Out of the corner of his eye, Pons noticed a looming figure approaching him. He looked up to find a man with dark hair on the sides and a shiny bald spot at the top of his head. A white scar ran along the left side of his face. Pons continued to eat, pretending he hadn’t seen him, while the man stood watching with an unreadable expression.
As Pons ate, he noticed one of the man’s black boots had a gleaming silver dagger strapped to it. “That’s a nice dagger.”
The man squatted before him. “You can’t be too careful these days.” He glanced down the hallway. “I’ve noticed a lot of Templar Knights here. But no women.”
Pons hesitated before laughing as he shoved a piece of bread in his mouth. “Templars have no need of women. They’ve taken an oath.”
“You’ve seen no women here?” he asked.
“Except for Jo. She comes down occasionally.” Pons swiped a hand across his mouth.
The man’s lips twisted in a sneer, and his gaze swiveled to the floor. “Where did you get that flower?”
Pons scowled, glancing at the small white flower Willow had given him. He ran a hand over the coarse stubble on his chin and tried to maintain a level stare. “Why are you concerned with a flower?” There was an underlying hostility in his voice that gave away his distaste for the man standing before him.
His eyes narrowed, the pupils shrinking to pinpricks in his coal-black irises. He leaned in close, his bad breath washing over Pons’s face. “Where is she?”
Pons slowly tensed, his hand sliding toward the dagger in his belt. “Who?” he asked, knowing full well whom his accuser had in mind.
“The Hawke woman and the man she was with. Where did they go?”
Pons’s gaze shifted through the corridor. Willow had gone out the hatch with her sisters. “I—don’t know who you mean.”
The man’s lips twisted in rage. “I know you’re lying. Everyone knows the Hawkes.” The man had his dagger out in an instant, slicing through the air.
Pons’s eyes widened as he felt the cold metal pierce his throat, the blade severing his vocal cords. He attempted to call out for help, but only a gurgle issued from his throat. As life drained from him and he slumped to the side, the last thing he saw was the white flower Willow had given him.
Chapter Six
Willow sat in the grasson the bank as the first rays of sunlight emerged from the horizon, illuminating the pond’s glassy surface. The rays danced across the water, creating a kaleidoscope of vivid blues, greens, and oranges. Willow’s breath caught in her throat as she admired the view. But as her gaze drifted farther out into the middle of the pond, she felt her stomach twist in fear. Water was her nemesis. It was the one thing she was truly afraid of.
She would overcome it, she vowed. She would learn to swim, and she wouldn’t be fearful of it any longer. She bowed her head and laughed softly to herself. She wished it were that easy.
She heard a soft splash that drew her attention to the pond. Someone had jumped in and was quickly cutting through the water. She studied how he swam, kicking his legs and leaving small ripples with his arms as they sliced through the liquid like knives. From his blond hair, she could tell it was Marcus.
She studied him intently as his arms made precise, sweeping strokes. She tried to emulate his arm movements, lifting her arms forward and back, one at a time.
“It’s not as easy as he makes it out to be.”
Willow instantly recognized Sage’s voice from behind her.
“Kicking your feet will keep you above the water’s surface,” Sage said, sitting beside her. “You can move your arms like this.” Sage threaded her arms through the air from side to side.
“Like waving away bugs,” Willow observed.
Sage grinned. “A little.”
They watched as Marcus slid effortlessly through the water. He seemed to be dancing in the pond with the way his arms and legs moved in perfect harmony; the only sound was the splash of the water.
“I can’t help thinking how disappointed Father would be,” Willow said quietly.
Sage nodded. “He probably would have picked you up and thrown you in.”
Willow raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think I never told him?”
“I just assumed it was because we never had to cross water over our heads like the English Channel.”
Willow shrugged. “That, too.”
