Once I’m done, I step into my boots, glancing across the room at Bryce. He’s barking at the window.
“What is it, Bryce?” I ask, tying the strings of my bodice. I tuck my necklace under my blouse, right beside my heart.
Bryce paws at the window, smearing the glass with his drool. His growl turns my insides cold, and I creep toward the window.
I rub my eyes to ensure I’m seeing right. A succession of cloaked figures marches up the dirt road to our cottage, a winding, curving snake encroaching on its prey.
And we’re about to be swallowed whole.
I yelp when a raven lands on the ledge outside my window, pecking its black beak at the stained glass. Its silver eyes are trained on me.
I can’t take my gaze off it. I have never seen a raven with silver eyesbefore.
Mama bursts into the room, and the bird takes flight, disappearing into a night as black as its wings.
“Come. To the stables.”
She leads me away from my room and down to the kitchen. Papa has barricaded the back door, and I spy his crossbow in his hands.
I don’t speak; I just watch as Mama tosses fruit into my sack. She wraps up a loaf of bread and a wheel of cheese, dropping those inside, too.
All the while, I keep my hand on my knife, the one tucked away inside my skirt.
Things will be okay. We will survive this.
She hands the sack back to me, then crouches to her knees to lift the trapdoor beneath the rug. “Inside, hurry!”
A cold wind wafts up from the cellar, clawing at my arms like clammy fingers, and I freeze. It’s like I’ve lost the ability to move. Everything in me screams fight or flight. My body just isn’t sure which to choose.
Something vibrates beneath my feet, and for a moment I think it’s thunder. But then the rumbling draws closer, and the sound of hoofbeats crystallises.
I’ve never heard so many horses at once; I’ve never even seen a soldier before tonight.
Why have they come to the cottage?
Papa aims his crossbow at the door, never taking his eyes off the bolted wood. “Get to the stables. Take Belle and head north. I will hold them off.”
His words pull me from my reverie, and I whirl around, staring at him aghast. “Wait… You’re not coming with us?”
His blue eyes shimmer in the dim light. “No. You two go.”
It’s like someone pulled the rug from beneath my feet. I don’t even have time to argue with him as Mama pushes me down the cellar stairs.
“No! I’m not going without Papa! I’ll stay and fight—”
He jerks his gaze away from the door, pinning me in place. Only pain gazes back at me now, and hard, determined resolve. “No. I am more than capable of holding them back. You go.”
“But—”
“Go!” he roars. The sound of hooves grows louder and louder with each passing heartbeat.
“Please, Ivy,” Mama pleads. “Get down into the cellar.”
I turn her way this time, yet she vanishes behind a shroud of tears. I have never felt so torn. Do I stay and fight with Papa? Or leave?
If only I had my sword, but I left it in the forge.
Papa had forged it recently—a gift for my upcoming birthday. He’s been teaching me how to fight, and I was more than eager to learn.
