The Burn (A Runner Series Companion)

Chapter 17: Luca (Part III)

209 A.B.

(4 months after the Runner's Rebellion)

I burst into consciousness gasping and soaked with sweat.

My head throbs, pounding as ferociously as a wardrum. I grimace and try to raise my hand to my brow, only to find my arm strapped tightly to the surface below. The ache moves from my head to my chest as panic begins to set in. I jerk my arms fiercely, muscles straining as I vainly attempt to free myself. It is no use; I am stuck fast.

My eyes stretch wide while I fight to make sense of my surroundings. The colour white is everywhere, practically blinding in its brightness. I am assaulted by the curtains surrounding my cot and the blankets below me, as well as the heavy linen wrapped around my left leg. The only stain in the sea of blankness is the brown-red blood seeping through the layers of bandage. I grit my teeth and attempt to raise my injured limb, releasing a frustrated, pained growl when I find both my ankles lashed securely to the bedframe.

There is a hurried tapping of feet against stone and the curtain is swept aside. My hands ball into fists and I feel myself tense, every sinew as poised as a coiled spring. A weathered face appears above me and a pair of drawn-on eyebrows rise to meet the bleached cap covering her head. My lip curls as the old woman visibly struggles to compose herself, stretching a watery smile across her face and taking a tentative step towards me.

"Finally, you're awake." The false chipperness in her voice causes my aching temple to throb anew. "How are you feeling?"

I glare at her. Is this my healer? The hazy events of how I came to arrive here begin to return. I was on the Wall...I was unleashing my arrows upon the Miner warriors. Jaron's catapult fired, the wall crumbled. I deliberately went against Jaron's orders and stayed behind enemy lines for longer than I should have. I recall falling, my always-trusty fingers losing their grip as I tumbled head over heels.

And there was something else... a spot of red on the fringes of my vision.

The old woman reaches out her hand and I snap, throwing myself at her with all the ferocity I can muster. The ties binding my hands and feet hold firm and a lightening bolt of pain races up my torn leg, but my sudden reaction has the desired effect. The woman screams and falls back against the curtain, batting comically amongst its folds before finally managing to free herself and fairly sprinting away. A rueful grin escapes my lips and I sink back against the cushions. For all of their ferocity on the battlefield, these Miners are laughably skittish within their own camp.

The sound of the healer's frenzied retreat is replaced by a heavier tread and I sit up a little straighter, squaring my shoulders as best I can. I draw from Rowan's training and force myself into a state of calm, willing my heartbeat to slow and my breaths to even. Despite my readiness when my next visitor pushes his way through the curtain, it is a fight to keep my face expressionless.

I know this man.

I cannot place him immediately, but the intensity of his gaze is enough to stir some darker memory, an unwelcome reminder of years spent under cover of darkness with a blood-soaked dagger clutched in each fist. I keep my eyes locked with his, hoping that my confusion and lingering fear read as something fiercer.

"Do you know where you are?" The dark man asks. His tone is clipped and refined; clearly this is a person accustomed to giving orders. His brisk demeanor reminds me of Jaron.

I take my time in responding, using the opportunity to study my kidnapper. His brows furrow further and a pinched line appears between them. It does not take a trained assassin to recognize his barely-concealed rage. I wonder if this means that Jaron was successful in bringing down the wall.