30. Penny #2
I stared after them, hating the distance stretching between me and the people I wanted to reach.
Kit and Isla, being ferried ever farther away.
Every second until morning felt like punishment while I was forced to sit and stew in my helplessness.
I could almost hear Violette’s laughter, see Klaus’s snide smile, and it made the ropes around me seem to burn.
In the pause, Rosie peeled away from the huddle of tired townsfolk and crept closer, settling beside me and resting her head on my shoulder. Her chest rose and fell with a shuddering sigh.
“It’s all right, Penny,” she murmured.
My face pinched with pain. “How can you say that when you know it isn’t true?”
Quietly, she pressed her hand to my chest. “I have faith. Don’t you?”
Because of my prayers? My preparations? I hadn’t prepared for this. I hadn’t prepared for the fear that gnawed at my chest, that made my stomach twist and my jaw ache.
I looked across the room at where the commander had gathered some soldiers around Ben. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but it wasn’t much before the lot of them filed out of the tavern and into the black night.
My chest tightened.
“They’ll beat us back to Ashpoint,” I said, my voice trembling. “We’ll arrive to find Kit dead and his body given to Eeus. He would never want that, Rosie. He’d want anything but that.”
I swallowed hard, my eyes fixed on the doorway through which the commander and Ben had disappeared. Tears stung my eyes, and I shut them, then turned my face into Rosie’s hair. Time crawled, mocking me. Each passing second reminded me that delay was a death sentence.
Kit didn’t have time. I didn’t have time.
“Rosie,” I hissed, careful not to let my voice carry beyond her, “untie me.”
She stiffened and sat upright. “Penny, I—”
“No,” I snapped, my voice low but urgent. “Listen. The ward commander and Ben will be gone for a while. Busy. I can’t sit here all night knowing what will happen. What I might be able to prevent—”
“And how will you prevent it?” she demanded, eyes wide and brows furrowed. “Even if you caught up, it would be you alone against all of them. You’re worried about what Kit would want? Anything but that, Penny. He’d rather die than lose you.”
My jaw clenched and I shook my head. “If he dies, he loses me anyway.”
Rosie’s hands trembled in her lap. She glanced toward the doorway, then back at me, and I could practically hear her heart hammering. The fear in her eyes made my chest ache, but I didn’t flinch. I couldn’t. Not when Kit’s life hung on what I chose to do next.
“Rosie, please,” I said at length.
She cast another glance toward the soldiers who remained in the tavern, a look more furtive than the last.
“They’ll notice,” she whispered.
“They won’t,” I replied. “Not if we’re quiet. I’ll go out the back. Come morning, you can lead them to Ashpoint. You know the way, don’t you?”
“Well enough,” she admitted.
I shifted, turning my back toward her and exposing my bonds to her capable hands.
I was prepared to plead with her again before I felt a tug on the ropes, a tentative pull followed by a more focused effort on loosening the knots. Breath left me in a rush, and I smiled through a fresh wave of tears.
“Thank you, Rosie,” I whispered over my shoulder, then said it again with all the sincerity I could muster. “Thank you.”
The ropes fell away.
I rolled my shoulders while Rosie untied the knot at my ankles. When that was undone, I drew my knees up, testing my freedom. My wrists were raw, the rope’s memory biting into my skin, but the pain was nothing. I flexed my fingers, pressed my palms to the floor, and slowly rose into a crouch.
The soldiers were preoccupied, having helped themselves to unattended barrels of ale. The threat to Forstford was dissolved for now, so they could relax.
I could not.
Past the knot of townsfolk who sat up straighter to hide my passage, the nearby serving counter offered cover. Behind it lay the kitchen and—if luck held—a rear exit. I’d go out a window if I had to, then slip into the night in search of a horse to borrow.
With the rest of the townspeople gone with most of their livestock for safekeeping, finding one might not be easy. But the troops arrived on horseback. Countless mounts that would be well within reach and likely unattended.
This was a terrible idea. Dangerous. Reckless.
I was stealing from the militia, escaping what felt like imprisonment, and risking any credibility I’d managed to earn with the commander. Though, considering she’d left me bound, I hadn’t earned much.
Rosie watched me, and I wished she’d look away. Her attention felt damning as I scuttled along behind the bar toward the entrance to the kitchen.
Inside, the air was thick and laced with the smells of food. The cooking fire had long since been extinguished, and I crept swiftly past the hearth.
The space was cluttered with pots and cauldrons, knives hanging from hooks, and bundles of herbs dangling from the rafters. A long table held bowls of dried grains, a few loaves of crusty bread, and clay pitchers of water.
The commander had the good sense to gather supplies, and so did I.
I scrounged a burlap bag from beneath the table, tucked two of the bread loaves inside it along with an entire bowl of apples and a small sack of mixed nuts, then armed myself with the largest knife I could find.
It wasn’t as intimidating as Ben’s butcher blade, but it would still draw blood.
I stayed low, moving from shadow to shadow. The sound of conversation carried on from the tavern beyond, and the occasional scuff of a boot drawing near the kitchen entrance made my stomach lurch. I froze at every scrape and shuffle from the other side of the wall, willing them to be nothing.
There was a small door at the rear of the room, and I made my way quickly toward it.
Its iron latch was simple and would be easy to lift.
My hands itched now that I was so close—eager to grasp it and throw the door wide.
Instead, I paused, straining to hear. The soldiers’ voices carried faintly, muffled by the thick walls.
A creaking chair closer by made my pulse spike.
There would be no better opportunity.
I lifted the latch and pushed the door open enough to slip through. Once I was outside, I rose to full height and cast a glance about. Around the building, darkness pooled beneath the eaves. My pulse kicked in my throat, but I didn’t delay.
I bolted toward the stable beside the tavern, lungs burning, legs pumping. The militia’s horses whinnied and huffed inside, hastily hitched to posts and stall bars. I scanned them quickly, judging which was the sturdiest, the fastest, the one most fit to carry me to Ashpoint, to Kit.
Memories of when I chased him from Eastcliff surged, unbidden. When I found him there in Ashpoint, he’d been grateful. He’d held me in our little cottage and wept.
I pressed a hand to my chest, willing some of that warmth to hold for me now. I could only hope he’d greet me the same way this time, though the road there would be much harder.