The Ties That Bind

By Melanie Hatfield

As her assassin persona of Tina the Terrible, Princess Azedeh has conquered treacherous foes and even death. Now she faces her most terrifying challenge: picking a future king. When her parents host the traditional Royal Pairing Ball, Azedeh feels the heat of social expectations breathing down her neck. When her alter-ego’s persona complicates matters, a loved-one becomes tangled in the consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melanie Hatfield
• Release date: Feb 11, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370567102

Melanie Hatfield

Melanie Hatfield spent a decade in Los Angeles with hopes of becoming a television sitcom writer. That dream did not come true, but she learned how to write like a pro. She wrote her first fantasy series, Kingdom of the Snark, to incorporate her two favorite genres of comedy and fantasy. Her second fantasy series, The Chronicles of Turrack is an action-adventure spin-off from Snark. Ms. Hatfield currently lurks in her hometown of Kansas City and writes whatever she pleases!

Book preview

THE TIES THAT BIND

BOOK 3 OF THE CHRONICLES OF TURRACK

Melanie Hatfield

The Ties That Bind: Book 3 of The Chronicles of Turrack

By Melanie Hatfield

Copyright 2017 by Melanie Hatfield

Smashwords Edition

Cover art by JoshuaJadon.com

Digital edition produced by Maureen Cutajar

www.gopublished.com

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, taping, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner except in the context of reviews, quotes, or references. To obtain permission, contact the writer through her website at www.melaniehatfield.com.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Anything in this novel that is anyway similar to your own life and/or work is coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Una (A Short Story)

About the Author

Chapter One

The goons tighten their grip around my wrists and ankles. They carry me like a piece of furniture being moved across the room. I could free myself with a few quick twists, or merely disappear with the wizard’s gem hidden underneath my hood, but I allow my body to become limp. It’s best that they let their guard down and think I’m vulnerable, and for the pounding I took I could use the break.

The sawdust on the ground bursts in my face with every goon’s footfall. The veil sown into my hood as a mask protects my breathing, but donning a black mask in the dead of night has its drawbacks. I’m uncertain how these goons are navigating through the construction site, and with a building that takes up three city roads, I could be anywhere. The men grunt as they twist around sharp turns, muttering under their breath.

I thought women were supposed to be light, one of them mutters.

Wow, I retort, you gents really know how to sweet-talk a lady. It’s no wonder you have nothing better to do tonight than to beat up masked vigilantes.

Shut your yapping hole, or I’ll shut it for you, snaps the goon gripping my left wrist, giving my arm a shake as a warning.

That’s a bit better, I reply, but ladies prefer if you hold doors open as oppose to shutting their holes.

The man steers me to the left, slamming the top of my head into a metal support column. I bite my lower lip, denying him the satisfaction of knowing how much that stings.

My head still buzzes when our journey comes to an end. I keep my face toward the ground, getting a view of worn leather boots coming toward me.

You got her? the owner of the boots exclaims like a child given a birthing day present.

Yeah, the man holding my right ankle grunts. It’s the letting go part that we can’t wait for.

Do not lose your grip, the owner of the boots snarls.

He releases a sharp whistle, and a pack of dogs bark nearby. The commotion throws me off for a moment, but it’s not long before I am passed off to another set of fresh goons—I guess the nearby mutts aren’t the only trained beasts at this site. The relieved men shuffle off, groaning about the aches and bruises I caused them in our earlier fight.

Can’t we just force her onto her knees or something? whines the new man holding my right wrist.

Geesh, I say. Barely a second on the job and you’re already complaining. You’ll never be on the A-team with that attitude.

The boots at my feet kick dust into my face. I make a show with a fake coughing fit. It never hurts to boost a man’s ego when you want something from him.

If this is how she was captured, the dust kicker says, then this is the only safe way to contain her.

And whom may I ask has contained me? I inquire. I’m tempted to call you Mr. Boots from this angle.

The men gripping me chuckle, but I suppose Mr. Boots shoots them a dirty glance since they fall quickly into silence.

Mr. Boots kneels down, gripping my chin as he forces my head up. Dust covers his garbs, but he appears to just be wearing a simple construction drone’s jumpsuit. His face has scars like dried up river beds, weaving across his countenance as if a drunken lord placed them. His eyes are yellow, although the left one has a black streak like a bolt of lightning running through it.

Oh my goodness, I speak like a fan meeting an idol. I can’t believe Mr. Boots is Rickle Yurkalweed! Just the scumbag I was looking for.

He jumps back, losing his balance for a moment. It may not take me long to get this nut to crack.

I suppose I should be flattered that the infamous Tina the Terrible has taken an interest in me, Rickle says, his voice jumping an octave when he speaks my alter ego’s name.

You should be, I reply. Most people I visit wind up dead.

His stony expression quivers for a moment. He twists his hands around my face, making an excellent guess as to where my lips are located. He pinches them shut, trying his best to rip them off my face.

What do you want with me, assassin? he snarls. I am no highborn to be slaughtered.

Pshaw, I mumble through my lips, that was last year’s news.

The goons grumble that they didn’t understand me, so Rickle releases my face and allows me to repeat myself.

Are you implying that you have become bored hunting such easy prey, sweetheart? Rickle inquires.

Don’t flatter yourself, honey bun, you’ve been just as simple.

If that were true, Rickle barks, then you wouldn’t be in this predicament.

And how many other innocents have faced this same scenario? I’ve heard at least seven, but you could be hiding more bones.

A wicked grin crawls across his face. A wondrous choice of words, lady.

He nods before standing up. I only see the soles of his boots as the goons follow. We take fifteen paces before my head hovers above darkness. I barely see the backs of beasts crawling over each other, but the barking is enough for me to figure out what lies below.

Aww, I coo, you have a pet shop on the side! Do the poochies want some smoochies?

I make the same type of kissing noises as I would with Evangeline’s dog.

Rickle manages to light a torch, tossing it into the pit. The beasts spread out to avoid it, but there is enough flame to show what I truly face: these mutts were taller than a pony, their fangs so large they could not fully close their mouths. The spit foaming from their fangs is enough to put out the torch’s light.

My pups would love to lick your bones, Rickle chuckles.

I’m not one to share body parts.

You don’t have a choice, sweetheart. Toss her in, boys!

I tense up, preparing for the inevitable, but for all their previous complaints the goons keep me hovering.

Don’t you want to see who she is first? the man in charge of my left ankle asks.

Yeah, chimes his right-side companion. I mean, we have the Tina the Terrible at our mercy, and you don’t even want to see what she looks like?

Or at least have some fun with her lady parts? the right wrist guy smirks.

I wouldn’t touch her if she had the only lady parts in Turrack. Rickle grimaces.

Really? I quip. That’s usually the first thing guys try to do to me.

See? the right-wrist guy says. It’s expected!

And what do I get for my miserable demise? I add. Aren’t you going to rub your evil crime into my face? Something like, ‘You’ll never stop my narcotics scheme. The children of Turrack shall be servants to me.’ You know, unless you want to do the honorable thing like stop distributing narcotics and turn yourself in for the murders.

Rickle laughs.

Men never take the honorable road. I tsk.

You have to take off the mask, boss, left-ankle guy whined.

He’s right, left-wrist guy agrees. It would be like reading a book and not knowing how it ends if we don’t do that.

Literate goons, I nod. Impressive.

It doesn’t matter who she is, Rickle snaps. Anyone who knows too much has to die. That’s how my operation works. Do you want to join her?

The goons fall silent. They are properly trained, after all.

The tips of Rickle’s boots point toward the pit. Toss. Her. In. Now!

My body swings as the men prepare, although the pit isn’t deep enough to require much momentum. I realize too late it was a distractive move, for just before the men release me, right-wrist guy pulls my hood up and backwards. I hear collective gasps as I fall head first into the mutt pit.

I’m fortunate that my crown was not removed when my hood was thrown back. It’s practically glued on with a mix of gel I had Evangeline create from Sticky Pads, and it doesn’t budge as I fall. The wizard’s gem embedded into the front of my crown glows. Just as a sea of snapping jaws nearly sinks its teeth into my face, I disappear in a flash of green.

I reappear from behind the men, face down in the dusty floor. I jump up, moaning from my own aches of my earlier fight. Rickle and the goons rub their eyes, momentarily blind from the gem’s flash.

That was the mother-fertilizing princess, Rickle gasps, his eyelids blinking to regain sight.

I shake my head. Sorry about this, boys, but you know too much.

I jog up to the men, pushing them into the pit. The giant dogs are quick to tear into their flesh. Their screams are short but shrill, and I know it won’t be long before those previous goons return to see what’s going on.

I’m slow to reach Rickle, and he is not as close to the pit’s edge as the other men. He’s still dazed from the gem, and I’m able to shove my elbow into his gut. As I push him toward his demise, he whips out a knife and slams it in between my ribs. I howl with pain, falling to my knees. The heels of his boots are far enough over the edge for him to lose his balance, and his curses turn into screams.

I writhe upon the ground, clenching my side in a futile attempt to stop the pain. The warmth of my blood oozes through my gloved fingers. I gasp like a fish out of water with only one lung working.

Hey, boss! a man’s voice calls. The source is too close to me, and I ignore the pain of my injury long enough to think about my bath chamber.

I appear there in a flash, huddled on the smooth marble floor as I was in the construction site. I crawl over to the wall compartments, knocking over personal care bottles as I search for some wizard’s healing paste. I smear it into my wound, my skin sizzles like bacon on a pan as new skin grows.

The paste works for exterior wounds, but I need something stronger to heal within. Halotana gave me some healing potions from our last adventure in the snow caves, but I keep those in the far back.

I scream with agony as I reach to the back of the wall compartment, but with only one functioning lung it comes off as several short gasps. I grip in the darkness until I grasp a glass container with the roundness of the healing potion’s bottle. I rip the cork off with my teeth, guzzling the liquid as if I had not consumed a drink all day.

Healing potions are life savers, but nothing with magic comes free. The concoction bubbles underneath my skin as my punctured lung heals. The short screams of breath become louder than I anticipated. I arch my back as my gasps become deeper.

My Princess, a man’s voice calls from outside my bath chamber’s door, along with frantic knocking. Do you require our assistance?

It’s moments like this that make me lock my bath chamber door before I leave the Golden Castle at night.

No, I snap, although my energy is completely spent. I am just… well, I do not owe you any explanations! I understand you are just doing your job, but please return to your hallway post.

I moan as roll onto my side. I’m glad no one can see me blush from the embarrassment of knowing my breaths were loud enough to be heard from the hallway outside my chambers. I gasp softly, keeping my ears tuned to the guards’ comments.

Should we really leave? a young man asks.

We have to obey orders, a gruff voice responds.

But those cries…

Are none of our business.

That’s a good guard.

But I have never heard those types of sounds before, the annoying youth comments.

That is because you have yet to lie with a woman.

Ooooh, the blushing they can’t see!

What do you mean, sir? The Princess is alone.

And what do you do when you are alone in a bath chamber at night?

The youth is quiet for a moment before speaking, I was unaware females did that.

They are sexual creatures, same as us. Nature is nature, boy.

The flesh is going to melt from the burning of my face. I should relieve them from their evening duties, but just thinking of them being aware that I am paying attention to this makes my stomach flip.

Hey, you two, another guard calls from my bedroom chamber door. The Princess gave us orders. Stop lingering and get back to your posts.

Yes, sir, the men bark.

I fall upon my back. I should return to that construction site and do something about those monster dogs, lest those surviving goons release them into the streets as an act of revenge. I am slow to stand, clamping my hands upon my mouth to suppress my noises. I’m uncertain how much time passes before I pull my mask over my face and teleport back to the construction site.

I stand upon the rim of the pit, but there is a pile of dirt at my