6. Chapter Six
Chapter six
"You're a stars-cursed Foundation," the man screams, scrambling away as his friend releases my arms, horror filling their glazed, masked eyes at the three-inch cut and trickle of blood that’s not slowing.
I watch in fascination as the hilt of his dagger heats to a red-hot glow, and he drops it, the blood on it sizzling and evaporating, steel clattering against stone as the gems go from a gleaming emerald to a dull, smoky grey.
The man tries to conjure a new blade, but nothing appears in his outstretched palm.
"My fucking magic is gone," he screeches, whirling on his companion with a furious glare.
"Shit, man. What do we do?" comes the equally frantic reply.
Now's my chance. I need to take advantage of their disarray and get out of here.
One still has magic, and I'm not risking them deciding too much damage has been done to turn back now.
Pulling the top of my tunic back into place, I quickly lace it, trying not to wince when the fabric agitates freshly split skin.
I force my voice to be as steady and neutral as possible, putting the only plan I can think of into action.
"No big deal. It was only a few drops. I'm sure your magic will be back by the end of the week.
It was a mistake, right?" Good, I sound reasonably calm and confident, despite my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
"I'm guessing you figured out I'm on the committee for the Trials and came in here hoping I could pull strings and get you into the tournament? "
The two men exchange confused glances at my words and forced, cheery tone.
Pressing a hand over the burning in my chest to slow the bleeding before it seeps through my tunic, I make myself look at them and even manage a feeble smile, despite the nausea creeping up my throat.
I'm hoping if I give them a way out, they'll take it, even if the idea is ludicrous.
The blond one narrows his eyes at me, still clutching his dagger. "You can get us into the Trials?"
"I can," I reply, pushing away my impulse to bolt for the door. "To prove it, I’ll even tell you the first trial involves hunting giant spiders. Don’t tell anyone; I shouldn't even say that much.
" They don't need to know it's actually colossal wild boar.
I don't intend for these guys to make it to the event.
For now, I just need them to take the bait.
"I can get you access tokens, good ones. "
Eyes alight with curiosity, he grunts, "We want a stipend on the bar, too—a big one. All the food and drink we can handle."
"That can be arranged." Stupid fucks. I can almost taste freedom on the tip of my tongue. I just have to hold it together for two more minutes and convince them my offer is legit. "Just give me your names, and I’ll make the arrangements."
The lanky man frowns. "Do you think we’re stupid or something? We’re not telling you our names."
Yes, actually, I do, I think to myself, keeping the pleasant, fake smile pasted on my face.
"Of course not. You can give any two names; they don’t have to be real.
Just tell me what name to leave, and you can collect the tokens on the day.
Some of the most important people from all three kingdoms in attendance, and you’ll be right there with them. What do you say?"
Grinning greedily at each other, they nod. "You're on, sweetheart." One sheaths his dagger while the other cracks open a bottle of liquor from the shelf to my right. I exhale loudly and try not to collapse in relief.
"Do you mind if I get the notebook from my bag so I can take down your details?
" As much as I hate the deference in my voice, I need to get as close to the door as possible before they change their minds or attempt anything else.
When they nod, I follow them to the front of room and dig through my discarded satchel for the paper tucked next to the book from Bri.
"Leave them under Max and Rix. And don't forget the bar allowance," one of them says. I don't bother checking which; I just make note of their details, fake or otherwise.
Trying not to rush, I grab my cloak and step around them, heading for the door and dipping my chin in acknowledgement when one grunts how they’ll find me and make me pay if I don’t follow through.
I ignore the threat, promising again their names will be left at the main gate, and reach for the handle, taking my first deep breath as the door swings open, and I find myself in the dark hallway.
Just as I'm pulling it shut, I hear the whisper.
"How much of a head start do we give her? "
Refusing to make the same mistake twice in one night by staying here for another second, I sling my satchel with its precious cargo over my shoulder, not even stopping to throw on my cloak. Cold is better than however I'll end up if they catch me.
Then, I’m flying down the stone stairs and out the tavern's main entrance as fast as my shaky legs can manage.
The icy winter air bites my cheeks; all I want is to get to the opening feast and pretend this never happened.
I'm already late, and although I think the bleeding has stopped, I'll have to clean myself up first, hopefully without being seen.
The guards are still not around as I quickly walk to the edge of the square, which means no wagon. I'll need to find a way up to the castle that doesn't involve walking up a brutal hill in temperatures plummeting with the setting sun.
Then, my eyes land on the roof of the day stables in the near distance. Those men were Shields. So, if they're still here, does that mean their horses are too? Am I really game enough to try and take one of them?
The sound of phantom footsteps seem to approach during the entire hurried walk along the one road in and out of this side of the Triv.
Not prepared for being out this late, I don't have light sticks with me and need to keep my eyes on the road to avoid potholes, so I jump when a gruff voice calls out. "Hey, girl. Watch where you're going."
Looking up with a start, I find my path blocked by hundreds of sheep and goats being herded past by two farmers and their bounding, black and white dogs. And this time, when I glance over my shoulder, the shadowy shapes of two men loom in the fading daylight.
Fuck. I have to get on a horse as soon as possible. But there seems to be no end to the stream of creatures, and I don't stand a chance at getting past, at least not without serious injury.
Scanning up and down the length of the path dissecting the road, I spot a high wooden rail above a metal track where the gate will slide back into place to reopen the road when the animals have passed.
They're easily meandering underneath it; meanwhile, I'm thinking about attempting to walk across the flat, narrow top.
Solid or not, it's the only escape plan I have. When I look back again, I see the men have stopped, likely watching their trapped prey, not wanting witnesses and counting on me to stay put.
Shuddering at the memory of their steel and hands on me, I look back to the narrow beam.
I think I can make it across. And if not, I'd rather take my chances with the animals.
At least they won't intentionally hurt me.
My boots are going to make the crossing harder, but I can't spare the time at each end to remove them when the farmers could be done at any minute.
I'm just glad I didn't put the damn dress back on.
Pressing a hand to my heart, I send up a silent prayer to the Goddess and awkwardly haul myself up onto the wooden structure, grateful when it holds despite the thundering hooves making it shake.
Taking a deep breath, I lock my spine and supporting muscles firmly in place, tighten the strap of my bag, and force myself to take small steps along the wooden plank, no more than five inches wide.
Ignoring the shouting behind me, I focus on taking the next step.
I expected to fall after the first few, but, even with the shaking, this is manageable.
Increasing my pace, I make it across the final third without falling off the end, even if I do tear the hem of my tunic.
I'll be throwing it out anyway, the top is drenched in my blood.
A quick glance back shows me I'm almost out of time. The man rounding up the last few sheep is only a few hundred meters away. Running is not something I ever do, but I can’t let that crossing be for nothing.
Heart still racing, I push myself into an awkward, half-stumbling run, wincing as my inflexible boots protest every strike of the balls of my feet on the hard-packed dirt.
I have to grab at the satchel and clutch it to my chest to stop it from slamming into me with every step, and I'm gasping for air before I've made it halfway. I force myself to keep going, ignoring the sharp wind making my eyes tear up.
When I make it to the stalls, my stuttering heart leaps at the sight of three horses: one work horse, already wearing a bridle, and the two Amplifier horses who look less than impressed at being contained in such poor lodgings while their riders get drunk.
Or at least I'm hoping that’s the case when I unlatch their stall doors, swinging them open in invitation to roam free, preferably far away from their attuned riders.
If this was Marley, I wouldn't stand a chance of getting her to abandon Willa.
Something tells me not all Amps and riders share the same bond.
And it looks like I'm right when they head out the stable doors, leaving me to fumble my way through climbing up and mounting the last remaining horse from the side of the dusty stall, since there's no saddle or stirrups to hold onto.