Chapter 18 #2
I forced myself to take a deep breath, reminding myself of what was at stake as we approached the bridge. Clutching my bow string tightly, I took a step forward, and my foot landed on the first paver.
The hustle and bustle of the bridge was loud and imposing, but we walked in silence as Dacre maneuvered us through the merchants and finely dressed members of the kingdom who had risen with the early morning sun to make their deals.
The roar of the waterfall was almost deafening, and oddly, it brought me a sense of peace.
I couldn’t help but glance over at Dacre, trying to read his expression, but he was staring forward, his gaze scanning the crowd for whoever he was looking for.
We made our way through the throngs of people, each step harder than the last as we passed the front gate of the castle. There were four guards stationed out front, and Dacre avoided going anywhere near them as we crossed their path.
My heart thudded in my chest as I noticed the tension in Dacre’s shoulders. He clearly didn’t like being this close to the palace either.
As we weaved our way through the crowd, I couldn’t help but notice the faces of the people around us. Some of them I recognized from my time on the bridge, others from the palace itself. I tightened my hold on my cloak and pulled it around me.
“Are you okay?” Dacre asked so quietly I barely heard him, but there was concern etching the lines around his eyes.
“I’m fine,” I replied with the lie. I was so far from fine.
I glanced around nervously, trying to keep my tension from showing as Dacre navigated us toward the other side of the bridge.
We walked toward a merchant who had a plethora of pastries and warm breads on his cart, and my mouth watered. I recognized the man because he had been one that I had stolen from a few times.
He was one who let me get away when I knew I wasn’t a good enough thief to do so.
“Two peach pastries, please.” Dacre spoke before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin and a folded-up piece of parchment.
He reached forward, sliding both into the merchant’s hand. The merchant’s eyes didn’t widen, and his hand didn’t stutter as he pocketed both items.
He was expecting us.
“Of course,” he muttered, looking to Dacre and then to me. He reached for the pastries, wrapping them tightly in paper before he handed one to each of us.
I hesitantly took it, holding it close to my chest, as I noticed Dacre’s fingers mess with the paper on the back of his pastry and almost unnoticeably pull another piece of parchment from beneath.
“Thank you, sir.” Dacre nodded once before leading us away.
We continued down the bridge as if nothing had happened. A young boy ran past Dacre, something cradled between his hands, and his shoulder slammed into mine as he passed.
The collision knocked the breath from my lungs, and I stumbled backward. Dacre didn’t even flinch as he reached out and steadied me.
“Sorry!” the boy yelled, his eyes wide as he rushed through the crowd.
Dacre’s hold on me tightened, and he pulled me behind him as two guards passed by us quickly. They were searching the crowd, no doubt on the hunt for the boy who had just stolen something, but that boy had disappeared into the shadows as if he had never been there.
That was what a life of hunger gave you.
Dacre kept my hand in his as he pulled us through the crowd until we reached the far end of the bridge. As we reached it, I could feel the harsh breeze coming off the waterfall beneath.
The stones changed from the rich pavers of the bridge to the old dusty cobblestone that ran through the streets. We were just about to step over that threshold when Dacre stopped so suddenly that my chest slammed into his back.
“What are you doing?” I whisper-shouted at him, but he didn’t turn to look at me. Instead, he was staring straight ahead at the two guards that were talking and laughing at the edge of the bridge.
They didn’t seem to notice our presence at first, but Dacre still wasn’t moving. He was just staring ahead at them, only a couple feet from us, and he looked like he had seen a ghost.
“Dacre,” I whispered his name and dug my fingers into his arm, but he still didn’t move.
Both of the guards seemed to notice us then, when people moving about the bridge had to shift around us, and the alertness that crept up their faces reminded me of a snake waiting to strike.
“Papers.” One of the guards, the bulky one whose uniform was wrinkled and soiled down the front from whatever he had been eating, stepped forward and held his hand out in our direction.
But Dacre didn’t look away from the second guard.
He was wearing the same uniform as his partner, a uniform that represented their king, my father, but his was unblemished and immaculate, as though he had just left the castle gates.
He stood up straighter when Dacre refused to look away from him and answer the guard who was speaking to us.
“Do you have your papers?” the guard demanded again, and I moved to Dacre’s side, tucking myself beneath his cloak and wrapping my hands around his middle.
I was invading his space, but I couldn’t bring myself to care in that moment.
I dug my fingers into his shirt, trying to pull his attention to me, but he was frozen. His jaw bulged, the muscles taut beneath his skin, and his dark eyes looked hollow.
“Dacre.” I lifted my right hand and pressed it against his cheek, my fingers tucking around the back of his neck, and I pulled his head down until he was forced to look at me.
He blinked rapidly when his gaze hit mine as if he had just realized that I was standing beside him, that I was this close. “Do you have our papers?” I asked cautiously, and my pulse hammered so hard that I was certain he could see the movement in my neck.
He blinked again, and I watched his throat as he swallowed. “Of course.”
He reached into his pocket, and I started to back away from him slightly, but his other arm shot out around my waist and his fingers latched on to my hip as he pulled me impossibly closer to him.
I pressed my hand against his chest as I tried to hold myself steady.
Dacre handed two pieces of folded documents over to the bulky guard, and as soon as he opened them, I instantly recognized the black Great Seal of the Crown .
It was almost impossible to replicate the details of the seal, which meant that these documents were stolen.
“Mr. and Mrs. Harlow,” the guard read from the papers, then glanced up at us. “Where are you headed?” He seemed to take us in fully then, his gaze roaming over our clothing along with our faces, and my stomach clenched violently.
If he knew who I was, they would take me back.
Dacre would have no chance of protecting me. Not this close to the bridge.
Even if he dared.
My hands began to tremble, and Dacre reached for my hand that was resting on his chest and lifted it to his mouth for a brief kiss before he spoke.
He kept my hand in his, no doubt, to keep the guard from seeing how nervous I was.
“We’re heading down to the sea.” Dacre pulled a fishing net from behind his back that I hadn’t noticed before. It was tucked into the belt of his trousers, and it looked well used. “I have the papers for my license to fish as well, if you need those.”
The guard held up his hand to stop Dacre as he started rummaging through his pocket. “That won’t be necessary. Get on your way and stop blocking the bridge.”
“Yes, sir.” Dacre took the papers back from the guard before I noticed his gaze slip back to the other guard for only a second. His body was completely rigid against me, ready for a fight, and I gripped his hand tightly in mine as I began leading us forward.
We made our way off the bridge, and I sighed in relief as I felt the rough cobblestones beneath my feet. Dacre’s grip on my hand didn’t falter as we moved through the crowded street and neither did the stiffness in his body.
“Are you alright?” I whispered when we were far enough away from the bridge, trying not to attract attention.
He nodded, but the movement was rigid and his jaw was clenched so tightly I worried that his teeth had to ache.
We continued along the cobblestone streets, the wind from the waterfall growing weaker the farther we got from the bridge. Dacre turned us down side streets and small alleyways until we reached the back of an older home that was built of red bricks and covered in years of dirt and overgrown weeds.
The home which I had slept behind for months with my friend.
“What are we doing?” I tried to pull my hand from his as my unease seemed to creep higher, but he held firm. I looked around, searching for any signs of Micah.
But there were none.
“One more stop.” He lifted his other hand and knocked against the back door three times.
The door opened almost instantly, and a woman with white hair and a deeply lined face stood there staring at us.
“You brought them,” she said, her voice giving nothing away.
Dacre let go of my hand and stepped forward. “I didn’t have a choice.”
She nodded, stepping aside to let us in. “Neither did she.”
As we stepped into the dark hallway, the smell of musty old books and stale air hit me, making me feel claustrophobic. I looked back at Dacre as he closed the door behind us, his eyes still fixed on the old woman.
I wanted to ask him where we were, my body was begging me to run from this place, but there was something that stopped me.
Dacre had looked over at me and his gaze held mine, unwavering and intense, silently begging me to trust him.
Something he would never say with his words, and I hated that I did so, so easily.
As we stepped deeper into the dimly lit house, the walls seemed to close in on us, and I couldn’t shake the chill that was running up my spine. The air grew warmer, and the scent of decaying wood and dust overwhelmed my senses.