Her life wasn’t precious. She wasn’t special.
Emerie didn’t deserve to cling to life so selfishly, not when she was the only person who could or would help.
Other than rope, I should have everything I need in my room. Really, the only thing she was taking with her was a water sack, her travel bag that held all her tools, a keystone obsidian blade to free him, and a bow she’d recently made out of boredom.
She had a sword and whip on her already, upgraded and given to her by Wren. I shouldn’t need much more than that.
However, she’d been fashioning something else last night after she made her decision. She thought she’d stolen enough rope to finish making it, but she’d fallen short by one long length.
If she wanted any hope of living past this day, she needed more.
Someone bumped into her in the hallway, but she didn’t pay them any notice. That was until they grabbed her wrist and tugged her back, forcing her scheming mind to the present.
“Emerie?” he asked, and she would know that voice anywhere.
Even though she was in her full uniform, she wasn’t wearing her face mask. It was obvious he’d been following her for quite some time, probably yelling at her, and she’d been too lost in thought to notice.
She ripped her arm from Bryce, but he held strong. “Let go of me,” she grated out.
He yanked her closer to allow room for those passing around them in the narrow hallway.
“You’ve been gone for six days,” he snapped through clenched teeth. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“Busy,” she answered.
It was funny, though. If it wasn’t for the Duskwalker, Emerie may have had a different reaction.
In the past six days, Bryce had barely been in her thoughts. Wren, the Duskwalker, all her sorrow and regret… she hadn’t had a single moment to spare over her breakup with him.
Had so much not been going on for her, had more important things not been weighing on her, Emerie probably would have bawled her eyes out for the last few nights. She would have wept, wondering if she’d made a mistake.
Other than when it happened, not a tear had formed for him.
But it had for the Duskwalker.
In the privacy of her room, whether it was her usual one or the one she’d been hidden away in, Emerie had cried for that creature. Cried for his pain, and the heavy burden of guilt that she had the biggest hand in capturing him.
It was her fault.
If she could go back in time, she would have stopped herself.
I helped put him in that stupid dungeon.
“I tried to order a meeting with Wren about the Duskwalker’s capture, but they said she was unavailable. You didn’t tell her I helped you, did you?”
“It slipped my mind,” she muttered honestly, grunting when she attempted to yank her arm away multiple times.
Then she winced at the tight pressure around her forearm, like he was trying to snap it in half.
“If you didn’t want to continue being a useful fucking hole anymore, that’s fine, but the least you could have done was not be a bitch and hog all the glory to yourself.” He shoved her until her back met the wall, and the back of her head thudded against it. “You will tell her, or I’ll start telling everyone what a whore you are. How easy it was for me to get you to lower–”
He didn’t even get the chance to finish. Bryce went cross-eyed with fury as she kneed him so hard in the balls she swore she felt something pop. Maybe she was imagining it, but it was oddly satisfying.
He let her go as he silently screamed, tears welling in his eyes. While clutching his junk, he sagged to his knees.
“I don’t have time for your shit,” she snapped down at him. “Feel free to tell everyone what you want. I’m a whore, a bitch. I really, really don’t care.”
She was utterly sincere about that.
“Ugly… bitch,” he wheezed, unable to stand.
Okay, so that one hurt a whole lot, but Emerie tried to ignore it as she stormed off.
Why do guys always call you ugly when you don’t give them what they want? And of course, Bryce would know. She was particularly sensitive to that insult.
Then again, she couldn’t remember if he’d ever complimented her.
I can’t. I can’t think about this right now.
She could dwell on it later… if she was still alive.
Emerie went down a few levels so she could enter the armoury. The guard wrote down that she was obtaining supplies, but didn’t stop her. Why would they? It was normal for guild members to come here for training purposes.
She headed back to her room, navigating the long and windy hallways slowly emptying of people. Zagros Fortress had always felt cold and foreboding, but it sent a chill through her more than usual.
She looked out the window, noting dusk was barely casting enough light to see the red and orange autumn leaves. I need to pack my jacket.
Every time she added a new item to her list, her chest hollowed out. How pathetic would her full bag look next to her corpse? She was being foolishly hopeful.
Rushing to get this over and done with before she changed her mind, she finished packing her bag, storing the rope inside it. Then she clipped her whip and sword to her waist, knowing no one would bat an eye at them.
Her bow and quiver, on the other hand, might cause eyebrows to raise.
Her jacket was made from the animals she’d hunted for food on her travels and was made up of mismatched patches. She threw it over the top of her bow to hide it, even though the ends stuck out past her shoulder and behind her leg. Her quiver made a noticeable impression behind her, but she shrugged.
It was the best she could do.
With her mask and hood firmly in place, she exited her room, not even sparing a moment to glance back at it. The four grey walls carved from stone, her timber-framed single bed, her tiny writing desk that had carvings in it from other dead guildmembers… Nothing belonged to her. It was just a place to sleep, and it had never really felt like home.
Emerie made sure to avoid other guildmembers as much as possible, going the long way to the ground level. People were sparse down here, and it wasn’t difficult to sneak her way to the cleaning house.
She acquired a mop and bucket, using the mop head to hide the top of her bow, and calmly made her way to the doors that would take her down to the dungeon level.
The Master rank member guarding the doorway to the top of the stairs let her pass freely, used to seeing her go down to clean the Duskwalker’s cell. She wasn’t sure if it was complacency or stupidity on their part that they didn’t notice she wasn’t being escorted.
Considering no orders had been sent to clean it, the Elder rank member guarding his cell barred her from entering.
Emerie dropped her bucket, quickly pouncing on him before he could even register what she was doing, and placed the mop handle around the front of his neck from behind. He let out a choke, scratching at the handle as it cut off his airways and circulation.
He swiped backwards at her face and dug his nails into it through her mask.
She held strong, her front flush against his back as she pulled with all her might.
When he eventually sagged, she released him and checked his pulse. Good. Still alive. With some of the spare rope she’d acquired, she bound his hands and feet together before using a rag to cover his mouth.