Elle waited until the rhythmic lapping of the waves told her Ashra had gone deep under. Only then did she dare shift on her knees, inch by inch, until she reached the small fire. Its warmth licked her damp skin and promised a fleeting chance to rid herself of the rope. Her shoulders trembled from nerves, but desperation drove her forward.
The elf woman maneuvered clumsily, pressing the cords against the flickering flames. The heat surged up her arms, searing her hair and scorching her skin. A sickening stench of burning hair and, worse, flesh filled her nostrils. She gagged, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. But the rope held stubbornly, refusing to snap or even char in the intense heat. Whatever enchantment lingered in its fibers prevented it from catching fire.
Pain burst through her wrists and lower arms, and she bit down on her lip to stop from crying out. Her head spun with mingled panic and agony; her long ears rang as if they felt the burn. Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore, couldn’t bear the furious, devouring heat. She jerked forward, collapsing onto her front with a hoarse gasp, face pressed into the sand.
Stars danced behind her eyelids. The raw agony throbbing along her forearms made her stomach twist. She lay there, dizzy with pain, the hiss of the flames echoing in her head. She was so focused on dragging in breath after ragged breath that she failed to notice footsteps approaching.
“Look at what you’ve done to yourself,” came Ashra’s voice from behind, quiet and disapproving.
She flinched, rolling her face half to the side to see him. Damp hair clung to his cheeks, droplets of seawater trailing across that pale-dusky skin. He didn’t look angry, just…undeniably calm, like a man reading inevitable results in a ledger.
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Embarrassment flared, coiled with resentment. “I—I was trying to get warmer,” she lied, the excuse sounding pitiful even to her own ears.
“Is that so?” he returned, tone impossible to read.
She pressed her lips together, refusing to respond. A wave of mortification sluiced through her. He saw it all. He saw her brazen, hopeless attempt to burn through the rope, the humiliating failure, and the brutal consequences.
Ashra knelt, and the gentle brush of his fingertips along her arms raised alarms in her head. She jerked slightly, fearful and pained, but he only sought the knots in the rope. His voice was soft, almost mild.
“I’m going to untie you now. Don’t do anything to force my hand.”
Her breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding fiercely. The ropes loosened one coil at a time, and each brush against the raw flesh of her arms made her flinch. She willed herself not to whimper, not to betray that she was half-crazed with agony. He was planning something. She could feel it in every careful movement.
Gradually, the cords slid free. Elle shut her eyes, swallowing the urge to lash out. Her arms screamed in protest as the blood rushed back into her chafed muscles. She fought to keep her breathing steady, reminding herself that silence was golden. One wrong move, and he would rebind her, or worse.
Silence stretched taut between them, only the crackle of the campfire and the steady churn of waves in the background. Finally free of the rope, Elle kept her limbs rigid, half-afraid to shift too quickly. She didn’t dare look up to see the expression in Ashra’s eyes. Instead, she gazed at the dancing flames, aware that he could see every bruise, every burn.
When he backed away, the tension in her spine eased by a fraction. She turned her face away from the fire’s glow, stifling a shudder of relief at finally having her arms free. Yet her heart still hammered, reminding her that her captor had just granted her an opportunity. Be it twisted mercy or some greater scheme.
Now came the question: What would she do next?