Drake

Drake had two horses and an intuitive knack for running from trouble. He had no problem slipping Daniella out of the spread out little town that was more of a glorified mining camp and winding up into the mountains. He took paths randomly, choosing ones that had fallen into disuse. Eventually, his maze of crumbling mountain trails led him to a boarded up hole in the mountain.

Words were painted across the boards in bright red, bearing a warning in both Taragonian and Terran: DANGER. UNSTABLE MINE SHAFT. Perfect. No one would bother coming out here.

He was already walking both horses at this point, and he gestured for his grumpy prisoner to slide down. She glared back.

“You have to be thirsty,” he coaxed. “Gags are murder on your throat. I’ll untie it first thing. You can even scream at me if it would make you feel better.”

She sniffed and considered his offer before swinging her leg over the horse. He stopped her freefall gently, seeing as how her hands were still bound. True to his word, he loosened the knot at the back of her head and slipped the gag out of her mouth, wordlessly holding a water skin to her lips.

Daniella backed away after a mouthful of water, swished the liquid in her mouth, and spat the water on the ground before consenting to take a real drink from the water skin.

“An abandoned mine?” she sneered after swallowing.

“Would it help if I said I was sorry?” Drake asked.

“No,” snapped Daniella. “Mostly because you’re not sorry.”

She had a point.

“Bad choice of words,” he admitted, flipping out a knife.

Her eyes widened when he approached, and she shrank backwards, which was an understandable reaction to a knife-wielding kidnapper. “We’re going into a clearly labeled unstable mine shaft,” he explained. “On the off chance it does cave in, I’d rather not have to carry you or have your death on my already-strained conscience.”

She held out her bound wrists without breaking the death stare she had locked on him. He sliced the ropes binding her hands, and they fell to the ground. Daniella rubbed her wrists, and he handed over the water skin, which she took.

“You’re not from here,” she said, like she was spitting the words at him. “What do you know about mines?”

“Yes,” he agreed, eying the dark maw in the side of the mountain. “Neither are you, but if you have relevant mine knowledge, feel free to break it out any time. I don’t want to die buried under half a mountain.”

She had no relevant mine knowledge she felt like sharing with him, so he grabbed his bag and the crate, and he led Daniella under the ominous boards into the dark mouth of the mine. He stopped just as the tunnel narrowed and plunged into darkness. Did animals move into abandoned mine shafts? They might not have been able to read signs, but certainly the local wildlife knew well enough to avoid a mine on the verge of caving in, he hoped. What exactly did that say about him?

“This is far enough for now,” he announced.

“You could have killed me just as well out there,” scoffed Daniella. “Were you too lazy to carry the body?”

He did not bother objecting to the murder accusation. “I need us in a slightly defensible position when the Flifary show up,” he answered.

“Friends of yours?” she snapped.

“Nope,” he disagreed. “They wouldn’t be my enemies, either, but they took Rosaliy, and they’re searching for you.”

She twinged at the name—just a shadow of surprise—and he would have loved to explore the reaction, but she would not be telling him anything right now. He used the cloth that had formerly served as a gag to brush off a wooden box against the wall. He waved for Daniella to sit. She snatched the cloth out of his hand and spread it on the box before she settled down in a regal manner. She drank another sip of water. Her restraint was incredible. He knew from experience how unpleasant gags could be. By now, he would have downed that entire water skin to get the feeling of moisture-sapping fabric out of his mouth.

“Do you really not remember me?” he tried.

She kept her eyes forward. Her back was straight, hands in her lap. She was not going to talk to him. He respected her resolve.

“I’m going to operate under the assumption you’re telling the truth,” he decided, “so I’m going to fill you in on what I know. Feel free to interrupt if you’ve heard this before or have anything pertinent to contribute. I’d hate to waste your time.”

She did not acknowledge his words.

“You’ve taken some important kids,” he said, leading with something that might force a reaction.

It did, sort of. She shifted her ice blue eyes over to him without moving the rest of her body in the slightest. “Oh?” she said in an emotionally devoid monotone.

“You’ve got to be dying to know who you are. Someone who loves to be in control as much as you do—it’s got to be driving you crazy.”

“Perhaps I have more self-control than a feral dog,” she replied.

He laughed, leaning back against the cave wall. “Or maybe you’re playing me.” After spending so long among truly good people, there was something about Daniella he recognized. He felt a sort of criminal nostalgia. Why was that? “You remind me of Zara,” he realized. “No one could ever convince her she didn’t have the upper hand in any situation.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“No, she was terrible,” he disagreed. “A terrible boss and a terrible person, but there was something admirable about her. Unstoppable. Well, until she was killed. That stopped her plenty.”

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Daniella deadpanned.

“Those things happen in our line of work.”

“So you’re the leader of some band of ruffians, then.”

He sighed. “I see what you’re doing. Control is obviously very important to you. We can talk about me if you want to talk about me.”

She was strangely easy to talk to. Or at, really. She was not contributing much to the discussion. Maybe that was what made talking so easy. She led with judgment. Nothing he could say would drive her estimation of him any lower.

“Control.” He tasted the word. “I’ve never really been in control. It’s not particularly important to me. Sure, the band of ruffians as you called them wanted me to be the leader after Zara. It made sense. I was involved in every operation. I knew all the contacts, the right people to press and the ones to bribe. Where the informants were and what the enemies were plotting. But I realized at Zara’s wake I had never made one real decision for myself. All the horrible things I’d done in my life, and I couldn’t even take credit. It wasn’t an excuse. It was worse than an excuse. It was pointless. All pointless. My whole life. There’s no reason for me. I had to stare that straight in the face. Literally, I had to stare in Zara’s cold, dead face. My Abuelina, grandmother, tried to tell me to get out while I had a chance, but I never knew where to get out to. There was no place for me. I had no purpose but to be a tool for people to hurt each other. That was all I’d ever done.”

Daniella listened to his whole ridiculous tirade without pity or horror.

There was a distant skittering, and their eyes both spun toward the darkness in the tunnel beyond.

“So, what? You’re on a search for redemption?” Daniella scoffed to disguise her moment of panic.

“No,” he said, taking the question seriously. “I don’t even think redemption is possible. I think—” Daniella had caught sight of a particularly sharp rock on the ground. Without conscious thought, Drake flipped the rock across the tunnel with his foot. “I’d be satisfied with purpose.”

Daniella huffed a loud breath and narrowed her eyes, back still perfectly straight on her rock seat. “You’re trying to earn my trust.”

“I would never,” he denied. “Well, maybe subconsciously.”

He listened for a moment to the sounds coming from the mouth of the cave. There were none. Since he had not been followed, Drake assumed they had a long time to wait. He wished he had thought to take some food from Daniella’s store during her impromptu kidnapping. Anything to serve as a distraction from the crumbling tunnel around him would have been welcome. Was that a shape moving in the deep darkness of the tunnel?

“Enough about me,” he murmured, switching the hand holding his knife because his tensed knuckles had gone white. “Let me tell you what I know about you.”

“Since I’m dying to hear it, you might as well,” she said sarcastically. He liked her. Maybe that was why he was being strangely loquacious.

“You’re Daniella,” he told her, “former queen of Kianne Protectorate.”

“Oh, former?” she laughed. Her laugh was cutting and mocking, a very calculated laugh. It was so unrelated to a laugh, it practically deserved its own word.

“I’m no historian, but you were deposed and taken prisoner by the Naxturaen Queen, Katyrinna.”

“How rude,” she said.

“You deserved it. Besides, it worked out well for you. She married one of your sons, your daughter is the High Sorceress, and you have three rather adorable grandchildren. You seemed happy, anyway. You’re good at hiding your emotions and all, so you might very well have been biding your time.”

“Were we close?” she asked dryly, scanning him over.

He chuckled. “No, I only met you for a few days ago.” He paused, deciding where to go next.

She broke the silence. “Are they the children?” She was curious after all.

“The children you took? Yes. Rosaliy’s pretty sure you grabbed them for nefarious purposes, but it doesn’t make much sense. They’re powerful, don’t get me wrong, and it’s not out of the realm of something you would do. I mean, if you think my past is questionable, it doesn’t hold a candle to the things you’ve done.” Her ice blue eyes were trying to read his through the shadows of the tunnel. “No, I think you loved them.”

She had no comment. “Who’s Rosaliy?” she asked, changing the subject. She did know the name somehow.

“Ah, see,” he said. “It is driving you crazy. Rosaliy is a Sorceress at Crystal Palace. She was looking for you when she was nabbed by a set of rather nasty Flifary, also looking for you.”

She shot him a questioning glance.

“Uh, magical people on a magical island somewhere.”

She cocked her head, almost imperceptibly. “So these magical people have kidnapped a Sorceress. They’re coming here, and our only hope is you, a crumbling mine shaft, and a box of stone breakers.”

“Mmmhmm,” he agreed. “Unless you’re faking all of this.” He tapped the hilt of his knife to the side of his head. “And you have some magic at your disposal. I’m completely open to a magical plan.”

Her eyes bored through him, wordless and inscrutable. “I hope you brought some matches,” she muttered.