Hidden (Book 1) (11 page)

Bastian strained against Tressa’s grip, holding him
back from pushing his way through the crowd to Connor’s side. He was so close,
but assuming everyone there would be against them, Bastian knew trying to
rescue him now would only get Tressa and him taken hostage too.

Bastian relaxed, forcing himself to
take steady breaths. His muscles unclenched. Tressa’s hand dropped to her side.
His eyes focused on the scene at the front, burning holes into the backs of
those who carried Connor.

Stacia raised her arms higher in the
air. “Let us pray!” she shouted.

As one, the crowd intoned, “Lead us.
Forgive us. Take the trespasser. Make your judgment on all.”

Tressa put her hand on his arm again,
but this time it wasn’t enough. Bastian pushed his way through the masses,
elbowing anyone who wouldn’t move. He didn’t even look behind him. He knew
Tressa was there, following. She wasn’t the type to hide.

Bastian advanced on the woman in
blue. His chest heaved with every breath, pushing the apprehension down and
replacing it with grit determination. The crowd parted, now aware someone was
breaking tradition. Women cowered in front of him. Hands pawed at his feet. He
trudged on until he arrived at the wooden dais.

The twelve men in black surrounded Stacia.
Bastian couldn’t see more than the blue boots on her feet. The shiny toes
peeked out between the black boots of her guard.

“Fools! Let me be!” The men parted
and Stacia stepped toward the edge. She held out a hand to Bastian.

He grasped it in his. With a
surprising strength, she pulled him up. Bastian’s knees scrambled over the
edge, gaining purchase on the rough wood. He stood up and reached out to help
Tressa up, but the guards surrounded him just as they had Stacia a moment ago.

“She is not allowed on the sacred
stage. Her,” Stacia wrinkled her nose, “womanhood will sully the ceremony. You
interrupted us. Pray for forgiveness. You’ll need it.”

“You’re a woman too,” Tressa called
out from below.

“You have no idea what I am.”
Stacia’s
lips turned up in a snarl. Her head snapped back
to Bastian. “Step forward. Come see your friend.”

Bastian followed her to Connor’s
side. Connor’s head lay limp, lolling on his shoulder. Eyelids closed. Bastian
willed them to open, for his friend to spring to life. Together they might be
able to fight their way out.

The men crowded behind Bastian, cutting
off his view of Tressa completely.

Bastian looked closer at Connor’s
neck. He reached out a hand, but Stacia slapped it before he could search for a
pulse.

“He is alive. If he was dead, someone
else would be in his place.” Stacia looked Bastian up and down, starting with
his head and ending with his feet, as if she were
tasting
every inch of him. “Perhaps you, though perhaps not. You’re not exactly what
we’re looking for.”

“And Connor is?” Bastian asked.
“Why?”

Stacia threw her head back. Her
braid, studded with metal spikes, scraped the wooden planks, leaving scratch
marks in its wake. Her neck rolled to the side, her braid following like a
snake. “Because you’re far too scrumptious to sacrifice!”

She pushed him backward. Bastian fell
on his ass, his hands smarting from slapping the wood.
Stacia’s
head wound again, faster this time. Her braid ascended, sparkling in the waning
light of evening.

“Sacrifice is ours. We commend his
spirit to the cycle!”

The crowd ululated, their voices
reaching a fevered pitch. Bastian scrambled to his feet, but he couldn’t match
the speed of
Stacia’s
murderous braid. The sharp tips
of metal lashed at Connor’s body. Flesh and blood sprang from his body,
showering Bastian with tiny pieces of his best friend.

“No!” Bastian lunged toward Connor,
but three of the men held him by his arms and waist.

Stacia chortled as her braid ripped
Connor into a blur of maroon streaks. Bastian gagged at the copper scent
tickling his nose. He’d smelled it a million times before helping with the slaughter
of animals in Hutton’s Bridge. Knowing it came from his best friend forced bile
to rise from his stomach. He swallowed it
back,
refusing to show any weakness in front of the people he wanted to destroy.

Stacia stepped back. Blood ran down
her face to her chest.

The tall door behind Connor opened
slowly. A puff of smoke preceded a clicking noise. Bastian looked back into the
crowd. Tressa stood at the edge, her eyes wide, frozen in place. He swung back
to the door. Three claws scraped on the wood planks.

With each tap they moved ever closer
to Connor’s body. He was so still. Bastian could only hope he was dead, unable
to experience the horror surrounding him.

The claws marched closer and closer,
each second more agonizing than the last. Bastian realized he’d stopped
struggling against his captors. His arms were slack, defeat pouring out of
every vein. Still, the men held onto him with grips tighter than newly forged
manacles.

“Let me go,” Bastian growled at them.
Their heads were trained on Stacia, refusing to acknowledge Bastian’s command.
He stepped to the side, crushing the toes of the man on his right. Faster than
lightning, Bastian yanked the injured man to the side, knocking out the guard
on his right. With his newly free hand, he slammed his fist into the nose of
the man behind him.

“Get Connor,” Tressa yelled from
behind him.

Bastian bent over, prepared to rush
through anyone in his way. Until the claws snapped forward, curled around
Connor, and pulled him through the doorway.

The crowd erupted in cheers. Bastian
shot Stacia a look of hatred. She replied with a smile. Her tongue crept out
the side of her mouth, licking Connor’s blood and pieces of his flesh off her
lips. She blew Bastian a kiss. “Go now. Run. There’s nowhere for you to hide.
We will find you again.”

She slipped through the doorway,
following the beast and his best friend’s body.

Bastian leapt off the dais, grabbed
Tressa’s hand, and tugged her away from the crowd.

“That’s not the first time we’ve seen
one of those.”

Bastian glanced down at her. “What
are you talking about?”

“That was another dragon, just like
the one that died in our village.”

Bastian’s anger grew. He’d been so
blinded by the vicious woman and the way she’d flailed on Connor to make the
connection. Another dragon. More myth
come
to life.

Tressa didn’t let go of Bastian until they were well
away from the town. She laid a hand on the rough bark of a tall tree. Her
panting led to a raspy voice. “Can we stop now?”

She slipped her hand out of
Bastian’s.

“I don’t know where to go,” Bastian
admitted.

“We should try to get back to our
village. Let them know there is a way out. Maybe with more people to help, we
can find a cure for the plague. We need to tell Hazel what happened to Connor.”
Tressa’s heart ached, knowing how devastated Hazel would be. “And you should be
with your wife.”

She glanced up at him. Bastian kicked
the tree, and then stalked away ten paces. “Why do you do that?”

Tressa thought to say, “Do what?” but
she knew he would see right through her. He always did. Instead she said, “Because
it’s the way things are.”

“Nothing is as it was. We’ve escaped.
Connor’s dead.” Bastian motioned her toward him.

Tressa took a few tentative steps,
not sure what he wanted. His eyes softened, standing in stark contrast to the
blood on his vest.
Connor’s blood.
It was all they had
left of him. The only item they could offer to Hazel in consolation.

She closed the distance between them.
Her fingers fumbled at the buttons on Bastian’s vest, setting free the three
wooden orbs from the looped fabric. She touched Bastian’s shoulders. The vest
pushed backward. Her hands slid down his arms, until the vest was at his
wrists.

“Take it off.” Tressa drowned in
Bastian’s blue eyes. Her fingertips grazed his wrists.

“If I take this off, I’m shedding the
last of my ties to Hutton’s Bridge. That includes
Vinya
.”

“You have a daughter.”

“I grew up without a father. So did
you.”

His breath lingered on Tressa’s
forehead, stirring that longing she’d spent so many years suppressing. She tore
her gaze away from his. “I don’t want to be the one responsible for your
daughter growing up without her father.”

“No one is responsible for anyone else’s
choices. Despite what your guilt may tell you, my desperate desire to have you
in my arms again isn’t forced. It isn’t a game. It isn’t nostalgia. Whether
we’re here, facing an uncertain future, or back in the village, the only
consistent want I’ve ever had
is
you.”

Tressa read the truth in his face. It
was the only truth she’d ever known outside of her love for Granna. Bastian was
hers and she was his. She may have tried to fill that void with Connor’s
friendship. Connor had become the wall between them.

The wall had fallen. So had her
resolve.

Tressa ripped the vest off of Bastian,
tossing it onto the ground. She tugged on the string at Bastian’s neck. His
shirt opened. Tressa’s hands reached under his shirt, her fingernails
scratching at his muscled stomach.

A groan slipped from Bastian’s lips.
Tressa lifted his shirt up and over his head. He took it off the rest of the
way and tossed it.

Bastian grabbed her forearms, forcing
her hands from his body. “Are you done fighting me, Tressa?”

“I’ll never stop fighting, Bastian.
We have to get rid of the fog, lead our people out, and figure out how to kill
that bitch
who
killed Connor. But I swear right now,
on the life of my sweet Granna, I will never deny you again.”

Bastian lifted
Tressa into his arms.
Her toes dangled just above the ground as he kissed her for the first
time in years. To her, it felt like they’d never stopped being together. In her
mind they hadn’t. This is where they were supposed to be.

“There’s no bed. No cover,” Bastian growled
into her ear as they sank into the soft grass.

Tressa nibbled on his ear. “That
never stopped us before.”

Tressa woke in Bastian’s arms. Nothing but Bastian’s
cloak shielded them from the waning night. A faint thumping in the distance
grew louder with each passing moment. It sounded like an animal, a big one,
coming toward them.

“Bastian!” She smacked his chest.

“More? Aren’t you tired yet?” He
groaned, rolling over and out from under the cloak.

Moonlight bounced off of his thighs,
exposing every part of him.
Not that she hadn’t seen it all
before.

“Something’s coming!” She sat up, but
pulled the cloak over her chest.

Bastian grabbed his breeches and
shimmied into them. Tressa wished they’d had the whole night to themselves. The
sun wasn’t even cresting before trouble decided to search for them. She grabbed
her dress, pulling it over her head. The linen felt too heavy compared to the
lightness she’d experienced in Bastian’s arms. At least this time she knew
there would be more
later
. The last time they’d been
together, she’d cried the whole time, knowing she’d never feel him in that way
again. Their final goodbye, stolen in the meadow next to the fog where no one
would search for them, closed a door neither of them dared open again, even
though both left a hand on the latch in their hearts.

A great beast,
hooves as solid as a tree, and hair hanging from its neck reared up next to
them.
Taller than a cow, but unmistakably a horse.
The last one
they’d had in Hutton’s Bridge died forty years ago. Without a significant
pasture to roam, their horses became lame and weak, eventually unable, or
unwilling, to reproduce. Granna had told Tressa about their magnificence. One
more of Granna’s stories come to life.

A man sat atop the horse’s strong
back, his legs grasping tight to the horse’s barrel, reminding Tressa of her
own legs wrapped around Bastian a few short hours ago.

A blush spread across her face. It
wasn’t shame; it was anticipation for what lie ahead.

Bastian drew his sword, his other arm
hovering in front of Tressa.

Tressa eyed the man. He didn’t wear
all black like the soldiers who’d taken and killed Connor. His dark hair was
cut short. A mustache graced his upper lip and a friendly twinkle sparkled in
his eyes. No, he wasn’t here to harm them.
A simple passerby,
perhaps.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said,
his voice steady and non-threatening.

A shape swooped from above and landed
on Tressa’s shoulder. “
Nerak
!” She reached up and
ruffled the owl’s feathers.

The man chuckled and slipped off his
horse. Bastian still hadn’t lowered his weapon, his muscles as tense as ever.

Tressa rested a hand on his arm. “If
he’s with
Nerak
, I’m sure he’s okay.”

“You don’t know that,” Bastian said.
“She may have led us out of the fog, but she also took us straight toward
Stacia’s
army.”

A shadow fell across the man’s face.
“Stacia is our enemy. She may be the queen,” his eyes were downcast, but filled
with fire, “but she’s had us under her thumb for too long. We’ve been waiting
for you.”

Nerak
dug into Tressa’s shoulder. “You
have the wrong people,” she said. “We’ve only recently arrived here. We’re not
from this land.”

“I’d know my own daughter anywhere.”
He reached out his hand.

Before he could connect with her
trembling cheek, Bastian’s arm shot out, blocking him.

“Don’t touch her,” he warned.

The man pulled his hand back,
unruffled. “Are the two of you coupled?” The man lowered his eyes to their
partially dressed bodies. He’d managed to avoid making their lack of clothes an
issue until that moment.

“Yes,” Bastian said, “since she first
pulled my ribbon from the basket.”

The man nodded. “Congratulations,
Tressa, for finding a man who cares for you. It’s unusual when marriage is left
to fate and reproduction.”

Tressa’s mouth hung, slack. He knew
her name.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Bastian
whispered in her ear. “He could have been sent by Stacia.”

Tressa ignored his breath on her
cheek, giving her full attention to the man in front of her. She didn’t
remember her father. He’d left when she was only a babe, leaving her to
Granna’s care. He knew disappearing into the fog was a death sentence. No one
ever returned. No one lived.

She, Bastian, and Connor had proven
them wrong. There was life beyond the fog. If they could survive, why couldn’t her
father?

Nerak’s
talons dug into her again.
Truth. Believe.

But if he lived, why didn’t he ever
come back for her and Granna? Her heart tugged at the thought. It was the same
decision Bastian made.
To stay with her.
Not to run
back the first chance he got.

“I couldn’t find my way back,” the
man said, answering her unasked question. Her father, if she believed him. “I
tried. I failed. And I wasn’t the first. There’s a small community of us in the
forest.”

“And Stacia lets you live?”

He sighed and looked over his
shoulder. “She doesn’t know we’re there. Unlike Hutton’s Bridge, which everyone
knows about, she doesn’t realize some of us escaped. We remain hidden.”

“We should at least go to his
village,” Tressa said, despite her trepidation. “Where else can we go, Bastian?”

Bastian’s eyes narrowed. She knew he
didn’t believe a word the man said. She wasn’t sure she did either. They had no
options other than to wander.

The man shook his head. “You’re
Bastian? Incredible! Your mother, Jayne, lives in the community.” He laughed.
“I should have seen the resemblance. You have the same eyes.”

Bastian swung his gaze to the man.
“My mother is dead.”

“No, she’s not. She left six years
after I did. I know because I found her bloodied at the edge of the forest,
alone. The other two people with her died in the fog. By some miracle, she
found her way out. Do you remember her?”

Bastian nodded slowly. Tressa could
only image the pain flooding through him. She’d never known her father. He was
but another story of Granna’s. Bastian was a small child when his mother was
chosen. Tressa remembered the way he clung to the edge of her skirt, weeping,
begging her not to go.

She had patted him on the head,
urging him to be brave. She promised she’d see him again. For the first year he
stood at the edge of the fog every spare moment, waiting for her to come back.
When she didn’t, he withdrew into himself even more. He shunned everyone but
Tressa and Connor, leaving the rest of the village behind before he’d ever had
the chance to cross the fog.

“We will follow you,” Bastian finally
said. “If you’re lying, I’ll gut you.”

“Fair enough,” the man said. He
looked at Tressa. “Would you like to ride?”

The beast huffed a warm breath out
its nostrils and pawed the ground with its hooves. She shook her head. “I think
I’ll walk.”

“We all will.” He took the lead in
his hand. “Follow me. We must hurry before day breaks and
Stacia’s
people find us.”

They walked in silence for a few
moments when he spoke again. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“How do you know about Connor?”
Tressa asked. Bastian stalked silently next to her, lost in his thoughts.

“I was in town when they called for
everyone to repent. I saw the whole thing. The two of you were obviously not
from the town. Your hair, your clothes, everything was wrong. It’s not unusual
for Stacia to bring in outsiders. Her riders frequently catch people from other
kingdoms near our borders. But I knew that was not the case with the two of
you.”

“How?” she asked.

“Because when I saw you, I thought I
was looking at the wife I had who’d died in childbirth. You could be her twin,
Tressa.” He sniffled tears back. Whether it was from manly pride or good
self-control, Tressa didn’t know, but she was glad he did. Enough tears had
been spilled.

Bastian stalked ahead of them,
mumbling something about scouting. Tressa let him go. Typical Bastian. He would
need time to sort through his feelings, ones he likely would repress until he
could see the woman the man claimed was Bastian’s mother.

“Why did you say you’d been looking
for us?” The word “father” had been on the tip of her tongue. She didn’t dare
utter it. Not yet. There was more proving to be done before she’d allow
herself.

“Every year, on the day three are
sent into the fog, we send out a scouting party. We wait five days, no more, no
less for survivors. I wasn’t looking for you, specifically. I never hoped to
see you again.”

Tressa glowered at him.

He held up his free hand. “Before you
judge, hear me out. I know about the horrors in the fog. I lived through them,
by some miracle. I never wanted you to face them, Tressa. I hoped for a long,
happy life in Hutton’s Bridge with a husband you could tolerate, and maybe
love, and many children.”

The pit in her heart grew wider at
the mention of children. Being barren was a black mark on her value as a human
in Hutton’s Bridge. But now, with Bastian in this new place, where success
didn’t depend fully on the fertility of each woman, Tressa hoped the chasm
would heal itself.

“Speaking of children, if you are coupled
and bonded, where are your children?” His eyebrows crinkled together. “They
never send a couple out to the fog. The leaders were never so cruel. Why are
the two of you here? What became of your family?”

“It is only the two of us,” Tressa
said, her voice low and steady. She didn’t know him, or have any measure of his
compassion to their situation. Nor did she particularly want to explain it to
him. What lay between her heart and Bastian’s was theirs alone. It was too precious
to give it over to a veritable stranger for judgment.

“I’m sorry.” He patted her arm. “I
know what it is like to lose someone I love.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry
I left you behind. I was grief-stricken when your mother died.”

“Granna raised me just fine.” Tressa
couldn’t imagine another upbringing. Granna had loved her completely and she in
return. She’d wondered about her father, but never missed him.

“How is my grandmother?” he asked,
laughing. “She was so spirited, I swore she’d never die.”

Tressa’s voice lowered. “She died
only a few days ago. There’s a plague overtaking the village.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“Now you know why we must find our
way through the fog and back to the village as soon as possible.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t
allow that.”

“What? Then why search for survivors
each year?” She was confused. “Have you given up on Hutton’s Bridge?”

“All will be explained when we arrive
at the village. I promise, what we have to tell you will make sense. Just give
us a chance.”

Tressa looked ahead for Bastian. His
red hair stood out among the tall, green grass. She wanted to go back for her
people. She wasn’t sure Bastian would agree.