“Stay hidden.” Idris took her by the arm. “We’ll wait it out.”
She nodded, but just as she was turning to follow him, she saw two figures running out from between two houses. One was a woman, the other was a child. The woman slipped and fell, and for a few seconds, the child didn’t realize what was happening and kept running. A man appeared, raised his musket, but when he saw the woman was down in the snow, changed his mind and started walking toward her purposefully. The woman screamed, the child turned, cried out, and ran back to help her up. The manwas faster, grabbing the woman by the ankles and pulling her to him, throwing himself on top of her.
Seraphina didn’t think. She launched herself down the slope, half running and half sliding, her hands going to the daggers at her lower back. The child saw her – a girl, Seraphina noticed – and took a step back, eyes wide. Seraphina descended upon the soldier in the dark gray and black uniform of the Harvester’s troops and plunged the daggers into his sides. He thrashed like a beast, and she didn’t let go until he was dead, bleeding out in the snow. The girl helped the woman up, but she could barely stand, let alone walk, having twisted her ankle.
Idris stopped a few feet from Seraphina, who was just getting up and using snow to clean her blades.
“You killed one of our own,” he whispered so low that the woman and child didn’t hear.
Seraphina looked at him hard, challenging him to say more.
“You saw what he was going to do to her.”
Idris’s jaw tightened.
“Thank you,” the woman said, her green eyes moving between Seraphina and Idris. “More are coming. My house is right there.” She attempted to walk while leaning on the girl, and a cry tore out of her throat. “No, I can’t.”
Idris moved to help her. She leaned on him, and he lifted her with some effort. He didn’t complain, just motioned for the girl to show him the way. Seraphina followed, daggers out, eyes moving from left to right to cover as much ground as she could. God, it was good to see again!
The cottage had a low ceiling, a single main room with a hearth banked low on one wall, and a sleeping curtain drawn across one corner. The moment they were inside, the woman barred the door and hopped to where the girl was waiting with her arms wrapped around her middle and her gaze trained on the scuffed toes of her boots.
“What were you thinking?” She slapped the child hard.
Both Idris and Seraphina took a step forward, but the woman hugged the girl to her chest, crying.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I wanted to find Axel and Papa.”
“You’re too old to be this stupid.” She held her daughter at arm’s length but turned to address her unexpected guests. “My husband and my son are out there, fighting. And this one… I don’t know what devil got into her and made her run out like that. I went to bring her back, and you saw what happened. Thank you.” She straightened her back and studied them more closely, especially Idris. “Wherever you came from, and whoever you are, thank you.”
“I’m a surgeon,” he said. “Let me look at your foot.”
She hesitated and threw a glance at Seraphina, and only when Seraphina nodded, she sat down and allowed Idris to approach.
He knelt before her, removed her boot, and applied gentle pressure to various points around her ankle.
“It’s not broken, only sprained. It will heal on its own, but you shouldn’t put weight on it if you can help it.”
He knew he was asking too much of her already. He rummaged through his satchel and pulled out linen strips that he proceeded to wrap and tighten around the injured ankle.
“Snow packed around it, or ice,” he said. “It will prevent swelling and help with the pain.”
The woman nodded, but looked at the barred door, and both Idris and Seraphina knew no one was going out for a while. The sounds coming from outside were warning enough.
“The whole village has joined the resistance soldiers,” she said. “All able-bodied. It’s been going on since dawn. We’re not letting them run us out of our homes, take our lands.”
Seraphina noticed a crucifix on a mantle. Beside it, a painted image of the Virgin.
“Our church doesn’t have any relics,” the woman continued. “No one here has a single bone, but they don’t care. They just take and take.”
The girl, now thoroughly scolded, busied herself by bringing them water. They didn’t talk much after. She and her mother huddled near the hearth, while Seraphina and Idris remained close to the door. The windows were shuttered, and the only light came from the dying embers and a candle.
The cottage was at the edge of the village, but that didn’t mean they were safe here. Seraphina thought about Bramble and the cart, precariously hidden and unprotected. She exchanged a glance with Idris and was taken aback by how upset he looked. She swallowed heavily. Right. She’d killed someone she shouldn’t have, and now her lie about having defected to the High Harvester didn’t stand anymore. She was glad he wasn’t confronting her with witnesses, but she knew she’d have to address it later.
There was a knock on the door. They all jumped out of their skin. It was soft at first, then when no answer came, it turned into banging.
“Mama!”
The woman shot to her feet, ignoring the pain in her ankle as she hobbled to the door and removed the wooden bar. Her son, who didn’t look older than sixteen, collapsed into her arms, blood pouring out of a wound in his shoulder.
