Chapter 28
We’re keeping you alive to close the tear. That was Felix’s explanation, but it didn’t make sense. Why go through the trouble of dragging him all the way to Fallowmoor for an open doorway? How bad could it really be?
August shifted uncomfortably. It was clearly bad enough to outweigh Felix’s temper. August was still alive—impressive, considering that if the roles were reversed and August had the same advantages, he would’ve killed Felix already. Still planned to. He had to sleep sometime.
“They’re both inside, Auggie. Let’s go!”
He straightened with a jolt as Lottie appeared from around the corner of the small house. He’d been lost in his thoughts and hadn’t noticed that Felix was gone.
“Go where?” The rolling farmland stretched out to the distant road, and the forest spread beyond that. It was too far. He’d never make it before they came back.
“Anywhere but here. Come on!”
August nodded. Revenge would have to wait. He wasn’t going back to Fallowmoor. He was done living his life on everyone else’s terms.
Lottie slipped back around the house, and after one last glance at the open doorway, he followed.
When he stepped into the back garden, he stopped.
Lottie was gone, and a figure stood halfway across the yard, scarecrow-thin, draped in filthy farm clothes.
The man’s mouth moved, though August couldn’t make out what he was saying.
Sunken eyes locked onto him, and the man’s head dipped forward.
An anchored?
No, he was too solid. Just a resident of the hamlet, then.
“I’m not with them,” August called. “They’re the ones stealing from you.”
No response.
He scanned the yard for Lottie as he tried to tug his hands free of the rope. Which way did she go?
“Do you have anything to cut me free?”
A wide grin slashed across the stranger’s face.
August took an uneasy step back. “Never mind. I’ll figure it out.”
Then he noticed the kitchen knife protruding from the man’s thigh.
Solach.
He turned and ran, but footsteps hammered the dirt behind him. Despite the knife in his leg, the man was faster. He grabbed August’s cloak and threw him to the ground. August’s bound hands flung out automatically, cushioning his fall as he landed flat in the grass.
“Felix!” The name tore from his throat in a desperate plea as he rolled onto his back, and he loathed himself immediately for it.
The man crashed down on top of him, spindly fingers clamping over his face and slamming his head against the ground. August clawed at skin—hands, arms, face, anything—but the man was strong. Unnaturally strong.
The knife.
His fingers, clumsy and frenzied, searched for the blade embedded in the man’s leg.
Stupid damned rope!
The man seized August’s wrists, pinning them to the ground above his head with one hand, while his other yanked the knife free and spun it so the point was against his chest.
No no no! Not like this!
The sudden, sharp prickling of needles in his fingers as his power offered an escape. But it was useless with his hands bound.
“What will your magic give me?” The man’s voice creaked like an old floorboard.
“You don’t want it! Trust me.”
A sudden jerk and the crack of bone, then the man went still. The knife fell from his hand.
August’s heart thrashed inside his chest, a wild thing trying to tear its way out. One side of the man’s head was caved in, and a ruined eye bulged grotesquely from its socket. But he was still upright. Still pinning August to the ground.
Felix raised a hammer and swung again, arcing down to crush the top of the skull. The man crumpled forward, and August caught him before his face dropped too close, the rope digging into the skin of his wrists. Blood oozed from the fractured skull, dripping onto his cheek with a sickening warmth.
“Ew, no!” he bellowed, shoving the man off. “Gods!”
With a bored expression, Felix tossed the hammer aside. “You’re welcome.”
August scrubbed frantically at the blood with the rough fabric of his cloak.
“If you’re done fraternizing with the locals, we should go.” Felix nudged August with the hard edge of his metal foot. “Come on now. Get up.”
It took considerable effort for him to get to his feet, and when he finally made it, Felix was leaning casually against the side of the house again like nothing had happened.
August met his unsympathetic gaze with a bitter scowl. Felix saved his life, and he could feel the smugness over that emanating from him.
With a subtle head tilt, Felix said, “You’ve got a little something on your face there.”
August’s scowl deepened, and the corner of Felix’s mouth lifted in response.
When August looked past him in search of Lottie, his gaze caught on a small stone outbuilding. A woman stood framed in the open doorway, dressed in a buttoned blouse and ankle-length skirt.
Not Lottie.
His expression fell. Felix understood at once. He shoved off the wall, drawing his pistol as he followed August’s line of sight, and Marlow stepped forward, shoulders squared.
“Hold on now,” the woman said. “I’m not one of those.”
Nobody moved.
The woman looked warily between them, then at the man’s body on the ground. “I thought nobody would ever come. I locked myself in. The others . . . they . . . ” A sob swallowed the rest of her sentence, and she teetered, on the verge of falling.
Marlow rushed forward to meet her. Felix didn’t budge, didn’t tell her to stop, but August could see his fist tighten around the gun, his knuckles going white.
Marlow helped the woman to the front step of the house and motioned for her to sit. “Are you hurt?”
“Sprained my ankle, but I’m fine.”
“What’s your name?”
The woman sniffled and tucked the stray strands of brown hair back into her bonnet. “Nessa.”
“I’m Marlow. I’m going to fix your ankle, alright?” She crouched to examine the damage.
“You a doctor?”
“I’m a healer.”
Nessa flinched back, fear hardening her features. “You’re a wielder?”
“Yes,” Marlow answered plainly.
“All of you?” She seemed more distressed by this than by the corpse on the ground.
Marlow nodded, and August bristled at the fact that she’d lumped him with them. He wasn’t a wielder.
He bit back the urge to correct her. Probably not the best time. Besides, he still lacked a solid argument that wasn’t rooted solely in his own stubbornness.
“What are you doing here?” Nessa demanded sharply. “What do you want?”
Unbothered by the hostile tone, Marlow said, “Just passing by. Lucky for you, eh?” She wrapped her hand around Nessa’s ankle, her rings glowing red.
Healing the woman took only a moment. When Marlow’s hand fell away, Nessa tested the ankle, rolling it for a moment before rising slowly from the step.
“You ought to go,” she said. Then her voice softened. “Thank you for stopping them.”
Felix’s posture went rigid—enough of a shift to catch August’s attention. “Them?” he asked, his face unreadable.
The woman glanced at the body on the ground. “Darren and his brother. They killed poor Bea. I fled and took to hiding, but the screams…”
Marlow and Felix shared a look.
Then the world tilted into chaos.
A man burst through the door behind them, hook slashing through the air. Felix yanked Marlow aside, and the hook missed by inches, the swing pitching the man off balance. He caught himself, reeled the hook back, and drove it forward again.
It sank into the woman’s chest, and the man forced it downward, splitting her open. An awful, sickening splat as gore spilled out onto the grass at her feet.
August gasped, eyes wide as he stumbled back.
She stayed on her feet, dropping her gaze to her gaping abdomen. Then the man grabbed her, flung her to the ground, and dug his hands deep inside the gash.
A gunshot cut through the yard, and the man collapsed. The world went still and silent once again.
“Well,” Felix said, the nonchalance in his tone a stark contrast to the scene around them. “She was right. We should go.”
August couldn’t tear his eyes away from the bodies on the ground.
He’d seen a few lost before, heard one attack someone on one of his trips into Bedwyck.
He’d even come face to face with one at the night market in Fallowmoor, though he hadn’t understood it at the time.
But he’d never seen the full brunt of their brutality this close.
He swallowed the lump in his throat—don’t be sick don’t be sick—and asked, “Are the lost everywhere?” He’d hoped the epidemic was limited to Bedwyck. How did the elixir even make it out this far?
Felix frowned, giving him a sideways glance. “Lost?”
August gestured to the dead man.
“The elixir creatures?” Felix asked. “Yeah, likely.”
What did Fallowmoor look like, then? Was it like Bedwyck? Was there anything left? Why were they so concerned about a doorway to the Hollow Dark? This was a far bigger problem.
“I need my dagger.” It wouldn’t do him much good with his hands bound, but it was Lottie’s and knowing it was in Felix’s grasp was maddening. If the gods had any sense of justice, it should have burned him alive the second he touched it.
“Absolutely not.” Felix turned and strode back toward the road.
“I can’t even protect myself if more come,” August pushed.
Felix called over his shoulder, “Guess you should probably stay close then.”
They had just made it to the main road when Marlow stopped and flung up a hand, motioning for them to wait.
“Hear that?”
Felix’s face set in concentration as he listened.
August heard it then, the muffled beat of hooves on dirt. “Horses.”
“A ride,” Felix added with a smile. He pulled a pouch from his belt and reloaded his gun. “Aesling, get down and stay out of sight. The last thing I need is for someone to recognize you and realize you’re not actually dead.”
Dead? The word crashed through August like a thunderclap.
Did everyone think he was dead? Did his mother? The idea was a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. He wasn’t sure if his mother wanted him thrown into prison or locked back in the castle, but if she thought him dead, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t looking anymore. He didn’t have to keep hiding.
Another thought crept in, a toxin corrupting the brief respite. Did she even care? Had she grieved him? If he went home, would she be happy to see him, or irritated that he was still breathing?
“August!” Felix snapped, pulling his attention back. “Do I have to force you every time? I’m starting to think you enjoy it.”
August glowered, then stepped off the road to the edge of the forest, hiding behind the thick trunk of an oak, close enough to see what was happening. The air was heavy with the dampness of imminent rain and the scent of mud and pine sap.
Marlow stayed in the centre of the road while Felix disappeared past the tree line further down the road.
Lottie joined August a moment later, leaning against the tree beside him. She brushed her hand over the dull grey fabric of her dress.
“Whoever’s in that carriage could help you,” she said, turning to face him. “Tell them who you are and have them take you home.”
It was a too-familiar suggestion. Go home. However horrible Mother may be, things are worse out here.
But Lottie didn’t get to tell him which was worse. She had no idea what it was like growing up in a home that felt like a prison, terrified that if his secret was found out, he’d be tossed into an actual one. He finally had his freedom, and he wasn’t ready to give that up.
He could run. Take off in the other direction. But Felix only needed line of sight to stop him.
A troubled frown etched itself onto Lottie’s face. “You’ll be safe at home.”
“I’m not going home,” he whispered.
“You can’t just—”
“I’m sick of this conversation, Lottie. Drop it.” The words came out harsher than he’d expected, sharp as a blade.
She pressed her lips into a flat line, sent him a glare that could have burned the entire forest to the ground, then stormed off.
Guilt flickered in his chest. She was only trying to help.
It was fine. She’d come back, like she always did. He’d apologise, like he always did, and she’d forgive him because she was a better sister than he deserved.
The carriage came into sight, a sleek black body pulled by two sturdy black horses and flanked by two Watch officers.
Marlow hunched her shoulders and clasped her arms around herself as if she was injured.
The driver pulled the reins, easing the carriage to a stop as the officers drew their rifles. They approached warily, searching the road for any sign of an ambush.
“Thank the gods,” Marlow called. “I need help.”
“What are you doing out here?” an officer asked.
“My home was attacked.” She pointed toward the hamlet. “They’re all dead.”
A startled cry came from the carriage, and both officers spun, rifles raised. The door burst open, and a finely dressed figure tumbled out, landing on the hard-packed dirt with a jarring thud.
One officer took off toward the body, and Marlow grabbed the other by the arm. He let out a pained cry, face contorted, before dropping.
As the other arrived at the carriage door, a gunshot rang out, and he collapsed in a heap.
Felix leaned out, one hand on the grab bar. He drew his second pistol and turned it on the driver.
The lanky man lifted his hands in surrender. “I’ll drive you wherever you’re goin’.”
Felix was quiet a beat, then asked, “Mar, you know how to drive one of these?”
“Oh, I do, yeah. Got a gold-plated carriage back in Bedwyck. Keep it under my bunk.”
Felix gave her a long, flat look. “August? How about you?”
August dragged himself out of hiding. He’d been riding horses since he was a child, so he may have been able to figure out a carriage, but he wasn’t eager to help them.
“Not a clue.”
Felix holstered his gun. “It’s your lucky day, driver. Take us to Haverglen.” He slipped gracefully back inside and called, “Come on, Auggie.”
Marlow shot August an impatient look, then climbed in after Felix.
August lingered, searching for any sign of Lottie.
Nothing.
She’d find him. She always did.
His eyes flicked to the bodies sprawled on the ground, eyeing their rifles. He wouldn’t know how to use one, and his hands were still tied.
“August!” Felix shouted from inside. “Get in the bleedin’ carriage!”
August let out an irritated huff and started for the road. “Gods, you are insufferable.”