| Chapter Twenty-Six | Visions of Peace |

  Adara was completely and utterly exhausted.

  Her tongue was dry, that was the first thing that she noticed when she woke; it was like a sponge had taken its place.  The second thing that she noticed was how heavy her body felt, like every muscle in her body had turned to stone.  It smelt clean, artificial and sterile, like alcohol that burned her nostrils.  The next thing she noticed, the thing that worried her, was that it was silent; so absolutely silent that it made her ears ache.

  When she opened her eyes, all she could see was darkness; her eyelashes brushing against a thick fabric that was tied around her face.  Her heart quickened its beating as she moved to take the mask off, only to find that her wrists were tied.  "No," she whispers, instinctively trying to move her legs, a familiar sense of dread washing over her as she was unable, her ankles tied down. 

  All she could think about was the last time she was tied down; the fear that she had felt.

  This time was different though, she was not afraid of what might be done to her, she was fearful of what had become of her friends.  It was all she could do to pull against the tight restraints, her entire body aching with each move she made.  Her memory was foggy, she could only see glimpses of fighting and blood, her friends in pain; that was what frightened her most of all, their fates.

  For them, there was no time for hesitation; she had to fight as they had done for her time and time again.  She arches her back as she dug her head into the stiff bed beneath her, pushing the blindfold up and over her eyes.

  After a few moments of dizzying blindness, her eyes focused on the navy blue tiled ceiling.  It was as though someone scrambled the contents of her mind as she struggled to focus on one thing at a time.  Her mind darted from the large curtain-covered window behind her, to the wooden-planked walls, to the metal door across from her.  She grit her teeth as she laid her head back down, closing her eyes as she tried to quiet the hum that seemed to vibrate across her mind.

  Her eyes open only when she heard a groan.

  He was sitting rigidly on a metal chair, held down by thick leather straps.  His eyes widen as they meet hers, he tried to talk, but all of his words were jumbled by a gag tied tight around his face.  Around his neck was a large wooden collar, glass shards jutted out towards his skin; every-time he moved his head it would dig into his skin.  Blood trickled down as neck as he pushed against the straps.

  "Leonidas," She says quietly, smiling with relief as she turned her head to face him.  She glances down at the legs of the chair, they were not bolted down, and neither was the back of the chair.  "I need you," she whispers, blinking hesitantly as she tightened her hand into a fist.  It was odd, to say it out loud, but she knew that she could not get out of there without him — he knew it too.  They had no choice but to work together.

  They found, though, that they did not mind it.

  "If I can cut this hand free," Adara says as she tugs on the rope, "then I can free you."  It pained her to watch him give a small nod, the glass poking his skin, but what pained her most was watching the blood drip down his chest as he worked the chair forward.  Left and right and left and right and left and right.  He bit down hard on the gag, struggling to breathe as the room spun around him. 

  She could only lie there and watch as he shut his eyes in pain; his chest rises and falls as though he could not get enough air in his lungs.  "Just breathe," Adara whispers, stretching her arm out, "just rest a moment."  She was not sure where they were or who put them there, and she was not even sure of how much time they had before their captors came back to check on them.  All she did know was that she needed the prince to be alright, so even if it meant them getting caught, she would let him rest.

  Adara watches though as he pushes himself, moving the chair until he couldn't any longer.

  "You stubborn prince," she grit her teeth as she tugs on the ropes; all she could do was lie there as his body slumped forward.  She reaches her hand as far as it could go, grabbing onto a piece of glass she ripped it from the collar, watching him jerk back up, groaning in pain at the glass embedded deep in his skin.  "Please stay with me," she whispers, watching his face go pale as she flips the glass in her hand, bending her wrist back and forth as she slowly cuts the rope, thread by thread. 

  She pulls hard on the rope, her heart skips a beat as it snaps; she reaches out to the prince but she still could not help him.  Her fingers fumble as she unties the ropes that bound her other hand, chills running down her spine — she was scared, terrified even, of losing him.  Out of all the men they had begun their journey with, only they remained.  She refused to finish it alone.

  "Damnit," she grit her teeth as she stretches her arms out, loosening the buckles that held him prisoner.  She flinches as he grabs her hand, his other hand gripping the side of the bed as he stared deep into her eyes; he tried desperately to keep himself calm — his anger had begun dominating his fear.  He coughs as she pulled the gag away from his mouth, his lungs burned as fresh air poured into them.  His mouth was cracked and tasted of iron as he licked his lips, his body searching for the air to search for the words he desperately wanted to say to her.

  "Are you hurt?" He chokes, his voice gravelly and tired; his body was foreign to him, it was exhausted as he fought for consciousness.

  "Don't worry about me," she whispers, her eyes dart to the door as she held his hand; she found herself only worrying about him.  It was dangerous, he would only distracted her, but it was all she could do.  "I'm so sorry," she says quietly, running her hand along the collar until she found the thick metal latch that held the contraption together.  "You are going to be alright," she murmurs as she unclips the collar, his hands meet her own as he grabs it and pulls it off of him, throwing it angrily onto the bed behind her. 

  "Are you hurt?" He asks again, turning his gaze from the glass back unto her pale face.  "Please," he whispers, "tell me you're alright."

  She stares into his mismatched eyes; one reaching into the pearly gates of the heavens and the other digging deep into the pits of the many hells.  Despite that, she leapt into them both as she bent forward, "we are alright," she whispers, placing a small and gentle kiss on his forehead.  Their lives had been tethered together for so long- they found against one another for so long- it was finally time for them to work together.  It was time for them to no longer fight against one another, but to fight together.

  "Yes we are," he whispers, "but the others."

  She thought about them; Raiali and Lilura.  She could not remember what had happened to them, or why they were separated now, but she knew it was not done willingly.  Her memories of blood and fear finally made sense to her.

  "They were hurt," Adara says quietly, reaching down to untie her ankle as the prince cut the other ankle free with a sharp shard of glass.  He takes her by her hands, helping her to the end of the bed; his eyes skim over the purple and green bruises that covered her inner elbows. 

  "We have to find them," Adara says quietly, gathering his attention as she takes his hand into her own, a glass dagger in the other — she had to be ready and the prince felt the same, holding his own blade of glass.  They were two cogs suddenly working in one giant machine; pushing the door open.

  They jump from silence to sudden loudness.

  She could hear the sound of wheels creaking as a cart was pulled down the road outside.

  He could hear the sounds of animals walking, and sounds of people talking in and outside.

  They embraced noise, letting it guide them.

  There was only one door at the opposite end of the hall, and stairs leading down to the floor beneath them to their right; before they could move down they had to make sure no one was able to follow them.  They had to silence anyone who posed a threat.

  "Stay close to me," the prince says quietly as they walk as gently across the floor as they could.  The walls were bright, covered in drapes of vibrant silks and stringed beads; reds, blues, purples, pinks, yellows, oranges, every color imaginable.  Adara frowns in confusion, but allows the prince to pull her away from them and down the hall.  "Come on," he whispers.  The beads looked so familiar, yet she could not place them. 

  "I'm going to open this door," the prince says. Adara nods, taking a deep breath as the prince put his hand on the door handle.  "And you're going to hurt whomever is on the other side," he whispers with something that looked like a smirk on his face.  As the glass bit into her hand, she knew.  She knew that she was ready as he turned the handle, pushing the door open.

  Adara walks into the room, her arms tense at her sides as she looks around the room.  It looked just like the one they were in, except this one was darker, and the stench of blood consumed the air.  She tenses at the sound of the door shutting and floor creaking behind her.  The creak was too heavy.  It was not her prince.  Adara walks slowly as she gets closer to the bed, grabbing the sheets with her hand, she felt it crunch with dried blood.  Something happened here.  Something strange.  Something dangerous.  Something deadly. 

  "I was wondering when you would wake," a deep voice says behind her; he'd been waiting.

  "Where are my friends?" Adara looks calmly over to the door which had locked behind her.

  "You need rest," the man ignores her, "just go back to your room nice and calm-like."

  "No," She growls, turning to face him; a gasp of pain choking her.  Her eyes look down to see a syringe sticking out of her arm, the plunger pushed down.  She was speechless as she stumbled back, "no," she chokes, her hands shaking as she pulled the long needle from her flesh.  Anger swelled in her chest as she glared at him; they were supposed to be taking on the king — she could not even take down an ordinary man.  She grips the needle tightly into her hand and shoves it deep into his neck.

  He stumbled back, his arm knocking Adara sideways into the bed; she falls to her knees.

  "You stupid bitch," the man growls, leaning against the bloody bed to hold himself upright.  "I knew that we should have left you to rot in those tunnels," he rasps; even hunched down in pain he still stood tall above her. 

  "Yes," Adara chokes as she pushes herself into him, sending the both of them falling to the floor.  She raises her fist with the glass tight in her hand, "you should have," she growls as she bashes him across his head until the arms that grabbed at her fell limply to the floor.

  The glass fell with a thud onto the floor as she threw her head back; she could not help but to let out a small smile — she beat him.

  Adara had beaten him but at what cost? 

  The flaming pain in her arm was that cost.

  "Who are you?" She whispers as she crawls off of the man, frowning when she notices a dirk attached to his hip; its steel handle was decorated with the royal armies beads.  The fact he had a royal army issued weapon was not what concerned her — not at the moment.  What confused her was why he had not used it on her.  She clearly was a threat, yet he had not drawn his weapon.  His goal was not to hurt her, but she could not figure out what his true goal was.

  His goal was of no importance now; she could not risk him finding them later, but still a part of her did not want him dead.  She had far too many questions unanswered.  Gritting her teeth she unbuttoned her shirt, pulling it off of her shoulders.  It was the first time she noticed all of the bandages tightly wrapped around her chest and shoulder — even her hand.  Still, it did not matter.  She gripped the shirt tight in her hands as she tore the fabric with her teeth.

  Using one strip she tied his hands together, and with the other she tied his ankles together. 

  "Leonidas," she murmurs, digging her nails into the bed as she pulls herself to her feet.  It was as though the room waltzed around her as she struggled to walk to the door; the floor spinning beneath her.  She reaches out to the door handle, only to grab thin air as she fell to her hands and knees — her eyes deceiving her.  "Come on," she whispers as she reaches her hand out, her fingers graze the brass handle.  Her arm felt as though it were on fire as she stretches it as far as she could, grabbing the metal lock she twisted it, listening to the loud grinding click of freedom.

  The prince's head rested on the cool wood of the door, his free hand pressed against it, his other hand tightened into a fist at his side.  As soon as she had entered it closed behind her, and that was when he heard the lock — as much as he wanted to tear the door apart splinter by splinter, he didn't.  He couldn't.

  It would only draw more unwelcome attention.  While she was fighting whomever had trapped her, his responsibility was only to stand there.  He had to have faith in her; he had to have faith that she would be alright.  He simply felt completely and utterly useless.  But still he stood there, counting the seconds.  For a single moment, he thought his ears had played a cruel trick on him when he heard a soft click; he doubted himself as he brought his hand down to the door handle.

  "Adara," the prince's whispers, his heart leapt into his throat when the door handle turned; it was all he could do not to throw open the door.  He pushes his hand gently on the door, watching as it slowly swung inward on itself.  
The room was dark, covered in blackened shadows, but he could see her fire red hair covering her face as she was hunched over on the floor.  "Adara," he breathes out, crouching down as he pulled her small frame against him; all he could feel was her shaking.

  "You're alright," the prince whispers, holding her tight against his chest; he glances back into the room, specifically at the body lying on the floor.  "It's okay," he grabs the door, pulling it closed — he had to worry about what was happening here and now, not what happened to the man then.  He watches as she breaks away from him, leaning to the side as she vomits on the floor; he wanted to look away, but all he could focus on was the thick bandages across her body, and the blood that trickled down her arm.

  "He did something to me," Adara chokes, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand; her head was pounding as she held out her arm.  "I don't think I'm alright," she whispers, glancing up at him with waxy eyes.  She would not cry.  She could not cry.  She could not feel anything anymore. 

"It's fine," the prince whispers, wrapping an arm around her as he picks up the glass with the other.  He grit his teeth as he helped her to her feet, "we are going to get the others and get out of here," he whispers; it was a promise.

  "How?" Adara asks with a monotone voice, "we do not even know exactly where here is."

  The prince glances down at her, staring into her forest green eyes as he moves her hair off of her face; he smiles, "you let me worry about that," he says, stepping down the stairs. 

  The steps were covered with a bright orange rug the color of the setting sun — it was soft.  It was probably the softest thing he'd felt on his feet since their journey began.  As much as he would have liked to stand on it all day, he had more pressing issues.  At the bottom of the stairs, he did what he had seen Adara do a hundred times before; observe.  At the bottom of the stairs was a wooden-door painted a bright blue; it lead outside, he could see people walking around through the stained-glass panels.  Both to his left and right were large openings, but to what, he was not sure.

  He supposed that he had to take a chance.

  The prince steps softly off of the stairs and onto the white-tiled floor; he walks slowly to the right, glancing around what he saw was a dining room, a kitchen in the back.  Another door was to his right, under the stairs.  He put his hand gently onto it, his eyes flicker to the once white bandages around his wrist — how they slowly turned a crimson color.  He had no time for that now as he opens the door, revealing another set of stairs trailing down into the dark depths. 

  He sways gently, grabbing the doorframe for support as he tightens his grip on Adara; he too was tired, more-so every moment.  "I will find them and get us out of here," he whispers, not to her, but to himself — he would not fail them, not when he was their only hope.  The prince creeps slowly down the stairs, nowhere for him to hide anymore.  He found though, that he had no reason to hide.  He also found though that he was not as alone as he had thought he was.

  "Lilura," the prince grit his teeth as laid Adara gently across the stairs, turning towards the girl tied to a bed like they had been.  He walks quietly across the room, "Lilura," he grimaces as he stumbles and falls to his knee, grabbing the bed for support as blood dripped through his bandages.  "Please be okay," he whispers as he pulls himself to his feet, staring solemnly down at her.  She was stripped to her under-garments, and despite her being the smallest, she was being held down with thick-brown leather straps.

  Glancing up at her, he could only see her stormy gray eyes staring back at him; dull and lifeless, filled with gallons of unshed tears. 

  "I'm sorry," the prince whispers, unlatching a large leather strap that was tied down across her mouth.  He undid another strap that was tight across her forehead, and another around her throat.  All he could do was listen to her cry, and wonder if it was from being hurt physically or emotionally; he thought, maybe the latter.  "I'm sorry," he says quietly, his teeth clenched as he moves to unlatch her hands; he hesitates though when he watched her as she shook her head.

  "Prince Leonidas," she smiles sadly, her voice thick with tears.  Lilura glances down at the blood dripping from his fingertips, "we both know you can not carry the both of us," she says quietly.  She closes her eyes as she turns her head to the side, away from him, "we also both know that you can not touch me," she whispers, her voice shaking.  She had to be brave, for all of them.

  "Damnit," the prince's anger surprised her as he slammed his fist into the bed, his chest rising and falling fast as he held in his rage.  "I can't leave you here," he growls, tears threatening him — he would not leave her.  She was not some animal to be tied down and played with, she was a person, a living being.  A child.  He could not leave her there, not now, not ever.

  "It's okay," Lilura whispers, "You need to go."

  "I'm sorry," he steps back, "I'm so sorry."

  He felt as though his mind and body were two different essences; both fighting one another as he wills himself to back away from her.  He could scarcely feel himself moving as he picked Adara up into his arms, carrying her up the stairs as his ears were filled with the sobs of a broken soul.  He hated himself more in that moment than ever before.  He could not even save her.  He truly was useless. 

  As he made it to the top, he tripped, his hand reaches out and grabs the wall to keep himself from crushing her beneath him.  He could not carry her.  He could hardly carry himself.  His body ached as he stood, looping his arm around Adara as he steps back into the open room.  He did not even notice the blood trail behind him, following him like a shadow of death.  Ready to strike at any given moment.

  "What's wrong with me?" He asks, stumbling.

  Using the wall to guide him, he walks slowly into the kitchen; he stares at an array of herbs and meats, but he focuses on the knives.  He traded his glass for a steak knife — he doubted though, that he was strong enough to use it.  His body was numb as he found the entrance to a living room, the area that was to the left of the stairs, quiet and bright with beads and silk curtains.  He walks slowly forward, only stopping when he realized that he was not alone. 

  "Raiali," the prince chokes, blinded by tears.

  "Kid," Raiali says quietly, tugging on chains.

  "I'm sorry," the prince grimaces, stumbling.

  "Don't be," he says, "this is not your fault."

  Raiali grit his teeth as he watches the prince lie Adara gently onto the floor, holding onto his bleeding arm.  He could only sit there and watch as the prince's head begins to drop, the color running out of his face.  Raiali clenched his jaw so tight until he thought that his face would splinter and crack.  They hurt children.  Children in his care.  He would not let their actions go without consequences.  He would make them pay.

  "I know you're hurt and I know you're in pain," Raiali says, "but I need you to cover her now."

  Raiali stood from his chair as the prince crawled slowly on top of Adara; he bends his torso over her as he wrapped his arm around her head.  They should have known better when they chained his wrists to the wall — it would take more than that to contain him.  His arms tense as he closes his eyes, pulling his arms as hard as he could, the loud crack that split through the air was music to his ears.  Pieces of wood and broken chain fly across the room, dust spilling across the floor.

  He only opens his eyes when he hears a door.

  "Stay down," Raiali says quietly to the prince.

  An older orc man limps quietly through the front door, his hand frozen above his waist; a blade nestled within its sheath.  "Beast," the orc says, his voice hoarse with age as he steps in, closing the door behind him.  His eyes flick from the wall, to the chains, to the blood, and then to the boy and girl lying on the floor.  "This is not what it looks like," the old man started, but Raiali was not going to give him time to finish; not without him hearing what he had to say first.

  "What the fuck were you thinking?" He asks, shaking his head as he points down at the two on the floor.  "What the fuck makes you think that this is helping them?" He asks, his voice louder now, filled with anger.  His fist shook with untamed rage as he points now at the orc, "whatever you fucking did to them I am going to do to you and your family tenfold," he growls — they were going to wish they were dead by the time he was finished with them.  He reigned in his seemingly untamable fury when he heard a crackling cough behind him on the floor.

   "My daughter," the orc says, "she heals."
 
  "Does this look like the work of a healer to you?" Raiali asks, watching the old orc squirm.

  "She took a vow," the old orc says quietly.

  "A vow means absolutely nothing," Raiali hisses, he was furious, but didn't blame him, "not anymore."  He had no room to speak; he'd broken vows too, far more than he'd care to admit.

  "I'm sorry," the orc says, shaking his head.

  "Prove it," Raiali says, an edge to his voice.

  The energy between them was static and electrifying as the old orc reached down to his blade.  Raiali's eyes did not follow his hand, but rather bore into his face.  He could tell a lot about someone by their face; even predict movements.  The old orc's hand shook as he gripped the handle, but instead of hurling it across the room at them, he flung it to the side where none of them could easily grab it.  Raiali understood it had a deeper meaning; no harm would come to them by his wrinkled hands.

  All Raiali could do in that moment was nod.
 
  With that simple nod, both men clambered around the debris that littered the floor to get to the fallen children.  Raiali kneeled beside the prince — as much as he wanted to be by Adara's side, he feared their situation would worsen should they figure out the true origins of the boy.  He put a hand gently on the prince's face, watching his eyes open slowly, his face pale.  As much as the boy needed sleep, he knew he shouldn't.

  "Stay with me," Raiali says, slipping his lanky arm under him, sitting him up; watching him.

  "Lilura," The prince whispered, his voice thin.

  "What?" Raiali frowns, the room around him seemed to freeze as his heart beat a bit faster.

  As he held onto the prince's near-lifeless husk of a body, the old orc sat beside the girl.  He took her arm gingerly, flipping it over as he pressed his fingers gently to the inside of her wrist.  He could not help but notice the deep reddish-purple scars that ran down her hand, that and the dried blood that had once ran rampant down her inner arm.  The mere sight of her made him shiver.

  "What did he do to me?" Adara asks quietly, her voice shook as she pulled her hand away.

  The old orc did not know which part of her question disturbed him more; the he she referred to, or what that person may have done to her.  The more he thought about it, it could have only been one person.  That was when he realized what had been done to her.  At least, he prayed to his gods, that what he thought happened was all that had happened to her.

  "A sedative," the old orc says quietly, trying to ignore the fact she was shirtless, only covered by bandages; he feared what happened while he was gone.  "It was meant to keep you calm," the old orc says with a sigh, "to keep you from hurting yourself."  He recited the words he heard his daughter say time and time again, but it sounded wrong.  It was to keep her incapacitated, completely unable to protest what was done to her or her friends and her family.  It was wrong.

  "Upstairs," Adara whispers, "I left him alive."
 
  The old orc hesitated, his mind trying to catch up with what his ears had just heard.  His family had done nothing to deserve mercy, yet she granted it anyways.  He wondered if maybe Jasper was not as bad as the rumors had painted her out to be.  Still, he feared what she may do to his children once the sedative wore off.  But for now, his first priority was his son.

  Both men stood, one running downstairs and one running upstairs; both off to find their children, leaving the boy and girl alone.

  "Are you going to be alright?" Adara asks.
 
  "Yeah," the prince whispers, "I'm just tired."

  Despite the fuzziness inside her head, she sat up beside him, still holding onto his hand.  Glancing over at him, she saw the tracks where salty tears had fallen from his eyes.  Even though she had seemed unconscious, she had still heard the pain in his voice when he tried to save them.  He thought he had failed her, but if anything, he had proven that he was more than a human prince.  In those moments he truly had become her protector; he had finally put someone else's life before his own, and she was grateful.

  She flinched though when the front door was thrown open; banging on the wall behind it.  Adara frowned when she saw the orc girl, the old man's daughter, the supposed healer.  Her frown was met with a similar one on the girl's face, her eyes dark and unhappy.

  "I was wondering when this would happen," the girl says casually, glaring at the elven girl.

  "You should have prepared better," Adara says back, her arm tenses as the prince calmly slipped a kitchen knife into her hand.

  The orc girl didn't seem to notice, "I guess we will just have to separate you two this time."

  "Maybe this time I will separate your brothers head from the rest of his body," Adara smirks, watching the girl slam the door in anger.

  "I made a vow to do no harm," the girl snarls, "but I might be able to make an exception."

  Adara shook her head at the girl, frowning as the mood turned sour.  This orc girl had truly convinced herself that what she did to them was in the name of healing.  Tying people up, drugging them, and then doing whatever pleases you was not what a healer was made to do; it only hurt innocent people, like Lilura Sage downstairs.  Adara was not sure what to call this mistreatment, but whatever it was, it was familiar to her.

  Adara was so caught up in trying to place the pieces of their puzzle together, that she had not noticed that the orc girl crossed the room; she only noticed her when she crouched down in front of them. 

  Adara hesitated as she gazed quickly around the room, looking at the bright curtains, the beads, the patterns across the walls.  It was all so familiar.  She grit her teeth when the girl put a hand on the prince's upper chest, running her fingers down his chest, staring at the blood that was painted across his skin.  Adara gripped the knife tight in her hand as she shoved the girl down, pressing the knife to her jugular.  She would let the orc girl terrorize her all day, but she would not stand for her hurting any of the others, especially not the prince.

  "Go ahead," the orc girl spat on her cheek, glaring up at her, "just get it over with."

  Adara wipes the spit off her face, the knife never wavering, "I don't want to kill you."

  "You did not have that problem when you murdered my mother," the orc girl whispers.

  She said it loud enough for both her and the prince could hear; now only one of them was confused, it all suddenly made sense in her head.  Adara, for one of the first times in her short-life, froze.  She remembered it all.

  "Jasper," the king's voice boomed, his eyes never leave hers as she kneeled before him.

  "How may I serve you?" She asks, cooly.

  "A healer," the king said calmly, "has caused quite a few issues for my soldiers." 

  With a wave of his hand, doors open and in came in three different forms, one limping.

  "Witchcraft," her king growls, watching as the man in the middle staggered forward.

  He was a troll, donning war-paints across his arms, but that was not the issue she saw.

  His left leg was that of a troll, green and healthy, but the other did not belong to him.

  It was a leg that clearly belonged to an orc; the green several shades paler and bruised.

  "Jasper," the king shook his head as he tapped his fingers on his throne, "handle her."

  Adara grit her teeth so hard she thought she might break a tooth as her knuckled turned white around the knife.  She had to follow the orders that she had been given.  That night she had snuck into their home, the house they sat in now.  The woman had not even seen her coming as Adara had crept behind her, slicing her neck with one swipe of her twin blades.  She stood there a while, watching her bleed out onto the floor; she did not leave that house until the woman's eyes rolled back into her head, her hands no longer trying to staunch the bleeding.

  "My mother only wanted to help people," the orc girl growls, "and I had to sit there and watch as you killed her for it."

  "No," Adara snaps back, "your mother was experimenting on innocent men and women."

  "She was healing them," the orc girl frowns.

  "I saw what she did to one of the people she healed," Adara says as she pushes the tip of the blade into the girls neck, "he killed himself only days later."

  "No," the orc girl pales, shaking her head.

  "His leg was twisted and grotesque," Adara spat, dragging the blade across her skin.  "It died long before he did," Adara whispers and watches blood bubble to the surface of the orc girl's skin, "filled with bad blood and maggots."  The girls gasp as the blade cut her neck was music to Adara's ears — Jasper's ears.  "He rotted from the inside out because of what your mother did to him," Adara held her down now, wrapping a hand around her skinny little neck.

  She then noticed that they had an audience.

  "Adara," Raiali says, standing behind him was Lilura, a sheet draped around her body.

  "If I ever hear word of you so much as looking at someone the wrong way," Adara whispers, flipping the knife around her fingers, "I can and will find you and kill you."  She raised the blade high above her head, bringing it down with a loud bang into the wood beside the girl's head, her eyes wide with fear.

  With those words, Adara climbed off of her.

  "That goes for all of you," Adara says, glancing up at the old orc man and his son who stood quietly on the stairs; she thought she could even see the fear in their eyes.  "Now get the fuck out of my sight," Adara glares down at the orc girl who scrambled to her feet, knees shaking.  Everything she had known about her mother was a lie, and a small part of Adara sympathized, but that was no excuse.  Their world was dark enough without having to worry about children following in their parents broken footsteps.

  "Thank you," the old orc man says quietly, deep under his breath, so low she almost did not hear him as he ushers his children away.  He did not need to thank her, she was just trying to keep herself from spilling more blood.  She stood in silence as the three orcs took their leave downstairs, out of sight, prepared to disappear.  To disappear just like Adara had done when the King wanted her dead.  She knew exactly how they felt.

  "Leonidas," Adara turns around, smiling despite that she felt as though she could cry.

  "Adara," the prince smiled back, struggling to stay awake as Adara crouched in front of him.

  Any second, she thought, the orcs would slip away back into the tunnels beneath them.

  "I'm here," she whispers, wrapping her arms around him, hugging him, "we're alright."

  "Where are we?" The prince asks, his body ached as she held him, but he didn't mind.

  Adara tensed then, pulling away from him, holding him at arms-length.  She glanced from eye to eye, a gasp slipping from her lips.  Jasper killed the orc girls mother in this house, when she served beneath her king.  This house, the bright colorful decorations, it all finally made sense to her — she knew where they were.

  "We finally made it," Adara laughed, throwing her head back and letting out a genuine smile.

  "We made it?" The prince asks, confused, his mind still swimming within the clouds and fog.

  "Prince Leonidas," She hugs him again, whispering into his ear, "welcome to Xarenth."