Chapter 24 #3
With freedom so close, I freeze. Finnian and Brandur are still upstairs.
“Shit,” I seethe, turning to face the housecarl. The wolfdog barrels past her and lunges for my legs, teeth bared. I freeze the wolfdog’s collar with my magic, pinning it in place. It rasps as it tries to lunge toward me, its giant paws scrambling.
No matter how guilty I feel watching it struggle, if I let it free, it’ll maul me. “Order your dog to stand down. I don’t want to hurt it.”
“You bitch!” she snarls. She hefts the bloody axe. “Let him go!”
I need a distraction—the glass orb Maeve gave me. I untether it from my pocket and smash it between us. Smoke blooms with a loud pop, obscuring the room. My magic can feel the movements of the housecarl’s clothing and her axe. Without sight, I have the advantage.
Stabbing her in the leg won’t kill her, and Lord Snow-Shod can afford a good healer. I palm my dagger, readying to strike as the housecarl paces back and forth in a panicked frenzy.
“You can’t hide from me!” she shouts.
Then she collapses like a felled tree, the hilt of Brandur’s broadsword emerging through the smoke. He killed her? Horror thrums through me, and I forget my grip on the hound.
It drops and its paws scrape against the stone floor. As the smoke clears, it nudges its fallen master, then growls. There’s no blood. Brandur only knocked the housecarl out. To the wolfdog, there is no difference. It bares its fangs and lunges. Brandur kicks it away.
Finnian races past him, swearing as he draws his sword. “You first, Cyn.”
There’s no time to argue. I scale the barrel, then swing the trapdoor open. Brandur’s hands shove my backside before I’m ready. My head bangs against the cobblestones, and my ears ring. I force myself to stand, making room for Brandur as he climbs through.
Then Finnian cries out from inside the cellar. The wolfdog lets out an ear-splitting yelp.
Someone inside shouts, “Thieves! The guards will get you!”
Finnian reaches out, and Brandur pulls him through. The trapdoor clanks shut as Finnian stands, but one of his legs shakes.
Maeve runs toward us, sees our panicked faces, and stares wide-eyed. “What—what happened?”
“Sprint for your life!” Brandur shouts.
I run. My feet pound against stone to the cadence of my excruciating, pulsing headache. The agonizing stretch of the slash across my back threatens to overpower my will to keep going. Keep breathing. Keep running.
Brandur passes me, then leads us away from the gentry’s manors to the shadow of the city wall. I hear nothing but a dull ring as I stop to lean against the cold stone. I let out a shaky breath. The world around me blurs.
“Is that the map?” Brandur asks, noticing the roll of paper tucked under my arm.
I nod.
“Give it to me,” he demands. I hand it to him, glad to be rid of it.
Maeve kneels to search through her pack. “I need to sanitize Finnian’s leg!”
“No,” Brandur barks. “Not until we leave the city. First, I need to ensure this is what we came for.” He examines the map, and my fingers find the necklace in my pocket.
I dangle it before me, the sapphire glinting orange from the distant light of oil lamps.
I don’t know whether to feel triumphant or sick.
Satisfied, Brandur rolls up the map and slides it into his boot. Then he whirls on me. “What in Garoth’s name do you not understand about following orders?”
I shove the necklace deep into my pocket. “She wasn’t in her room. I thought I could make it in and out before she noticed. Besides, I got the map.”
A vein in his neck pulses as he shoves me, pinning me against the wall. My head throbs, his voice muffled by the pain as he hisses, “We said to touch nothing. After Finnian and I cleared the upstairs, we would’ve handled the housecarl’s room.”
And I didn’t listen. I hold his gaze, but it’s not his eyes I see, but Desmond’s, cold and disappointed. A lump settles in my throat. How did he know I’d get us caught?
“Let her go,” Finnian calls out. One leg limps as he approaches us, blood dripping from the tear in his pants. “At least it wasn’t my fingers this time,” he says, forcing his wince into an equally pained smile.
Brandur retreats, but his glare is far from forgiving. “The guards will stop us at the gate if word gets out before we do.”
“Nothing we can’t handle.” Finnian shrugs. He straightens and strolls—impressively—without any sign of the limp.
“Let’s go,” Brandur growls.
Maeve huffs as we follow. “As soon as we’re beyond the gates, no one is stopping me from bandaging Finnian.”
Brandur grunts in response, but I don’t reply. Every step makes my skull pound, but I force my body to keep its stride. I can do this.
With the south gate before us, hope dares to squeeze inside me. We’ll make it.
The guards converse in a tight group as we pass. One jerks his chin at us in acknowledgment before facing the others again. “Thieves, you say?”
“Three,” another murmurs. “D’you reckon any of them were fae?”
The guards swivel toward us, but Finnian has already drawn his hood over his ears. No one stops us as we descend the hill, away from the dancing firelight.