Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Charlotte
The Aerie
Assembly Hall
The first arrow went straight into Jane’s upper thigh. Her eyes went wide. She stumbled before she fell back, catching herself with her hands. On the ground, Jane touched her thigh, probing the area around the arrow. The red stain on her gown grew larger.
Jane held up her red fingers, disbelief on her face.
Charlotte kneeled by Jane, utterly stunned. It took far too long to process what she was seeing. All she could think of was how Draven would never allow this nonsense.
A scream shattered the silence. Chaos erupted in the crowd. People ran for cover as more arrows fell.
Charlotte raised her arm to shield herself, not that it would help, and looked around to find Draven.
She homed in on him immediately, some part of her always aware of his presence like a compass seeking true north. His eyes, furious and feral, locked with hers. This was chaos but all would be well. It had to be. His presence reassured her of this. The distance between them could be crossed in a moment of moments, a handful of seconds. He was with her. She was not alone.
Draven took the first step toward her when an arrow pierced his chest. It did not slow his progress, nor did the second or third. Pain twisted his face into something monstrous.
A sharp shove from behind made her fall forward onto her hands, breaking her line of sight. When she sat back up, she couldn’t find Draven in the crush of people running in panic. From her position on the floor, all she saw were feet and elbows.
Fear grabbed her, squeezing the air out of her chest. Draven was gone, and she was alone. Her last words to him had been unkind. She needed him to be well.
Panic made it difficult to think. She cared for him, perhaps more than cared, and she wasn’t ready for it to be over. When she saw him again, she’d tell him.
The jolt from another shove as a person ran into her, kicking her in their haste for cover, broke her free from her spiraling fear.
“We need cover,” Charlotte said, grabbing Jane’s hand to help her to her feet. Her hand was slippery, and Charlotte desperately tried not to think about why it was slippery. She laced their fingers together to get a better grip and pulled Jane to her feet. She yelped in pain and leaned heavily against Charlotte as they stumbled to a table. It was not ideal, but little about the situation seemed ideal.
The journey only took a moment, but it felt like forever with Jane gasping in pain with each step and the jostling that threatened to knock them to the floor. Finally, they reached the table. They crawled underneath.
Charlotte encouraged Jane to lie down. Her medical knowledge was limited to collecting herbs on walks with her friend, not whatever chaotic hell this was. Laying down seemed correct. Did she elevate the wound? Tie a strip of cloth around the leg to stem the bleeding? A dark stain spread steadily across the gown.
“How bad is it?” Jane had an arm draped over her face.
“I’m not a doctor.”
Jane groaned. “It’s bad. I know. Just yank it out.”
Charlotte’s hands fluttered, feeling utterly useless. All she was capable of was sending for a doctor and that wasn’t in the cards at the moment. Where was Draven? She saw him hit by an arrow. Had it been silver? He told her silver didn’t hurt. He had stabbed himself with a dagger to prove his point. What was an arrow or two?
That reasoning did not comfort her. She needed to find Draven, to assure herself that he survived. How had any of this even happened? This was a nightmare.
Taking a breath to calm herself, Charlotte focused on the person in front of her. She might lack any practical skills, but she had witnessed very capable people in dire situations. She could mimic that. In a steady voice, she told Jane, “I think that’s a bad idea. I’ve read that it’s best to keep it in place.”
“You’re not the one with an arrow in her leg. Get it out!”
“Jane. Jane, look at me.” Charlotte crawled forward enough to place her hand on Jane’s shoulder. Around them, steel clashed against steel. People screamed in pain. Glass shattered. Underneath the table, they were hidden, and it was calm. She could be calm for Jane. She took deep, even breaths. Jane mimicked her, knowingly or unwittingly, Charlotte could not say. She said in a steady voice, “Yanking it out will cause more damage, and I think that arrow is helping to slow the bleeding.”
A pair of rough hands grabbed her and yanked her back. Charlotte screamed, thrashing wildly.
“I found you,” Orianne said, pulling her out from beneath the table.
Charlotte shuffled backward, unsure if she could trust the guard. “What happened? Where’s Lord Draven?”
“A rebel attack.” Orianna squatted on the ground next to Charlotte. A nasty gash on her head matted her hair and dripped blood along the side of her face. “Are you bleeding? That’s blood. Lord Draven will have my hide if anything happens to you.” The guard turned Charlotte’s hands over, inspecting them for damage.
“I could ask the same of you,” she said, pulling her hands away.
“Looks worse than it is. Are you injured?”
“It’s not mine. It’s Jane’s. She needs a doctor.”
“So do a lot of folks right now.” Orianne crouched down to peer under the table. “She’ll live.”
As Orianne straightened, another panicked guest collided with her. The guard blocked Charlotte with her body, taking the brunt of the impact. “Come on, Lady Charlotte, I need to get you to a secured location.”
“Not without Jane.”
“She’ll slow us down.”
“We’re not leaving her behind,” Charlotte said, crawling back under the table. She wasn’t being irrational, but she would be stubborn about it. Only luck—poor luck on Jane’s part—had spared Charlotte. She could easily have been the one on the floor with an arrow in her thigh.
A grim look of determination settled over Orianne’s face. She shuffled under the table on her hands and knees. The tight space was positively suffocating with all three of them.
“Can you walk?” Orianne asked Jane.
Jane nodded, then shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe, if I lean on you.”
Between the two of them, they got Jane to her feet. Quick progress through the crowd was impossible. They maneuvered around the fallen. Smoke hung in the air, stinging her eyes. Rebels clashed against those loyal to Draven, even though both factions wore the same uniform. She couldn’t tell who was who.
Her foot slipped in…something. A fluid. From a person. She didn’t want to think about it.
“Watch your step. Stay focused,” Orianne barked.
Charlotte snapped her attention back to the space directly in front of her. Her world narrowed, ignoring the shouts and the smoke. It felt like a fever dream, unreal and nauseating. One step. Then another.
They reached a door. Orianne pushed against it, but it did not budge. She shoved against it with her shoulder. No joy.
“Barred from the outside,” she said.
Dread sank heavily in Charlotte’s stomach like lead. Barred doors meant no escape. No survivors. A hall filled with people drinking and dancing and celebrating, unarmed and inebriated. This was a slaughter.
“Is there another way out?” Charlotte scanned the assembly hall. She hadn’t paid much attention to the layout when she arrived earlier in the evening. That felt like forever ago. “The minstrel’s balcony? There must be a way up there.”
“Let’s go.” Orianne draped Jane’s arm around her shoulders and started moving again. They skirted along the walls, heading toward a wooden staircase.
Halfway up the stairs, a large figure with a sword blocked their progress. Red in the face from exertion, sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. This man had been fighting and had the strength to continue.
Charlotte’s heart was firmly lodged in her throat. This was Captain Stringer, someone who had been friendly and helpful toward her, but the scowl on his face made her question his loyalties.
“Lady Charlotte, Lord Draven is searching for you. Follow me.”
“Draven. Where is he?” Charlotte asked.
Stringer did not answer. He motioned for them to hurry up the stairs and through a door. When she did not follow quickly enough, he grabbed her by the arm. “Leave them. There is no time.”
“Then help me,” Charlotte snapped.
He looked ready to argue but nodded. He helped carry Jane up the remainder of the steps.
Once through the door, Stringer slammed it shut. The corridor was dark with the lights out, but the air was cool and free of smoke. The noise of the conflict was muffled by the stone walls.
He pointed to Jane. “Take her to the infirmary. I’ll stay with Lady Charlotte.”
“Why can’t you?” Orianne asked. Stringer’s face clouded with rage. She hastily added, “Sir.”
This seemed to mollify him. “Because you are injured and not thinking clearly. The infirmary. Both of you.”
Orianne shifted her weight from foot to foot, still not following orders. “Lord Draven told me that Lady Charlotte is my priority.”
“And I’m ordering you now to go. You’re in no fit state to guard anything. What happens if you’re attacked again? You’re no use to Lady Charlotte as you are.” His tone was harsh and unforgiving.
Orianne blanched and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
She and Jane had barely left when Stringer grabbed Charlotte roughly by the arm. “Hurry. Lord Draven is expecting you.”
Charlotte followed, but Stringer walked faster and occasionally jerked her arm, causing her to stumble. They traveled through the twisting maze of corridors, one looking much like another. With the lighting off, Charlotte soon became lost. Soon the air grew cold and damp. The only sounds were dripping water and her own pounding heart.
“Where’s Lord Draven?” she asked.
“Nearly there. No more questions.”
They came to the end of a long hallway. Charlotte recognized the locked door. The restricted area. Stringer punched in a code. The door beeped, and there was the sound of a heavy mechanism unlocking.
“Are you certain?” Charlotte asked.
“Yes. It’s secure.”
The door shut behind them. The dull thunk of the lock sliding back into place rang through the quiet. Harsh overhead lights flickered on. Charlotte blinked, holding up a hand to shield her eyes. The floors were a highly polished gray. She suspected they might have been white at one point in time.
Stringer led her down the corridor. Lights flickered on as they approached and off again as they passed. He unlocked a heavy metal door and held it open to reveal a darkened room.
“You’ll be safe in here,” he said.
Charlotte took a step forward but hesitated on the threshold. “Draven is coming?”
Stringer’s eyes were vacant. “He’ll be here. Hurry.”
She followed him into the dark room. Lights flickered to life overhead with their presence.
Empty metal cages lined the far wall. Cages large enough for a person.
Charlotte stopped and turned to run. Stringer grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around her. She kicked and squirmed, thrashing desperately to break his hold. He threw her into the nearest cell and slammed the door.
“Don’t make too much noise. You’ll wake the monster,” Stringer warned, laughter in his voice.
The lock made an electronic beep, followed by a horrible groaning noise, metal grating on metal.
Charlotte yanked on the door, unable to open it. She pounded, kicked, and screamed to be released. It was no use. The door was too solid to force open, not that she had the strength to even attempt that. They had passed no one in the corridors. There was no one to hear her shouts.
She slumped to the ground. After a few minutes, the lights went off, leaving her in darkness.
Then she heard it. Another person breathing. Footsteps. The rattle of chains.
She wasn’t alone.