Chapter 92 Ahnna #2
On a rooftop, silhouetted by the sun, stood her brother. Her king. Bow still raised, eyes blazing.
Pandemonium erupted.
Figures shed Harendellian cloaks to reveal Ithicanian tunics of green and gray. Hidden warriors burst from alleyways, from shadows, from within the crowd. Civilians screamed and scattered. Soldiers turned, but too late.
And James—
He vaulted from Dippy’s back, arms catching Ahnna around the shoulders just as she crumpled.
“You’re alive,” she gasped, clinging to him as best she could with bound wrists, her fingers clutching his torn shirt. The scent of sweat, leather, and blood clung to him, the marks of physical violence, old and new, written in the injuries to his face.
“I made you a promise, Princess,” James said, lifting her onto Dippy’s back, the saddleless horse lathered from the gallop here. “And there is no power in this world that would prevent me from keeping it.”
He vaulted up behind her, his chest pressing into her back as he seized the reins. Then Dippy surged into a gallop, his hooves pounding like war drums against the cobblestones as they fled the square.
They flew past Lestara, who shrieked curses after them, her voice fraying with hysteria. Behind them, the clash of metal rang sharp as Ithicanians fought to carve a path through the chaos. Aren’s voice cut through the din. “Get downstream!”
James nodded, already veering down a narrow street. Ahnna twisted in his grip, heart lurching. “We can’t leave them! I need to—”
“Aren has a plan,” James snapped. “Let’s not fuck with it!”
They tore through the winding streets of Verwyrd.
Dippy’s hooves struck sparks from the uneven cobbles, and the scent of smoke blew over them from fires that had been set in the city, probably by Aren.
It was the same path Ahnna had taken the night she’d escaped—and now, like then, the walls felt too tight, the corners too sharp, the chance of a fall as deadly as being caught.
Shouts rang out behind them. The harsh clatter of hooves. The blare of horns.
Worse were the shouted orders.
Not to capture them.
To kill.
An arrow sliced through the air and clattered off a building wall to her right. Another hissed past her ear, and then another. Dippy squealed, his stride faltering.
Ahnna’s heart seized.
“Just grazed his haunches,” James said grimly. “He’s fine.”
The river’s tang hit her nose a second before it came into view—wide and rushing, gleaming in the sunlight. The bridge loomed upstream, gates clanging shut as soldiers took up positions. Archers swarmed the fortifications, bristling like thorns.
Faster, she silently begged her horse. One last time, save me.
The wharf came into view, stacked with crates and lined with soldiers bearing shields and pikes. There was no way through.
James didn’t slow.
Instead, he wrenched the reins, and Dippy veered toward the wide gangplank used to load taller riverboats.
“No,” Ahnna breathed. “He won’t do it. He’ll balk.”
But Dippy did not hesitate. With the stride of a champion, he thundered up the ramp and leapt.
The wind tore the breath from her lungs. For a suspended heartbeat, they flew. The river rushed beneath them, wide and deep and waiting.
Then they fell.
Ahnna had just enough time to suck in a breath before they hit.
Water swallowed her, pulling her off Dippy’s back. Cold. Crushing. Blinding. Panic shot through her chest because her sodden dress was dragging her down. She kicked. Twisted.
And broke the surface with a gasp, the taste of the river bitter in her mouth.
“Hold on to his mane!” James shouted, pushing her onto Dippy’s back. One hand on the reins, he guided the swimming horse, cutting through the current with powerful strokes.
Ahnna clung to her horse’s rough mane, coughing and gasping. Around them, figures leapt from the banks—more Ithicanians, plunging into the current and swimming with practiced ease.
Upstream, soldiers scrambled into boats, oars slapping water.
But the real threats were the mounted soldiers thundering across the bridge, racing along the river road. They would outrun the current in minutes.
Hope surged as the river pulled them around a bend, and sails appeared. Shallow hulled Ithicanian ships were tied off along the far bank, only their masts visible above the reeds. Men and women leaned out of them, hauling swimmers aboard.
Relief hit Ahnna like a punch as she saw Aren climb aboard one of them.
James guided Dippy toward the vessels. As they passed, Aren caught Ahnna’s arm and hauled her unceremoniously aboard. She hit the planks hard, dress sodden, lungs burning, but before she could say anything to her brother, he leapt to the next boat.
James was removing Dippy’s bridle, teeth clenched as he struggled to control her horse. The current threatened to pull him away, but just before he was swept past the final vessel, Aren reached down and caught his hand, dragging him aboard.
“Lia, give me a count!” Aren barked, already searching the banks for threats.
“We lost two,” Lia called, clutching a bleeding arm. “Everyone else is here.”
“Let’s go!”
The ships cast off, the current gripping them fast and flinging them downstream. They weren’t meant for river sailing, but her people were endlessly adaptable.
In their wake, Dippy swam ashore, clambering up the far bank before stopping to shake like a drenched hound. He turned, watching them go.
Be safe, Ahnna thought. Live with the cows in the Ranges.
“What were you thinking?” Lia dropped to her knees in front of her, knife already sawing at the ropes on Ahnna’s wrists. Beyond, Aren was leaping between boats again, making his way toward them.
“I made a deal with William,” Ahnna said as the ropes fell away. She grabbed the knife and hacked off her sodden skirt until it bared her knees. “He was going to go through with it, so don’t look at me like I’m insane.”
Aren landed beside her—but barely had time to straighten before James barreled into the space, nearly knocking him over. Shoving Lia aside, he dropped to his knees and pulled Ahnna into his arms.
“Why?” he demanded, his voice low and ragged, his hands trembling against her back. She buried her face in the hollow of his neck, his skin smelling of river water. “Why would you let them do that to you?”
“She likes being a martyr,” Aren muttered. “Always has.”
“I do not.” She pulled back with a scowl. “It was—”
“You do.” Aren crossed his arms, glaring. “You always want everyone to blame you. Which is irritating enough, but to the gallows, Ahnna? Really?”
“Would you have preferred that Harendell kept the bridge?” she snapped. “Because that was the alternative. It was all going to plan until…”
She trailed off, her gaze locking with James’s. “I’m so sorry about William.”
He gave a tight nod, hands sliding down her arms until they closed over her fingers.
“They’ll blame us for William’s poisoning,” Aren said, scanning the tree-lined banks, tense as a bowstring.
“But any idea who it was? Amaridians, maybe? Revenge for Katarina? Or was it Alexandra? She’s got an heir now—a baby’s easier to control than a grown man, and she would not have liked the deal you made with William. ”
Ahnna’s vision blurred, not with tears, but with memory.
Alexandra’s face, shredded by her own nails.
William’s body in her arms, his face blistered in the shape of a handprint.
The vision faded away, replaced by William and Lestara arguing in the Sky Palace.
Lestara had cupped William’s cheek with a gloved hand, only for him to shove her away.
After he’d left, she’d cast her gloves across the room before giving in to labor.
Ahnna’s breath caught.
“Not Amarid,” she whispered. “Nor Alexandra. I think…I think the manipulators of this great scheme have become the manipulated.”
“By whom?” Aren asked sharply.
James’s voice came first, tight with fury, his grip firm on her hands.
“Lestara.”