17. Only a Couple of Wrong Turns #2
Only a handful of seconds after entering that room, Griffon grabbed my hand again and dragged me up the stairs to the street.
Muffled shouting came from the stairwell as we hurtled around the corner.
We ran past women dressed in kaftans of fuchsia, green, and royal blue, and shoved through crowds of men in their linen tunics and yellow sashes.
A kaleidoscope of radiant colors blurred against the travertine exteriors as we sped by.
The men were gaining on us as crowds directed them to whatever path we took.
We didn’t blend in well in our blood and dirt-covered rags, not to mention our pale complexions.
Griffon’s flaxen curls stood out like a beacon, his imposing form slipping through the streets.
I was getting concerned about our escape plan.
We changed directions multiple times and went in what felt like circles.
With our ‘run around until something works’ strategy, we were making our way further from the crowds, even through some empty alleyways, when Griffon turned a corner and pulled me behind a partition.
He pushed me back into the shadows against the wall, pulled up the hood of what was left of his overcoat and pressed his body into mine, effectively covering my light-colored dress.
The heavy footfalls of several men passed by.
I barely took notice. With my face buried in his shirt and his arms like a cage on either side of me, I suddenly couldn’t find it in me to worry about those men at all.
Griffon’s head was ducked over mine. The hair across my forehead moved with each of his exhales.
We’ve been close, like when we perched on the side of the gondola or slept next to each other on the ground in the desert, but never this close. He was all around me. His fresh, tangy scent permeated the dirt and sweat. It was like a Griffon cocoon.
Warmth spread up my torso as we stood there.
The feeling was foreign, and at the same time, strangely comforting.
It felt like I didn’t have to brave the world all alone.
The feeling was…safety. Which I found confusing, considering the amount of danger we were currently in.
My brain was clearly malfunctioning. Possibly from dehydration.
Or inhaling too much ‘essence of sweaty Griffon.’
I tilted my head to look up at his face. I wanted to make a witty comment, but as our eyes connected, I couldn’t remember what I wanted to say. His gold-sparked, deep green eyes crackled with intensity, even in the shadow under his hood.
“Don’t move,” he whispered, but his voice was strained.
My heart squeezed in that moment. He looked at me as if there were something in me worth looking at. Our eyes remained locked, our humid breath intermingling under the shelter he had created. He broke our stare to follow the movement of the tip of my tongue as it darted out to wet my dry lips.
Then his mouth flattened into a hard line, and he stepped back. I blinked, not expecting the abrupt movement or the tension in his jaw.
Without looking at me, he muttered, “This way,” and stalked further into the alley.
I remained there, frozen, baffled by what had just shifted. One moment his eyes had held mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. And the next, he pulled away as if I'd burned him.
Well. That was…something. Possibly rejection?
Hard to tell. I wasn't exactly well-versed in reading the emotional states of brooding assassins who occasionally saved my life and smelled inexplicably good despite being covered in filth.
It took me a full second to remember why we were even in the narrow street before I hustled after him, feeling as though my stomach was sitting in my boots.
We crept through the shadows, turning down another tight alley before stopping in front of a grate near the base of a building. He looked around before crouching low and sliding the heavy grate to the side.
The sour feeling that lingered in my stomach reminded me of the time Iora had decided she no longer wanted to discuss books during midday meal and one day began sitting with the other girls from her alignment instead.
The ones who giggled about smuggling extra custard from the kitchen and how cute Corbin was when he bit his nails.
I didn’t understand it because Iora enjoyed books like I did.
One day, while sitting across the study commons watching them whisper, I concluded it was quite possible that Iora still liked books. I just wasn’t sure she still liked me.
Why I was thinking about childhood friendship drama while staring into a dark hole in the ground was anyone's guess. Perhaps my mind was trying to distract me from the fact that we were about to crawl into what was very likely a sewer.
“Here, I’ll help you down,” Griffon offered as he held out his hand.
I refocused. “Down there?”
“Just do it,” he snapped. “We need to get out of view.”
He lowered me down as far as his arm would reach. My feet were still dangling above the unknown depths when he let go. The ground came up quickly as I crashed like a sack of potatoes. Legs buckling from the impact, my chin slammed into my knees.