Working in a dead-end, post office job in the heart of a primarily-Human city, Arya Salcrest cannot let her secret out else she loses her rights and her safety. Norren Sterling, a member of the Council whom she met after a failed museum trip, is det...
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The warehouse stood like a hulking mountain in the middle of a plain. Eliott strode towards it with his chin raised high, knowing what was inside that dingy place. Since he figured it was one of the members of the Court who was responsible, it had been easy to track which estate they sent Edge into. It was like with all the fake clues removed, a single, clear path showed itself.
His hand rested against the hilt of his sword, the only weapon he had brought. Once he got Edge out of there, the other knights would be free to make the arrests. As it was, Eliott had told them to stay back until he hadn't returned. They might hurt Edge and make a run for it if they realized Eliott had brought the whole army for them.
As much as Eliott knew it to be dangerous, they didn't have a choice. At this point, things were still open to consideration, for bargain. If they kept Edge alive, they would have had their demands ready. If not, then they would have brought Eliott's ire upon them. Not that they didn't already have it just for thinking they could touch Edge.
The grass reached his waist in height, and that was without the tall stalks bearing clumps of small, violet flowers. It would be easy to lose someone through this hazy maze of green and yellow should it come to a chase.
When he reached the warehouse, it loomed over him like a faceless monster. Eliott gripped his sword but didn't draw it. The bolts securing the splotchy doors were snapped open. The doors, themselves, were slightly ajar, as if inviting him to come in as he wished.
He looked around him. No houses stood in his immediate radius. This region, according to Sir Geoffer, was largely used as farming lands. In the distance, the shadowy silhouettes of the mountain ranges bordering Lezeris and the neighboring kingdom of Greerloch stood as an imposing wall.
Eliott pursed his lips and pushed the doors in. With a soft whine, they swung inward, giving him a view of what lay inside. A woman sat on a rickety chair. Red hair spilled down her shoulders and chest, matted and tangled like she was grabbed using it. Blood ran down the side of her face and dripped to her mud-splattered and torn dress. Her wings splayed against the chair's backrest, their primaries spilling over to the side and almost touching the hay-strewn floor.
Edge.
The woman looked up. Apparently, Eliott had said her name aloud. Instead of her eyes filling with relief and joy, they welled up in tears. Why was that? She whimpered, the strangled noises reaching his ears in faint squeaks because of the cloth gag tied around her head. She thrashed against the chair but thick ropes bound her arms and body to it. Even her legs, through the rips on her skirt, weren't forgotten.
Eliott felt his blood boil. Whoever had the guts to do this to her would burn in hell. He would personally make sure of it. His knees slapped the cement floor as he crouched beside the chair. His fingers worked on untying the ropes but they wouldn't budge. All the while, Edge was skirting away from him as best as she could.
"What's wrong?" Eliott asked, knowing full well she wouldn't be able to answer. He touched her face to find her skin cold. She was shaking, tears running down her eyes in steady streams. She shook her head and jerked her chin to the door. Go. She's telling him to go.
