Chapter 52
Fifty-Two
- MARCELLA -
Minutes later I’m at the first bedroom door. Fishing through each key and trying it in the lock. After the sixth one, it opens. I step inside, finding Moe fast asleep in her bed. Racing over to her, I shake her shoulder.
She lifts her head, groggy and confused. Eyes widening as she realizes I’m there in front of her.
“Get up and put your shoes on. We’re all in danger, and we have to leave tonight,” I whisper, ripping her blankets off.
Blinking, she rises out of bed. “And how do I know to trust you?”
“Remember what you told me when we danced? Do you want to be one of those women? You either stay and die, or help me wake the others. I leave it as your choice, but you must decide quickly,” I say as I slip out of her room and head to the next one.
As I unlock her neighbor’s door, she appears behind me. “Go, unlock the rest. They’ll listen to me more than they will you.”
I dip my head with a small smile. “Thank you. We’ll meet in Lyra’s room two hallways over, third door near the blue rose painting. Once we’re all there, we’ll slip out together.”
She nods and disappears into the room.
More and more doors I unlock, and as more women join us, we multiply. The last door in the hallway I unlock and freeze.
The room is empty. Perfect and pristine.
“This is Willow’s room,” Moe whispers behind me.
We have five other women with us, all of us peering into her room. My heart drops remembering the bloodied earring Lyra found. I slowly close the door, an awful somberness falling over me as I let go of the handle. Knowing that she should have been in there. That we were too late.
We head to the hall over. As soon as I unlock a door, I move to the next. The women all joining together to wake and retrieve the others. As I pass a golden mirror on the wall, a flicker of shadow washes over it before it’s gone. We’re one hallway away from Lyra’s. Three more doors.
We’re so close.
A dull clanking sounds off in the distance, growing louder. All of us freeze, turning to each other.
I know the sound all too well. It’s of boots on the tile, weapons drawn and armor shifting as its wearer races.
Turning to Moe, I toss her the keys. “Get the rest of the women out. Your best chance is to take the staircase hidden in the painting of the God of Chaos. It's in the hallway leading to the dining room. Shift it to the left, and the wall will open. It’s dark, and it's a tight spiral staircase down. Once you’re out, you’ll be in the southwestern part of the gardens.
Follow the red brick path farther west until you see the unobstructed view of the Serahaven mountains.
Go across the bridge, and head south to Mossmead. ”
“What about you?” someone asks quietly.
“Don’t worry about me,” I answer, with a small smile. “I’ve been trained for this. Now go!”
They all race down the hall, and I shear off the long edges of my dress, careful to not trip over it in the next act. Then I’m running to the sound, closing the space and time between me and the guards.
Two hallways over, and I see their shadows fall upon the floor like rats.
Scurrying and searching. I’m not quite sure how many there are.
Scanning the hallway quickly, I think fast. Slicing back open the scab on my ankle from when I made Lyra a blood note, I cut it deeper, angering the wound until it’s spilling blood.
I collect it, wiping it on my hands, my dagger, making a mess of it on my chest. Then I lean back against the wall, positioning the blade between my armpit and breast, holding the handle as I lurch then straighten.
Again and again, forcing my mouth into a gaping cry.
The shadows become men. Become guards. Five of them turn down the hall, racing toward me.
My lower lip trembles as I cry out, “Help! Help, please!” Then with my free hand, I point at the door farthest down the hall. “We’re being attacked, th-they’re in there! Quick!”
Two of the guards come to me, while the other three split for the door I pointed at. One guard watches behind him where they came from, as the second steps closer to me, sheathing his sword.
As soon as he gets close enough, my face relaxes. Apologizing under my breath, I slip my blade out from the crook of my arm and slice it straight across his throat.
His eyes flash wide, caught off guard by my trickery.
Grappling to stop the aggressive bleeding in his throat, he slumps onto his knees.
The second guard keeping watch swivels, and I take the guard’s sword from his sheathe and swing against the incoming guard.
We strike, though it only takes me two swings before I have him dismantled.
I shove him against the wall. His hands claw at my chest frantically.
I don’t want to kill him. Not knowing if he deserves it.
But as the guards spill out from the room due to the commotion, the risk of the women being captured and forced to stay forces my hand.
I say my apologies, then strike to end him in clean, quick death.
I sheathe my dagger at my thigh.
Then turn to the three remaining guards as they charge.
The first swings, and I block. The second attacks, and I dodge. I feel a bit out of practice, a bit rusty. Cutting it close with my movements. I can’t recall the last time I’ve practiced swordplay.
The third comes to swing at me as do the first and second. I catch the second and third sword, but the first comes sailing toward my arm—
The guard is ripped back as a figure slams against him. Blonde hair whipping as she attempts to choke him from behind.
Aelia.
Not having much time to thank her, I focus on the other two, spinning and swiping and thrusting. Two is much easier, and soon I catch one man in the thigh and the other through his neck.
They fall as Aelia is thrown to the ground by the first guard, far outmatched. Ending the man with the wounded leg, I turn to help Aelia. The man has her pinned. Raising his arm, he sinks his blade into her chest as I strike him.
No!
His blood flies as I cut through his neck, body slumping to the side immediately. But his sword is still embedded in her chest, her blue eyes wide with shock.
I drop to her, assessing her wound and stopping myself from pulling the sword free. Her hands shakily pat her chest, wetting her fingers with her own blood. “Mar…Marcel--” she breathes.
I frantically feel at my chest for the dragonblood vial I’ve been carrying. When I realize it’s missing, I look around to find it on the ground where I pinned the second guard to the wall. As I scramble to retrieve it, she snatches my arm before I’m far.
“Wait,” she shakes her head, “please don’t leave. Please don’t leave me.”
“Shh, shh, shh,” I whisper, grabbing her hands and leaning over so all she sees is my face. Her blood is spilling out at an alarming pace. My heart sinks, knowing it’s too much.
Too late to use dragonblood on her.
“I-I…” she’s struggling to get a single word out, “I’m scared. I-I couldn’t find her.”
My throat tightens until it’s hard to breathe.
Knowing I’m not likely the person she wishes to see last. But I take on the honor of it, I hold it dear to me.
Taking one hand, I gently brush a strand of her blonde hair out of her face.
Stuffing down the emotion in my heart as I calmly hush her.
“It’s alright. I’m here, and I’m here with you. ”
Her hand tightens on mine, until we’re clasped together. Bloody fingerprints staining my skin. She nods, eyes still round as her breathing begins to slow. “I-I wanted to help—”
“You did.” I smile with a nod. “You did, and you saved me. You freed all the others. They’re leaving now, they’ll be safe.”
“Leaving?” Her lips tremble, the color in her skin fading rapidly. “Can I come with them?”
The weakness in her voice threatens to break my heart. Tears well in my eyes as I nod. “Yes, of course. I’m bringing you with me.”
“My mother, too?” she asks in a cracked voice, a tear slipping from her eyes.
I nod firmer, brushing a thumb against her cheek as I whisper, “Now shhh, you’ll need your rest for the journey. So close your eyes, and when you wake up, you’ll be there.”
Her blue eyes search mine for a long moment. Both of us knowing the truth. She nods before her face relaxes and her eyes flutter closed.
I kneel there with her, watching the breath fade from her chest and the strength of her grasp dissipate. Until she’s quiet.
Still.
Her fingers slip from my hand.
My shoulders lurch as I hold back a sob. Brushing my fingers against her cheek, I murmur, “I’ll come back for you, Aelia.”
The guilt, the sadness, builds in my chest like a wave.
But my job is not yet done.