Journey to Savara

By Travis Bughi

Half a year has passed since Emily Stout set sail to fulfill her destiny.

Lucifan, family, and friends are nothing more than a treasured memory, left in the past along with a life she chose not to have. For the first time, she is on her own, both free to do as she pleases and without aid to protect her from the consequences. It is a daunting prospect, for the world she lives in is renowned for its danger. Every land is filled with terrible creatures and equally terrifying people, and Emily’s path ahead is shrouded in uncertainty.

Her destination, Juatwa, is a place she knows only by name, and after six months at sea, she’s still only halfway there. Between her and Juatwa lies Savara, an ancient and massive land of sand, blood, and chaos. Its tale is one of forgotten glory, and its reputation one of ruinous turmoil. Known as the Grand Desert, it is a place that has seen entire civilizations meet their end.

And Emily means to cross it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Travis Bughi
• Release date: Jun 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311167262

Travis Bughi

I started reading young and have never stopped. My mother was determined to make me literate quickly, and she would read to me often. My grandmother, though, takes credit for my addiction to reading. She was a librarian and introduced me to the joy that is reading. It is no coincidence my first World of Myth novel is dedicated to her.My journey from avid reader to hobby writer took its first turn in High School after I read Dune by Frank Herbert. It was a challenge for me at the age of 14, but I was so impressed with it that I began to imagine my own stories. What I wish to accomplish is to give my readers the experience that I want: to be transported to another world and become so absorbed that I lose track of everything around me.Thanks for stopping by.

Book preview

Prologue

The cool, salted air swept over Takeo Karaoshi as he stood aboard the mighty ship of his lord. The crashing waves sent forth a mist that whipped about him in the wind, and he embraced it with calm satisfaction. Under the naked sun of midday, such assaults were welcomed guests upon his skin. The ship seemed to appreciate it as well, and Takeo watched the sails fill to the brim.

The extra thrust pounded the vessel forwards, propelling it with a sudden eagerness not fully experienced since they’d departed from Lucifan. Takeo knew full well the reason for this sudden change of fortune, too. They were nearing Savara, the land of deserts, ancient kings, and lawless people. Similar to the Great Plains, the wind was strong here, if not stronger. The journey had taken nearly half a year up to this point, but Savara was a necessary stop on their way home, east, to Juatwa. Any day now, they would reach the grand desert, restock supplies, and then finish the journey by heading south around Savara and coming up on the southern end of Juatwa—the place that Takeo called home. They would make port in one of the cities favorable to his lord, Ichiro Katsu, and then reunite with his lord’s armies before continuing their conquest.

But for now, Takeo only considered the present day, and there was much to enjoy.

He had on his kimono, for one, a pleasant feeling all its own. The robes wrapped around him comfortably, always tucked left over right across his front. This was so even in Lucifan where he had received constant, confused looks from the natives, perhaps because only the women wore such clothing, often called ‘dresses’ or ‘gowns,’ and Takeo wondered why the men should be so stubborn as not to partake in such comfort.

Then again, perhaps he received looks because he hadn’t been wearing his armor. Takeo had to admit that the kimono didn’t offer much protection for one of the warrior class, but if he had known that he would see such a sheer volume of combat in Lucifan, he would have brought his lamellar armor from home. He also would have brought some proper footwear rather than the formal geta.

He narrowed his eyes to protect them from a sudden gust of wind, strong enough to make his body sway back, and he briefly considered undoing his hair from its queue. That thought, though, was instantly dashed. As nice as it would likely feel to unleash his lengthy hair into the wind, it would be considered most barbaric out in the open like this amongst his lord’s crew. He touched a hand to his hairless chin and then reached down to his waist.

Like any samurai who dared carry such a title, Takeo was always armed with a traditional katana, and he rested his palm on it now for comfort. His older brother, Okamoto, had said it was their father’s sword. Takeo had never known his father, knew nothing of his father, and only acknowledged his existence because Takeo did not believe himself to be immaculately conceived. Takeo had not known his mother either. He’d been raised solely by Okamoto, and it was his brother who’d once wielded the curved sword of the Karaoshi Family. Okamoto had died just one year prior, and Takeo was now, to his knowledge, the last remaining Karaoshi.

This thought and that of his brother’s death seeped into his mind and darkened his previously content mood. He felt the anger surge within and closed his eyes to calm it. His heart told him there was nothing wrong with the pain he felt—the loss of his one and only family should hurt him deeply—but his mind reminded him that his status did not allow for such sorrow.

He had honor to maintain, duty to uphold, and destiny to fulfill.

He was a samurai.

Takeo opened his eyes and breathed deeply. His fury drowned in the cold serenity of inner peace, and his eyes fell upon another samurai walking towards him. That samurai was older by at least a decade and heavyset for a warrior. His confidence preceded him, shadowing his greying yet well-groomed goatee and causing those he walked by to stand a bit straighter.

Good day, Renshu, Takeo called out.

Renshu closed the distance, and the two faced each other, put their hands to their sides, and then bowed. It was a shallow one, barely a bend at the waist, but they were in sight of Katsu’s other samurai and servants. There were certain formalities, even amongst rivals, that needed to be observed.

After they both stood erect once more, Renshu said, Our lord wishes to have a word with us in his private quarters.

Renshu’s family name was Miyazi. The family had a plethora of members, and their name stretched back to ancient times. There were songs of old that sung of the Miyazi, and this, combined with Renshu’s age, entitled him to more respect than Takeo felt he’d earned. The man preferred to fight in the heaviest armor, used fierce war cries, and did not shy away from using unarmed strikes in the midst of combat, even while dueling.

There were times that Takeo thought Renshu was specifically bred to be his opposite.

Both of us? Takeo asked. Katsu has not spoken to me for months. And since when did you become his messenger boy?

Renshu smirked at the insult but otherwise didn’t appear disturbed. That was a rare thing for a man who’d built his reputation on aggressive vindication. Takeo tensed.

Shall I tell our lord you do not wish to speak to him? Renshu responded.

Of course not. Takeo bowed his head. I shall see him immediately.

Excellent, Renshu stepped to the side and gestured with his arm. Lead the way.

Beyond the insult that they should not walk together as equals, Takeo was apprehensive at having Renshu behind him, unseen. He hesitated and let his palm tighten around the pommel of his katana. Renshu saw the move and looked into Takeo’s eyes. They stayed like that for a moment before Takeo released his grip.

Very well, he said and walked forward.

Renshu followed, and they spoke no more as they traversed the ship. Their wooden geta clipped and clopped across the deck, sending servants and other crewmen scattering to get out of their way. Those that did not hurry fast enough gave a deep bow of apology as they moved aside. Takeo gave a slight nod of his head in their direction to accept the apologies. Renshu ignored them.

The two crossed the mighty vessel from bow to stern. There, the shogun and his wife spent most of their time. Their room was large, lavish, and on any other day Takeo would have been honored to be welcomed inside of it. It was an area reserved for the privileged of the privileged and for those few servants who’d earned the trust required to wait upon them. Not even the superior rank of the samurai class was enough to enter a shogun’s presence without permission.

Not even when the shogun was your lord.

So, when this request was sent, Takeo’s chest should have swelled with pride. Okamoto had been close to Katsu for many years and never missed a chance to speak to the shogun personally. In fact, one of Takeo’s first memories as a young child was that of his older brother kneeling and pledging his sword to Katsu. Takeo had been instructed to kneel and pledge, as well, but it was Okamoto’s reputation and skill with the sword that Katsu had noticed at the time. Over many years, Okamoto spent tireless hours working to not only endear himself to Katsu but also to teach his younger brother the way of the warrior. With this, he’d been successful. Takeo, bred from the same stock as his brother, had the same natural affinity for the blade and began to best all, even his own brother, in combat.

Meanwhile, Okamoto rose within Katsu’s army, building renown with every village and daimyo conquered. His biggest, and last, promotion had been one year ago—a mission to sail a single ship to Lucifan as Katsu’s ambassador where he would meet and assist the lord’s new wife, Heliena, a young amazon woman of striking beauty.

Takeo had remained at his brother’s side until that journey, and if he’d known that Okamoto was going to die, he would have followed his brother across the sea.

So, after years of fighting for and losing his brother in service to Katsu, this invitation should have been a sign of recognition, acknowledgement, and perhaps even appreciation. It should have been the prelude to honor being showered upon the Karaoshi name. This should be a samurai’s dream.

However, Takeo felt none of these things, and he knew exactly why.

As the two approached their lord’s quarters, the servant standing outside the door bowed low and opened it. Takeo, still in the lead, entered first with Renshu less than a pace behind him. The servant stood only once both samurai were inside and the door was closed behind them.

Peasants, Renshu muttered to himself.

Takeo remained silent. He disagreed with Renshu, but he chose not to voice the opinion now. He was instead focusing his efforts on examining the room.

Takeo had never been inside Katsu’s quarters, not once in the entire time he’d spent on this ship. Still, despite that, very little of what he saw surprised him. As any average person from Juatwa would expect, the interior of the shogun’s room was lavish in design. There were colorful paintings mounted on the walls, mostly of either Katsu’s manor or his esteemed family members. Where the paintings did not suffice, tapestries woven with ancient legends and warriors of old hung from golden rods or were laid out upon the floor. Great chests, locked and secured with heavy metal straps, were situated along the outer rim of the room, both out of the way and easily within view of the large bed in the center. The bed itself had blue and white curtains that hung from the ceiling and draped around its entirety. To the right of the bed was a massive dresser stocked with elegant kimonos for both Katsu and his wife. To the left of the bed was a single table with scrolls carefully arranged atop it.

The room was a far cry from the cots used by the samurai, and a farther cry still from the stacked hammocks of the servants and the crewmen in the darkness of the hull. Takeo was not offended by this, though. Such was expected for a man who’d conquered half the provinces in Juatwa; an ounce of humility was the only thing in short supply.

The man himself was leaning over the top of his table. He was barefoot, wore a casual kimono, and stood with his back slightly turned toward the door. Even with robes on and turned at this angle, Katsu’s lanky figure was easily distinguishable.

Directly behind him, lying on the bed, was Heliena Katsu.

She was beautiful as always—stunningly so in a way that would draw the envy of even a yuki-onna. Her face was calm and watchful, oozing entitlement and privilege as if born to it. A white kimono draped over her body revealed that Katsu had finally convinced his new bride to retire the amazon body armor she’d worn during their stay in Lucifan. The silk fell over her figure like water, taunting all who could see with the delicate curves that lay beneath it. She wore it well, too, and her smile revealed that she knew that. However, beyond those confident features, the ever-burning fury within her raged through her eyes. Despite her petite and fragile appearance, Takeo knew better than to mistake her for anything other than a dangerous killer.

Please, come forward, Ichiro said over his shoulder, a turn of his head exposing a thin nose.

Renshu and Takeo removed their geta before placing their bare feet upon the rug. They took several steps forward, now side by side, and stood at attention. Heliena watched them without blinking.

Please, sit, Ichiro commanded.

Renshu and Takeo kneeled down, placing knees and shins upon the floor before leaning back to sit on their heels. They kept their backs and chests rigid and erect as they did so, ending the movement by placing closed fists upon their thighs. They waited patiently.

Thank you both for coming, Ichiro said, finally turning away from his table.

He walked over to them, sitting as they had. Takeo and Renshu both bowed their heads, making sure their lord was taller than them even while sitting. From out of the corner of his eye, Takeo saw Heliena stifle a laugh.

Takeo wrinkled his nose at the gesture but hid it by bowing further. Beyond the fact that it would be rude and, therefore, dishonorable to show his disdain, it was also unbecoming of a samurai to let such travesties affect his emotions.

But oh, how he hated her.

It wasn’t just the marriage that he hated, though that in and of itself could have been enough. Sure, Heliena may have been a princess among her own people and therefore had the status required to marry Ichiro, but beyond that she had few redeeming qualities. Her beauty was undeniably striking, but her character was a cesspool in Takeo’s opinion. The people of Juatwa, certainly the elite samurai and shogun, were known to hold a high degree of respect and politeness to others. This woman, though, was a cannon of insults. She would burst into a shrieking rage at the slightest provocation and hand out punishment with severe prejudice. Her version of justice entirely hinged upon her emotions and desires, which were rarely anything but cruel and violent.

It pained Takeo to admit it, but out of all of Ichiro’s wives, Heliena had the most in common with her husband.

Karaoshi, Ichiro said.

Takeo snapped out of his thoughts.

Miyazi, Ichiro continued.

Lord, they both gave one last nod before lifting their heads.

How have you two been these last few months? I must apologize. This ship is no manor, and yet I’ve managed not to speak to either of you in over a month, and even longer than that for you, Takeo.

No apology is necessary, my lord, Renshu replied. My heart aches to be back in Juatwa.

I have been well, my lord, Takeo said. Thank you for asking.

Ichiro nodded and let a moment pass. Formalities were over; time for business.

It has taken me some time and thought, he began, "but I still believe my plans to capture Lucifan can be achieved. During my stay there, I gathered valuable information on its defensive capabilities and found them extremely lacking. As I suspected, with the angels gone, the colossi have ceased to function. Without them, Lucifan is a ripe apple just waiting to be plucked. The knights are nothing but a regulated militia, and their numbers are too inferior to protect the city from a real attack. It was a long shot, but assisting Drowin in his assassination of the angels worked.

"On that note, however, Heliena is certain beyond doubt that she saw her sister and the girl, Emily, on the city’s shore as we set out. As unlikely as it seems that they defeated Drowin in the short time we were gone, we’ll operate and plan according to that assumption. We’ll assume that Drowin is dead, and for that, I could almost thank Heliena’s sister and her little, death-defying friend. We won’t have a vampire to deal with when we invade. In truth, though, it matters little. Our plans remain unchanged.

"When I left Juatwa, I controlled the majority of the daimyo and their armies. When I return, I’ll hunt down one of the other two remaining shogun and take their armies as well. Hopefully they haven’t united yet. After I’ve conquered one, the other should be easy to push into submission. I suspect Lord Jiro will be the easiest to subdue.

Once Juatwa is under my control, I’ll send my army to Lucifan. We’ll sack that plump city of riches, and, with those extra resources, Savara will be next.

My lord, Takeo spoke up.

Ichiro paused. Although Takeo had not technically interrupted him, Ichiro had clearly not finished speaking. He narrowed his eyes at his subordinate, and Takeo felt the ire of his lord.

Yes?

What if we are defeated?

A silence passed over the room. Only the creaking of the ship and the slap of the ocean could be heard through the walls. Takeo swallowed but said no more. He had asked a legitimate question, and he would not shy away from it simply because his lord hated to hear it.

That was not the bravery his brother had taught him.

Defeated where? Ichiro asked.

In Juatwa, my lord, Takeo clarified. You said hopefully the other two shogun haven’t united, but what if they have? What is our plan then?

Then it would be even more imperative that we invade Lucifan, Ichiro answered, his patience waning. In the unlikely case I’m defeated by my rivals, I’ll take what samurai are still loyal to me and leave Juatwa. We’ll head to Savara to recruit what mercenaries we can and then invade Lucifan. Even in this situation, I believe the city to be ill equipped to handle this. I will be the man who sacks Lucifan. The city, its people, and its riches will be mine. Juatwa will be dominated afterwards. The Katsu Dynasty will come to fruition. Have I made myself clear?

Yes, my lord, Takeo and Renshu nodded.

Good, Ichiro said, sounding satisfied and confident once again. Now, Takeo. I require your sword.

He extended an open hand, palm up, and Takeo’s heart skipped a beat. His breath caught in his throat, and another void of silence consumed the room.

A samurai’s sword was not only his weapon, but also his symbol, his livelihood, and his legacy. Many were engraved with ancient family sayings or the names of those who had carried them. This was Takeo’s father’s sword, and it had seen more combat than Takeo had seen months of life. It had made the journey to Lucifan with Okamoto, and after his brother’s death, had been graciously preserved by the knights. When Takeo had been handed the sword upon his arrival to the city, he’d known beyond certainty that his brother had died.

A request to hold his katana, or the katana of any samurai for that matter, was not to be made lightly. However, the request had been made by his shogun, so the samurai code limited his options to only one: obedience.

Takeo looked at Renshu before sliding the sheathed weapon from his waist; Renshu continued his stoic gaze over Ichiro’s shoulder. Takeo placed the weapon into Ichiro’s outstretched hand and waited.

Thank you, Ichiro said.

He stood up and took the sword in both hands. He turned it over, as if inspecting it, and walked slowly back towards his table. The sword wasn’t much to look at. The sheath wasn’t delicately carved, nor was the handle beautifully gemmed like Renshu’s, but it was sturdy and true. The only story the Karaoshi sword sung was one of efficiency.

Did you know, Ichiro said, that there are commoners aboard this ship who believe this sword is enchanted?

I did not know that, my lord.

The servants who accompanied us to that tower started the rumor, Ichiro continued as if Takeo had not spoken. "When that minotaur roared through the door, they practically pissed themselves in fear, and my other samurai looked grim. Even those barbaric ogres tensed up. But you? You did neither. Instead, you charged to the door, unsheathed this very sword, and stabbed the minotaur the moment the door was open, killing the creature instantly.

The commoners have heard stories of your brother when he carried this blade under my banner. I think those stories combined with what they saw encouraged their imagination. There is talk that whoever wields this katana is granted immortal bravery and unprecedented skill. Considering the obscurity from which you and your brother arose, it does seem fitting that the sword should carry the honors.

Takeo remained quiet. Katsu finished walking toward the table. He placed the sword upon it and withdrew his hand.

I, however? Ichiro said, voice low. I believe this sword is cursed. Miyazi!

Renshu leapt to his feet and gave a ferocious battle cry. He ripped his katana from its sheath as Takeo leapt up as well. In the same motion used to draw the weapon, Renshu swung at Takeo. It was quick, strong, and fluid as every samurai move should be. Against a lesser opponent, such a swing would have ended the fight instantly.

Instead, as the blade swept over Takeo’s head, Takeo noticed that Renshu had aimed to strike with the flat of the blade, not to kill, but that did not stop Takeo from defending himself. With blinding speed, Takeo gripped the exposed parts of Renshu’s sword hilt and shouldered the larger man. In the moment he was thrown back, Takeo ripped the katana clear of its owner’s hands and leveled it at Renshu.

The larger samurai stumbled from the blow, barely stopping from falling over. There were a good two steps between him and Takeo now, and Renshu found himself staring down the blade of his own sword, its tip dangerously near his belly. Takeo looked at him calmly.

Takeo, Ichiro said.

Takeo did not remove his eyes from Renshu but turned his head to show he was listening.

Put it down, his lord continued. You’ve lost.

Takeo took a moment to evaluate his surroundings. Still focusing on Renshu, he scanned the outer limits of his vision. Out of the corner of one eye, he noted Heliena was no longer lying on her back. She was on her knees now. He turned his head a little more to get a better look and then finally flicked his eyes at her.

She was holding her bow at the ready with a single arrow pointed toward his chest. The string was held taut, and her lips were parted in cruel satisfaction. He counted only one step between himself and her, which was both too close for her to miss and too far for him to strike her before she released. Takeo may have hated her, but he was not such a fool as to underestimate her.

Ichiro was right. He had lost, but he was also not dead.

Takeo let the sword clatter to the ground, and Renshu immediately retrieved it. Takeo turned to faced Heliena and tightened his muscles for the blow that was coming. He felt Renshu kick him in the back of his knee.

Kneel! Renshu commanded.

Takeo hit the ground, but before he’d completely fallen, Renshu grabbed ahold of his queue with a rough hand and jerked his head back. Takeo gritted his teeth to hide the pain and felt cold, sharp metal rest on his exposed neck.

Move again, and I slit your throat, Renshu said before spitting on Takeo’s cheek.

Ichiro again took up Takeo’s sword and walked back to stand over him. He unsheathed the katana and placed the tip upon Takeo’s chest, using it to wedge the kimono open and pressing just enough to break the skin. A thin trail of blood fell down to be soaked into Takeo’s white clothing.

Tell me, Ichiro commanded, why didn’t you slay the farmer girl in Lucifan? Why did you betray your duty?

My lord?

Emily Stout! Ichiro yelled. You had her back to a wall, and yet you hesitated to cut her down. You were ordered to kill her; why didn’t you? She killed your brother.

No, she did not, Takeo replied.

This response was followed by silence. Ichiro seemed caught by surprise.

And what makes you think that? he asked.

I’ve killed many people, my lord, Takeo said, then added in bitterness, in my service to you. Many of them were guilty, but some of them not. I remember every face, and I can tell the difference between them. In the final moments of their lives, every one of them revealed their true selves. In Emily’s last moment, in her eyes, I saw neither regret nor acceptance for the death of my brother. When we first met, she pleaded her innocence to me, but it wasn’t until that moment that I knew she spoke the truth.

Ichiro paused again. He gave Takeo a long, skeptical look before withdrawing the sword from his chest, though he did not sheath it.

If that is true, he said, then who do you think killed Okamoto?

Takeo took a deep breath and then swallowed. It took some effort to slide the saliva down his throat past the blade held tightly against his neck. However, once it was done, he found his voice again. He would be brave just as his brother had taught him.

She said it was Heliena who killed Okamoto, Takeo confessed.

Ichiro balked slightly and blinked. He whirled around to face his wife whom Takeo could not see with Renshu’s hand forcing his face skyward.

Takeo waited patiently and closed his eyes, hoping that maybe, just maybe, his lord would have the courage to strike her down where she stood.

Why are you looking at me? Heliena asked with contempt. You knew it would only be a matter of time until he found out.

Takeo’s eyes burst open. He saw Ichiro turn back around and face him. No, Takeo thought, it can’t be!

You knew? he yelled at Ichiro. You bastard! You knew!

Miyazi, Ichiro said quietly.

Renshu lowered his blade from Takeo’s throat by a finger’s width and struck him hard across the face. Takeo felt the punch, but it hardly fazed him in the anger that he felt within.

Of course I knew, Ichiro answered. It is one of the reasons I believe this sword to be cursed.

He finally sheathed Takeo’s blade and held it out as if tainted.

The Karaoshi sword, Ichiro said, mockingly. When you and Okamoto came to pledge your lives to me, I had this blade in my possession. It was only Okamoto’s impeccable reputation as a swordsman that made me accept the offer of your service, and on Okamoto’s request, I gave this katana to him. He served me well until he came to Lucifan and disobeyed a direct order from Heliena to kill Emily.

What? Takeo stuttered.

Heliena told Okamoto to kill Emily when first they captured that little farmer. Count Drowin wanted her alive, and Okamoto defied her out of fear of death from Drowin.

My brother never feared death! Takeo shouted. He didn’t obey because he knew better than to waste his life following an order from that despicable woman!

Miyazi, Ichiro said.

Renshu struck Takeo again, harder this time, and Takeo’s world spun. He tasted blood.

Okamoto was a samurai, Ichiro continued, and he disobeyed a direct order from his lord’s wife. That was his crime, his dishonor, and Heliena rightfully killed him for it. As for you, your crime is even greater. You disobeyed a direct order from me, your lord, which is why you’re still alive.

Takeo remained silent as Ichiro walked back over to his table. He placed Takeo’s sword on it and turned around.

Death, I feel, is too good for you. You and your brother were the greatest warriors I have ever seen, but I can no longer ignore the shame your name carries. Your entire family will feel the weight of your dishonor.

What family? Takeo muttered.

Renshu didn’t wait for a command before striking Takeo this time.

The Karaoshi name then, and your legacy, Ichiro sneered. Either way, you will suffer before you die. When we reach Savara, you will be stripped of your clothes, weapons, and title. Then, you will be sold into slavery.

Takeo looked over at the man who was once his lord, and Ichiro looked right back at him.

Renshu will negotiate the price personally, he said. He will sell you cheap . . . to a rakshasa.

Chapter 1

Emily took a deep breath and let it out.

Sometimes, she got scared being tied up, handcuffed, and locked in the hold of this ship, The Greedy Barnacle. It was cramped, there were no windows, and she could never get comfortable. She lay on her side with her front facing toward the door beyond her iron-barred cage so that if someone opened the faceplate to check on her, they would not see her hands working tirelessly to free her. It was dark, quiet, and smelly. The air was musty and stale, and the only noises she could hear were the creak of wood and the muffled sound of waves crashing against the ship. It could be a bit lonely, and she already felt lonely enough as it was.

Come on, she whispered to herself, hurry.

Emily again worked her hands against the rope. She had held them just slightly apart and bent at an angle when she was tied up. Doing so had created a small gap her captors hadn’t taken notice of, and she’d put that to use by stretching and pulling. The rope was loosened enough, and Emily knew she could get out of it. The easy part was done. It seemed like no matter how hard the pirates tried, they just couldn’t tie the rope tight enough on her small body.

The tricky part was slipping off the handcuffs.

For this, she still had a grand advantage. Unlike those of many of the pirates’ prisoners, her hands were smaller than her wrists. She could, with some effort, usually slip them out of the handcuffs, no matter which pair they used.

They used the hinged pair this time. It seemed they’d gotten tired of trying with the chain or the rigid bar ones. Emily flexed her hands and smiled. Once again, the cuffs had been designed for someone just slightly bigger than her. She positioned her body for leverage and began working her way free.

All of this during her birthday, she just