Chapter Four
Emmaline had never traveled alone. The excursion to Veritim Palace with Archer and the others was her first time outside of Arnsveld, her first time traveling without her mother, and the longest she’d spent away from home.
It had been an exciting new adventure. She’d wanted to see all the sights, taste all the different foods, and make new friends.
Traveling on her own held none of that excitement. She kept looking over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her—villain or lawman alike. Her tension leaked into Sugar, whose ears lay flat on the back of her head and nostril’s flared wide in distressed snorts.
In the late morning, three riders passed her on the road. She ducked her head and turned to the side to obscure her face. They were coming from the wrong direction to know about her escape, but if they passed through Sparrow Hill, someone might ask after her, and she didn’t want to be recognized.
One of the riders slowed as they passed her, murmured, “Good morning, miss,” then sped back up when their companions ordered them to hurry.
She only relaxed and raised her head again when the sound of hoofbeats faded into the distance.
The route was unfamiliar to Emmaline, it didn’t include any of the roads she’d ridden with Archer and the others.
They’d been farther south, and she was north enough to be nearing the coast. She only guessed form the sun’s position that she was going in the right direction.
At least if she got really lost, she could find the coast and follow it until she reached Litus.
Since the capital of Bellacosta was a port city, it might have been faster to travel by ship, but she didn’t know how much passage would cost and doubted she had enough.
Early evening brought her to a small town with a general store. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the jail. Between her bag and her mother’s, she only had a few days’ rations for her journey.
She tied Sugar to a post outside and hurried into the store.
The front counter was empty and there were no other customers in the store.
The hot scent of freshly baked bread and meat drifted slowly from a room behind the counter.
Emmaline leaned on the counter and inhaled deeply, her mouth-watering. “Hello?”
“One moment!” a man called from the back.
A few minutes later, he carried out a tray loaded with meat pies, some of them wrapped in wax-paper, the others left to cool in the open air.
“Oh,” he said, blinking in surprise as he noticed Emmaline. “Thought you were a regular coming for dinner.”
“I’m simply passing through,” she replied, her eyes locked on the pies, stomach rumbling in anticipation. “How much for a pie?”
“Two for a gold piece.”
She pulled her money pouch from her bag, sifting through it. She had no banknotes, since they didn’t use them in Arnsveld, and about fifteen coins. The meat pies would fill her stomach for a few meals, but she needed provisions that could last her a week.
Behind her, the door opened as other customers entered. They spoke in low voices before splitting off into the aisles. She had to decide quickly if she didn’t want to hold up the line.
The general store in her home village often accepted her mother’s cures and remedies in exchange for goods. She glanced up at the man, nibbling her lower lip. He had an open, cheerful face—even if he rejected her idea, she didn’t think he would be cruel. “Would you consider a trade instead?”
He eyed her up and down, then looked around. “Are you traveling alone, miss?”
She nodded, afraid that if she spoke aloud, the whole sordid tale—unbelievable bits and all—would spill forth.
His expression softened. “What do you have?”
Perking up, she looked through her bag first, pulling out a few simple tonics, and then searched through her mother’s supplies.
They’d gone to Sparrow Hill to treat Valerian, so her mother had packed accordingly.
Raw materials, basic magical tools, and potions to improve healing.
She didn’t want to waste her mother’s hard work on a simple meat pie, so she chose the most basic potion—for blood loss—and offered it to the storekeeper.
“This will help replenish someone’s blood after an injury or difficult birth. ”
His eyebrows shot up. “That’s worth more than a few meat pies.”
She glanced around the store, making a mental list of supplies in her head.
Her eyes landed on a small section for stationary, which held pens and paper.
“Does anyone here know how to send magical messages?” If she could send one to Archer, she could explain everything days sooner than if she had to wait until she arrived at the palace.
He could send soldiers to save Mama and Penn!
The storekeeper shook his head. “Only magical messenger I know of is in Swallow’s Nest.”
Her heart sank as she realized he meant Valerian.
“But there’s a large port city a few hours ride from here. People are always coming and going, so there’s no guarantee a mage will be there right now, but it’s your next best bet.”
She didn’t have time to go out of her way for a possibility. But she had her mother’s supplies, and she’d managed to use magic to break herself out of a jail cell. Maybe she could figure out how to send a message on her own. “Can I get some parchment and sealing wax along with the pies?”
“Of course,” he said, handing her three pies. “How about some jerky? I also have a little bit of fresh bread, too.”
She smiled and thanked him for his generosity. She took an unwrapped pies to eat now and tucked the other two into her bag. When she turned around, she almost collided with the front person of a line that had formed behind her.
He held up a hand to either ward her off or steady her. Shaggy blond hair surrounded his face, and a black patch covered his left eye. A crooked smile softened the rough appearance. “All right, miss?”
“Yes, I’m sorry, excuse me,” she murmured, ducking her head as she stepped around him.
“How can I help you, sir?”
The man’s response faded into the background as Emmaline left the shop.
Another man waited outside, leaning against the wall, smoking a sweet-smelling cigarette.
His skin was past sun bronzed and edging toward burned.
Emmaline considered offering him a soothing balm but knew she might need it later if she had to trade again for more supplies.
She had planned to write her letter on the porch, but the cloying smoke and witnesses made it less appealing. Instead, she grabbed Sugar’s reins and led her through the streets, looking for a quiet spot to sit down.
A cluster of trees off to the side of the road offered her some shelter from prying eyes and a green patch of grass for Sugar to graze.
Emmaline sat down cross-legged and pulled a book and charcoal stick out of her bag. She balanced the book on her lap, using it as a hard surface as she smoothed the parchment over it. First, she’d write the letter, then she would attempt to send it.
But what happened if the magic sent it to someone else?
Pure force of will could crack open a lock—it couldn’t guarantee a message found the correct recipient.
Pursing her lips, she considered how to give Archer the necessary information while being vague enough not to endanger herself further if the letter fell into the wrong hands.
She’d already experienced the consequences of people’s disbelief.
Dear Archer,
Mama and Penn are in danger. Valerian made a mistake that awoke a slumbering threat. I last saw them at Causley Estate in Sparrow Hill. I’m heading toward Litus. Please send help.
-Em
“Trying to send a magical message?”
Emmaline jumped and smacked her hand over the parchment to hide the contents as she looked up at the speaker.
It was the one-eyed man from the store. He leaned against a nearby tree, hands in his pockets. “I overheard you bartering with the shopkeeper,” he explained.
“It’s rude to eavesdrop,” she said, stuffing her supplies into her bag.
“True, but sometimes it’s a good thing.”
She ignored him as she clasped her bag tight and held it to her chest, afraid he would try to steal it from her.
“Aren’t you going to ask why it’s a good thing?”
“No,” she said, inching toward Sugar. She hadn’t tied the horse’s reins up since Sugar was a good girl who wouldn’t wander off on her own. All Emmaline had to do was mount, and she could ride safely away.
“It’s a good thing because I happen to be a wandering mage who can help you.”
She froze and looked back at him, examining him from head to toe.
He didn’t look like a mage. He looked more like a young, off-duty soldier.
Though he’d aimed for a relaxed pose, she could see the underlying tension in his frame, the way his hand casually rested near his belt where he probably had a dagger sheathed.
“Want me to prove it?” he asked, grinning at her. “Nico, c’mere.”
Soft footsteps approached Emmaline from behind and she whipped around to see the other man from the store. The sweet scent of his cigarette still clung to him. He nodded to Emmaline and stopped a few steps away.
The one-eyed man pulled a scrap of parchment from his pocket, scribbled something on it, and then sealed it shut with a bit of loose wax. The second the wax pressed against the parchment, it disappeared.
Watching them both carefully, Emmaline saw the moment it appeared in the other man’s hand.
“So, what do you say, miss? Want me to send a message for you?”
Gripping the strap of her bag, she considered his offer.
It would be so much easier to have someone else help her.
Yet his appearance was too convenient. What if this is a trap?
What if he knows Alistair or Niall, and they sent him to hunt me down?
Although she’d kept her message vague, she didn’t trust this stranger with it.
Still … if it got the information to Archer sooner. “Could you teach me how to send my own message?”
The one-eyed man scratched his head. “I don’t really have time for that. It’d be a lot faster if you let me do it.”
She eyed both men, then shook her head no and backed toward Sugar. “Thank you for the offer, but I can figure it out on my own.”
“Why are you leaving so soon, pet?” the other man asked, baring his teeth in a sharp smile. Griselda often smiled like that just before she punched someone. “You haven’t even introduced yourself. I’m Nico, this is Rafe, and you are?”
“Leaving,” Emmaline replied, spinning around to the face the saddle—and colliding with a third man.
The third man was as tall as Archer, with a scowl deeper than Griselda’s, and dark brown skin. Large hands grabbed her shoulders, holding her in place.
“Oh, and that’s our other friend Braz,” Nico said.
Emmaline screamed, long and loud, trying to draw as much attention to herself as possible. When she was a little girl, one of the female lieutenants had pulled her aside and made her practice screaming until she tasted blood.
The scream startled some birds resting in the tree, who cawed and screeched as they flapped away, adding their own noise to the chaos.
“What the fuck? Shut her up!”
One of the other men grabbed Emmaline from behind, wrapping one hand around her stomach, the other around her mouth. “Shh, shh, it’s fine, we’re not trying to hurt you.”
Along with the scream practice, Emmaline had also learned some basic self-defense. “You’re never going to outmuscle someone, so remember their weak spots: eyes, groin, joints, pressure points.”
She jerked her knee up directly into Braz’s groin, grinding it into his soft bits until he gasped in pain and released her.
Rafe still held her from behind, his arm a steel band around her waist. She tried to step on his foot, but he lifted her up so all she could do was kick uselessly at the air. “Gods, you’re slipperier than eel spit.”
Emmaline continued to struggle against him until his grip on her mouth loosened enough for her to sink her teeth into his hand.
He exclaimed in pain but only tightened his hold on her. “Emmaline!”
The sound of her own name made her freeze in shock. Had she been discovered already? Did the constable send them? That would be a better scenario than if they worked for Alistair or Niall. “Who are you?” she tried to ask, the words muffled and distorted by his hand partially covering her mouth.
“What’s more important is who you are,” Rafe replied.
Before she could ask what he meant, something pricked her side. She tried to twist in his grip to see what had happened, but the strength quickly drained from her. Her eyes drifted shut and even without seeing the evidence, she understood what had happened—they’d given her a dose of Liquid Sleep.
The last thing she heard before she slipped into sleep’s bitter embrace was: “Let’s take you home.”