SEVEN #3
“Do they really think I’m going to jump out the window?” It’s been a rough night. A terrible night. A night I would be very happy to wake up from and discover was only a bad dream. But seriously?
“No. They think you’re going to fly away.” She doesn’t even blink when she says it.
But my mouth drops open. Jumping is at least a rational expectation. “They can’t really believe that. It’s impossible.”
“And yet a hundred people witnessed the impossible tonight.” Her eyes pin me, and she taps her chest to remind me what’s on mine. “The king ordered Bishop to station them throughout the courtyard and around the perimeter of the palace.”
Food, clothes, quickly dashing any hopes of escape. What else is on her agenda? Then again, maybe she’s one of the people who actually believes that I now have access to Ravenell’s lost magic.
“You know it’s only superstition, right?” I say coldly.
A smirk lifts a corner of her mouth. “Superstition kills more people than magic.”
“Is that a threat?” I ask.
“It’s a warning.” There’s no amusement on her face now, her dark eyes narrowing. “Stay put.”
“I was just getting comfortable.” I drop onto the bed and pat Bishop’s pillow. “Think he’ll mind?”
She huffs and turns away. “If I were you, I would change. It’s better if you cover that mark up.”
She grabs the dress off the desk and throws it at me so quickly that it hits me in the face. I’m too stunned to respond before she leaves, locking the door behind her.
I dream of liquid flame and black feathers falling.
People wailing under a crimson sky. I can feel the end approaching, and it’s hotter than the fire of all seven hells.
Welts blister my skin. Smoke clogs my throat until I can’t breathe.
I wake gasping. My hands fist the clean, white sheets, screams still echoing in my ears.
Only a dream, but I swear I taste ash on my tongue.
The shouting grows louder. But I’m not asleep. I fly off the bed and look out the window to find the guards yelling at each other. A few rush out of sight as lights blaze to life in the courtyard below.
A muffled scream from beyond the door sends me spinning toward it.
Something’s happening inside the palace.
Fear winds through me and tightens like a noose. I turn back to the window and find an oscen roosting on the closest turret, its large, black body nearly blending with the night. It stretches and takes flight, only to land on the wall that joins this wing of the palace to that tower.
“No one is watching the window now,” I mutter like it can hear me.
Ignoring my churning stomach, I unlatch the window and study the battlement.
It’s wide enough that I might make it across—or fall to my death.
But if they’re coming for me, I’d rather die trying to escape than wait around for them to kill me.
I plant my hands on the sill, wishing Vessica hadn’t brought me a dress.
This would be much easier in pants. I boost my knee onto the windowsill, refusing to look at the ground below as I clutch the framing to pull myself up.
Wind blasts me, sending my hair whipping into my face, but the battlement is only a short drop.
I just have to let go and jump down. That seemed a lot easier before I was hanging out of the window.
The oscen squawks, somewhat impatiently for a fucking bird.
“I don’t have wings,” I snap at it.
But my fingers loosen as the door flies open behind me, and I sway dangerously, my foot tangling in the hem of my dress. I barely manage to regain my grip before a hand grabs the back of my borrowed clothing along with a good bit of hair and hauls me back inside.
Bishop slams me against the wall, his cheeks mottled red now. He’s not the one I expected to hunt me down, but he certainly looks capable of killing me at the moment.
I aim an elbow at his throat. He doesn’t expect it, and he stumbles back a step, gagging as I squirm free of his hold.
But he’s between the door and me. I throw myself toward the window.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls, moving with unnatural speed to block me. “Are you a witch?”
“You really think I’m a witch?” I spit the last word at him. “Maybe your friend is right. Maybe superstition kills more people than magic.”
His eyes narrow like he doesn’t believe me. “Why are you trying to climb out the window?”
“I’d rather greet death with open arms than sit here and wait for it,” I say through quick, ragged breaths, darting a step in one direction, then the other as I try to find a way around him.
But he goes utterly still.
“You were going to jump?” he asks so quietly that I pause, too.
“Like you care.” But I shake my head. The denial breaks him out of his momentary daze.
“No one else is dying tonight.” He turns and latches the window. “Not on my watch.”
Ice filters through my veins. No one else. “What do you mean? Who died?”
I can’t bring myself to ask him more. My brothers, my sister, and my best friend are all in this palace. If someone was looking for me … if someone found one of them …
But he remains silent, which feels like answer enough.