Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [54]
At last, I gave up searching for a flaw that didn’t exist, and that I wouldn’t know how to exploit if it did. Instead, I began testing the chains’ strength, gathering short lengths in my hands and hauling on them with all my might. Mayhap there was some weakness in a link not visible to the eye.
Again, the older Vralian glanced back at my strenuous efforts and the elaborate contortions that accompanied them.
I was short of breath, furious, and sweating beneath my thick Tatar coat. “Do you expect me not to try?”
He shook his head, his expression curiously gentle. “No.”
I wore myself out with trying.
By the time we made camp that evening, I was too tired to despair. Chained to the axle once more, I ate my bowl of stringy stew-meat and stale roots, and retreated beneath the wagon to curl up in my nest of furs. The ground was harder and rockier than it had been. Shifting stones out of the way, I had another idea. Selecting an especially keen-edged shard, I fell asleep clutching it in my hand.
On the following day, I set about trying to destroy the integrity of my chains. I affected a docile appearance and hid the stone shard in my sleeve until we were under way. As soon as the cart-horses leaned into their traces and we resumed our plodding, jolting progress toward the north, I shook the shard into my palm.
Both Vralians gazed fixedly forward. I had begun to note that they had a marked reluctance to look directly at me, especially the younger one.
Fine.
This time, I took care to make my movements small and unobtrusive. Leaning back against the covered bales of wool, I drew up my knees. I braced my left wrist against my left knee, shoving my last remaining jade bangle higher on my forearm so it wouldn’t rattle against the metal and give me away. I chose a link, the third closest to the cuff around my wrist, easiest to reach.
Its perfect little sigil gleamed.
With my right hand, I drew the sharp edge of my stone shard across it, timing my action to the dull, thudding fall of the cart-horses’ hooves.
It didn’t even make a scratch at first. But I kept at it, patient and deliberate, timing each careful stroke to hide the faint scraping sound, scoring the metal’s surface over and over until the lines of the sigil were blurred and imperfect.
It should have worked. I don’t know why it didn’t, except that it didn’t. Like as not there was some rule governing its magic. The chains had been made perfectly at their inception, and I could not unmake them by inducing a flaw after the fact.
And I hadn’t been as discreet as I’d thought. When we halted for the evening, the older Vralian came around to the side of the wagon and put out his hand, looking like a reproving parent. “Give the stone.”
I hesitated, fingering the edge of the shard. With sufficient force behind the effort, it was sharp enough to cut through flesh.
A trained warrior like Snow Tiger wouldn’t even have hesitated. I’d watched the princess snatch an arrow from an enemy’s hand and plunge it into his throat in a move as swift and deadly as a snake striking.
Of course, she hadn’t been laden with chains.
A clever, cunning fighter like Bao would have found a way to use the chains to his advantage. He probably wouldn’t even bother with the stone. I could imagine him vaulting over the Vralian’s head, wrapping his chains around the fellow’s neck in the process and throttling him on landing. By the time the second man had a chance to react, Bao would have plucked the knife from the first man’s belt and armed himself.
But I wasn’t a trained warrior or a skilled, clever fighter any more than I was a Grand Duke of the Fallen. With the element of surprise, I might, might succeed in slashing the first man’s throat. Even if I did, I could barely climb out of the cart unaided. I didn’t like my chances against the second fellow.
The Vralian watched me with his deep-set gaze, holding out his hand and waiting for me to make up my mind. Obviously, the element of surprise was gone.
With a heavy sigh, I put