

Drawing her legs up, she made several attempts to roll onto her knees before she finally succeeded. Scooting closer to the bowl of chunky matter, her stomach growled.

“You wouldn’t be so interested in this food if you could actually see it,” she told her grumbling belly. “It looks like somebody scooped up some of the dirt and leaves I’ve been lying on and threw grease on it.” She gave her dinner bowl a sniff. “Yep. Smells like compost soup.”

Ignoring the slimy texture, she wolfed the food down, guessing it might be chunks of dried bread in cold meat juice. What kind of meat, she refused to consider.

By the time the guard returned with the water, she felt considerably better and decided to perform an experiment with her reluctant servant.

Attempting a quick transport, she found, as expected, the guard had protection of some sort—probably an iron belt. However, iron couldn’t protect him from her empathy. Laethan had warned her against manipulating emotions, but something told her he wouldn’t object under these circumstances.

As the guard approached, she sent a wave of anxiety toward him, gradually increasing the intensity until she emoted something akin to fear. With trembling hands, the guard dropped the bowl on the ground, spilling at least half the water before he jumped away from her. His wide eyes bulged like he expected a rattlesnake to leap out of the bushes.

Switching gears, she dropped the fear and sent giddy feelings into his head. He tittered with nervous laughter, but he was still afraid. With great effort, she managed to calm him down. Confused, he backed away, stumbling over his own feet.