Chapter 6
Leila
“This is the worst idea ever.”
Leila swallowed a groan. The clopping of hooves and warble of birds usually accompanied their hours of travel, but Raphael’s whining drowned out all other sounds.
He hadn’t stopped since Tobias first revealed his plan.
Yucana had suggested they sleep on it—a delay they couldn’t spare—for the sole sake of appeasing every objection thrown Tobias’s way.
Leila was nearly convinced Raphael had spent the entire night bitching, as She had closed Her eyes to his ranting lullaby and woken up to more of the same.
But for all his protests, no new, superior idea was presented, so they embarked while Raphael’s tirade continued.
Tobias went rigid against Leila’s back, and She could practically feel him rolling his eyes. “I never said it was a good idea, just that it’s the only one I’ve got.”
“Well, it’s terrible,” Raphael said. “Completely idiotic. The fact that I’m accompanying you on this doomed quest makes me question my own intelligence. God.”
Naomi sighed. “For once, I agree with the mouth.”
“Did—?” Raphael sat up straight, glancing between Tobias and his sister. “Did she just call me the mouth?”
“Let’s turn back,” Naomi said. “We can think of something else.”
Tobias tightened his grip on the reins. “There’s nothing else.”
“We can find a way—”
“For God’s sake, what else is there to do?” he said. “Brontes has an army. We don’t. At least if we take this chance, we’ll have some resources.”
“He’s right.” Leila’s gut rolled, the words, while true, tasting sour on Her tongue. “We don’t have any alternatives. We have to take the risk.”
Tobias brought their horse to a halt. “Call it to a vote? Who wants a new plan?” Raphael’s and Naomi’s hands shot up. “And who thinks we should stay the course?”
Tobias raised his hand, as did Leila, though it took more might than it should’ve. Only one vote remained. Yucana’s forehead wrinkled, concentration etched across her face. Meeting her son’s gaze, she raised her hand.
Tobias nodded. “It’s settled.”
The rest of their journey was silent. No one liked the decision, but based on the grey rising from Tobias’s neck and shoulders, he hated it most. There was a bitterness to his angst, like smoke and vinegar stinging Leila’s nostrils, and it left Her overwrought with guilt.
He’d made another sacrifice for Her, and that, by far, was the worst part of it all.
The greenery around them thinned as they neared the edge of the woods, venturing away from the border and deeper into Thessen.
“The last place we should be headed,” Naomi had said more than once.
“We’re supposed to be fleeing.” It made no sense, how their path to safety was somehow more ominous than the alternative, how each step in the right direction made Leila want to turn back and face whatever phalanx was on their trail.
For once, She was glad for Her magic’s limitations.
No one had ever been to their destination before, so shadow walking was out of the question.
It was maddening, the dichotomy between Her rational mind and Her tormented gut.
Raphael pulled on his reins, halting his horse while the others followed suit. His chestnut gaze was pointed at nothing—the same broadleaf trees they’d seen for miles.
No, not nothing. Leila could see it between the leaves far in the distance. Grey walls and a thatched roof. It likely sat alongside a road, one She couldn’t make out from Her vantage point. Roads meant people. People meant danger.
“What is it?” She cringed. What a silly question. It’s a cottage, clearly.
“A watering hole,” Raphael said.
Or it’s a watering hole. She sank into Tobias’s chest, grateful no one could hear Her thoughts. Everything looked the same from the palace watchtower. It seemed there wasn’t much architectural diversity in Her realm.
Tobias pulled the cowl of his cloak up his nose, then clicked at his horse, commanding it to trot.
Leila went rigid. “Wait.”
“We knew it was coming to this,” he said. “No point in delaying the inevitable.”
And then all three of their horses were off, headed straight to their demise. Leila tried to feign resolve, but Her hands were clamped tight around the reins, Her heartbeat thundering against Her rib cage. A long dirt road snaked through the distance, and bile bit at Her throat.
As their impending doom neared, it became obvious the grey structure was not, in fact, a cottage.
It was much larger than Tobias’s home, two stories of smooth clay, with awnings made of straw and barred windows like dungeon cells.
If Leila had seen it up close from the start, She most certainly would’ve known it was a watering hole.
Vindicated, She sat taller on their horse, only to cower as the sun flickered through the tree branches.
She pulled Her hood low and balled Her hands into the sleeves of Her cloak, Her nervous fidgeting punctuated by Tobias’s soft voice in Her ear.
“I’ve got You.”
The trees parted, and sunlight blasted over them.
Thank God for Tobias’s warm body and the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat.
His arm swept around Her waist, strength She unequivocally needed.
They bobbed and trotted at a steady pace, making their way from the shrubbery to the dirt road, and something within Leila screamed in protest. It wasn’t fair how vulnerable She was in these conditions.
She’d killed men, had waged war against royalty and won time and again.
But the palace fortress was a battlefield She knew well.
She’d broken free of Her prison, and suddenly She felt so small and powerless.
Raphael clicked, nudging his buckskin mare to the front of the group. It took Leila a moment of deep breaths and calming thoughts before She realized where he was headed.
Her back shot straight. “What are you doing?”
The watering hole. Raphael’s horse flicked her tail, but otherwise the two of them seemed unfazed. “Asking for directions,” he said.
“I thought you knew where we were going.”
“I knew we were headed north-east.”
“And?”
He glanced over his shoulder, raising a thick black eyebrow. “And we’ve gone north-east. I think it’s time for specifics, don’t you?”
“We can’t risk being seen.”
Raphael tipped his head back and groaned. “Bloody hell, are we supposed to just keep walking straight and hope we land on the property?”
“I’ll go,” Yucana said. “I’m the least conspicuous. No one will find my presence odd.”
“No.” Tobias’s voice came out firm. “Too dangerous.”
“How?”
“Brontes knows Leila fled with the Artist’s family.” Raphael’s tone was uncharacteristically gentle. “They’ll be looking for you”—his eyes panned from mother to daughter—“and Naomi.”
“Do they know our faces?” Yucana gestured toward both men in their company. “You two are rather popular, while we have anonymity on our side.”
“With all due respect, I don’t need anonymity,” Raphael said. “Whether they recognize me or not is of no consequence. No one knows I’ve joined your cause. I’m going, and it’s final.”
“Since when do you get to make our final decisions, Mouth?”
Raphael bristled beneath Naomi’s jeer. “It’s the safest option.” Grunting, he hopped off his horse, tying her to the hitching post. “I’m not on the run. I have no link to your escapade whatsoever. It’s just directions. It’ll be fine.”
No one moved, each ass rooted to their steeds in a stiff, straight line. Perhaps standing in front of the watering hole was far more conspicuous than simply following Raphael’s lead, but any closer felt menacing, a blaze too hot to approach.
Raphael patted his mare on the rear, then threw his hood over his head. “Stay quiet.” He gestured toward the hitching post. “Look busy.”
The wooden door screeched as he lurched it open, then rattled when it slammed behind him.
So much for subtlety. Tobias nudged their stallion toward the hitching post, planting himself beside Yucana and helping Naomi into her cart.
Yucana busied herself with feeding the horses while Tobias stood watch, leaving Leila with little to do but fuss with Her cloak and pull it tight across Her chest. Voices drifted from the watering hole—all male, gravelly and drained—and when Raphael’s light tone punctuated the din, She flinched.
A barred window was paces away, its clay sill layered in bird droppings.
She abandoned pretense and nestled up against it, face tucked behind Her hood as She peered inside.
The watering hole was dark and worn to the bone, its slate walls cracked and crumbling with no sign of attempted repair.
The tables were gnarled wood, some with lopsided legs stacked atop bricks, and the bar top was spotted with puddles and scuffed beyond salvaging.
Filthy. Five men sat on benches and stools, a choice that baffled Leila.
Surely there were superior watering holes in Her realm. There had to be.
“Excuse me.” Raphael stopped at the bar and flagged down the barkeep. “Where might I find—?”
“This isn’t the place for favors.” A rotund man with a thick black beard and stained green tunic wiped a pitcher with a soiled rag. “You got questions, you order up.”
Nodding, Raphael placed a coin on the bar top. “Wine. Just a chalice, thank you.”
The barkeep barked something to a far hairier man with a mustache, beard, and eyebrows that monopolized his forehead.
He poured a brownish liquid into a chalice—hardly wine, and Leila wouldn’t be convinced otherwise—and plopped it in front of Raphael, barely meeting his gaze before his eyes went wide.
“Bloody shit.” He swatted the round man at his side. “Abbad. You see who this is? It’s the fucking Intellect.”
“Oh, quit milking my tits—”
“At the Commencement, I saw them all clear as day. It’s him.”