A clattering thud drew her attention as a shorter piece was flung from the wagon. If she weren’t so frightened of dying, she would have shouted in dismay.
They rounded the corner, the wagon pulling up onto two wheels before smacking down, and she saw it, the gate, and could have wept in relief. The Urchin saw it, too, and leapt from his seat, standing and waving as he shouted, “Open it! Open the gate!”
But it didn’t open. It remained closed, and the horses were careening toward it, snorting and wild. And Alora saw that it couldn’t be opened—because there was no guard.
“Stop!” she screamed.
“I CAN’T!”
The Urchin dragged on the reins, the horses fighting the momentum carrying them forward, but it was too much. She could see it plain as day, her skull fracturing on the gold-wrought gate, her blood spilling as a feast for the wolves hurtling alongside them.
Alora squeezed her eyes closed and covered her head. She fiercely imagined a branch breaking from the boughs above, swinging down at just the right angle to meet the lever, shoving it forward. A sharp crack rent the air, dragging a curse from the man beside her, and then a shout of surprise.
Alora peeked open her eyes to find topiaries on either side.
They’d made it. They were on Opulence’s grounds.
She was flung forward as the horses skidded to a halt, their sides heaving and slick with sweat, and she spun in her seat to the gate, her mouth gaping when she found it wide open. Just outside it, two specter wolves prowled forward along the lane, hackles raised.
No!she almost cried.I’m supposed to be safe.
“Where is the guard?” she shouted instead and flung herself from the wagon.
The Urchin didn’t answer, and when she looked back, she cried aloud, as she saw he’d been tossed into the front of the wagon and was unconscious.Idiot! You should have hung on!
She’d two choices. Run to the mansion or run to the gate, and neither were ideal. But one subjected every enchanted performer—and the helpless Urchin—to the wolves, and the other subjected only her so really she chose what only made sense. She raced for the gate.
The wolves seemed to hesitate, seeing their prey barreling toward them, her teeth bared like theirs, but once they remembered they outnumbered her two to one, they growled a challenge. With measured steps, they stalked toward her.
Alora made it to the gate before they did, gripping the bars and wrenching. But all that seemed to dislodge were her joints from their sockets. The gate didn’t budge. She swore beneath her breath, realizing she would need to release the lever. But when she managed to locate it beneath the branch she’d broken, it looked mangled beyond repair.
A choked sound emerged from her throat, because she saw him then. The guard. Or at least his boots. Those curled, golden toes pointed to the sky from amongst the ferns. The wolves had gotten to him first.
She would need to imagine it repaired. She would need to imagine the branch burned away and then—
A low growl huffed against the side of her face.
Alora froze. Not even her lungs moved. Perhaps her heart even stopped beating. She couldn’t feel it anymore.
The wolves were upon her.
One on either side, they stared at her, their orb-like eyes drinking her in, their nostrils flaring at her scent. They wanted her terribly; she could feel their yearning hunger, but it was no basic sort of need. This kind fed on enchantment with a boundless greed, and they’d done this many times before. Specter wolves didn’t grow so powerfully brave otherwise.
Terrified tears tracked down her cheeks, and she did the only thing she could think of, even if it might reveal her and damn her, all in one moment.You are stone, she thought.
The wolves shuddered and halted. Where growls and breaths had ruffled her hair, there was now silence. Alora stared upon their faces and felt fresh tears fall against her own. Their stone forms had kept every detail, down to singular strands of fur, but she knew if she were to press hard enough, they’d break apart in her hand like needles.
She reached out, her fingers trailing along one overlarge canine, and realized she’d have to destroy them. They must be dust before anyone saw. Her mind began its imaginings when she heard something in the woods.
Alora squinted beyond the fallen guard’s boots and into the shadows. She feared it was another wolf until she saw him walk from the trees.
No,stumble.
The Urchin was hooded and masked, one gloved hand hanging limp at his side, with a wickedly long knife gleaming wet and dripping silver. The other was pressed beneath his cowl, hidden from her. He tripped over the bough she’d toppled and nearly went down, which must have been when he saw her.
“Alora,” he rasped, sinking to his knees.
She saw then that his coat was shredded in places, and the shirt beneath too, as she could see skin, weeping red. She rushed toward him, statues forgotten. She dropped onto her knees before him, gripping his shoulders when he slumped.
