37
CECILY
Cecily ran the last paces with all her strength, her breath coming in gasps, her satchel bouncing against her hip.
The widow’s cottage appeared through the trees, smoke rising from its chimney. She pounded on the door. Alys flung it open, eyes widening.
“My lady?”
“Where is he? Where’s Finn?”
Finn appeared behind Alys, moving toward the door.
“Julian knows,” Cecily said, gasping. “About the machine. He sent men.”
“They were here this morning,” Finn said, grabbing a small pack from beside the hearth. “I hid the machine before they arrived. We need to go now.”
One child called from the window. “Mama, horses!”
Alys moved to look. Her face paled. “More riders,” she said. “Veyron men.”
In the distance, seven or eight riders were moving fast across the fields, with the Veyron banner visible above them.
Finn took Cecily’s hand. “Come on.”
As they burst through the back door, Alys raised a hand in a silent, desperate farewell. A child’s shout—“Finn!”—was swallowed as they crashed toward the tree line. Finn didn’t look back, already tearing away branches and old sacking to reveal the machine in its shallow hollow.
They each grabbed a side and lifted. It was heavier than Cecily expected, awkward to carry. They started toward the forest.
Behind them they heard shouts. The riders had reached the cottage.
The forest floor was uneven, with roots snaking across the path. Cecily’s skirts caught on branches. She yanked them free and kept moving. Her arms burned from the weight of the machine. Beside her, Finn’s face was tight with pain, his breathing labored.
Men’s voices shouting. Hoofbeats stopping. The crash of men dismounting.
“They went into the woods!” one man shouted. “Find them!”
Cecily risked a glance back. Nothing visible yet through the trees, but the sounds were getting closer. Men on foot, pursuing.
The ground sloped upward. Every step was harder now. The machine caught on rocks, on low branches. They had to stop, lift it over obstacles, keep going.
Cecily stumbled. Finn caught her arm, steadied her.
“Keep moving,” he gasped. “It’s not far now.”
Her breath came in burning gasps. Her legs shook. The satchel strap dug into her shoulder. She pushed through it. She kept moving.
Behind them, a shout. “I see them! There!”
Julian’s voice. They were much closer.
Through the trees ahead, she saw it. Dark stone. An opening in the rocks.
“There,” Finn said. “The cave.”
They half-dragged, half-carried the machine up the final slope. Cecily’s boot slipped on loose stones. She caught herself and kept going. Behind them, they heard the crash of men running through underbrush. Men called to each other. Julian’s voice. Benedict’s.
Twenty paces to the cave. Then ten.
A man broke through the trees behind them. Then another. Four of them now, running uphill.
“Stop! By order of Lord Julian!”
Finn and Cecily reached the cave entrance. They pulled the machine through the narrow opening into the darkness. The cool air of the cave struck her face.
Finn dropped to his knees beside the machine, hands moving over the gears, trying to align the settings in the dark. She heard him muttering as he worked the controls. Cecily turned toward the entrance, breathing hard.
The men appeared at the cave mouth, dark shapes against the daylight. They stopped, hesitating at the threshold.
“Come out! Now!”
Cecily pressed her back against the wall. “They’re getting close, Finn.”
He didn’t respond. His hands worked the timing mechanism, adjusting gears. The machine began to hum, a steady thrumming sound.
More men arrived at the entrance. Then two more riders dismounted behind them.
Julian’s voice sounded. “Don’t let them escape!”
Men entered the cave, spreading out, their forms slow and wary in the darkness.
“Block the entrance,” a man commanded. Benedict’s voice. “I want them alive, and the machine untouched.”
Finn pulled Cecily tight against him, his other hand flying across the controls to make the final adjustments. The humming grew louder, more urgent.
The men were ten paces away now. Hands reaching. One of them had a sword drawn.
Through the cave entrance, Cecily could see Benedict. He pushed past his men, staring into the darkness. His eyes found the machine. Found Cecily.
His face twisted. “NO!”
Three paces away. Two.
Finn pushed something on the machine. The humming became a high whine.
Light glowed from between the gears. Soft at first, then brighter.
One man reached for Cecily. She recoiled.
“Hold on,” Finn said. “Don’t let go.”
She wrapped her arms around him. The light grew blinding inside the dark cave. The high whine became a roar.
Benedict was shouting something. The men were diving toward them.
Then the world tore apart.
Sound like thunder. Brilliant light.
The cave disappeared. Cecily felt herself falling, or flying, or both. Her stomach dropped. She squeezed her eyes shut, held Finn tighter.
Time pulled at them, spun them, swallowed them whole.
Then she felt it. The machine slowing. Settling.
Landing.
She opened her eyes.