Page 81 of Morfran, Dark Lord Reformed

He flinched at the voice. No. No, she couldn’t have followed him. She’d been entirely occupied when he’d slipped away.

He turned to face Bronwen. Her black-and-purple soldier’s armor was blood smeared, her long braid unraveling from its ties, the green of her eyes bright with energy. She was advancing on him, her dagger clenched in her fist.

“I knew you were going to try to kill Ravana on your own.” She gritted her teeth, looking animatedly like she wanted to throttle him. “But where are you going? The gate to Warshire is that way.”

“Bronwen,” he began, because he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t be here. He was supposed to get away. He’d already said his silent goodbye.

“You want to do this on your own?” She shoved him in the chest. He took a small step back. “I won’t let you. We’re a team, Bernard. You don’t let me die, and I don’t let you die.”

He was shaking his head, trying to think of anything he could say to get her to leave—that he needed to check on Beni, that he was concerned for Grandfather Tortoise’s whereabouts, that he was the murderer of her true love and he was terrified of the moment she’d find out.

“Or are you looking for a secret tunnel into the castle?” she demanded, and his heart hurt, because it hadn’t yet clicked in her mind that he was fleeing. She believed him too good for that now. “Morfran must’ve told you about them, right? If not, I know where one is not far from here.” She dashed back the way they’d come. “This way!”

“Bronwen, wait!” he shouted, but she was already dashing through the streets. He chased her, passing through archways and beneath trees, his footsteps slapping the wet cobblestones on the way. Damn her. She did know where a secret tunnel into the castle was because he’d been the one to show her. She was going to run straight to Ravana. And although under normal circumstances Bronwen could take her in a fight, Ravana still had her magic, and Bronwen was still hexed. She’d be dead within minutes.

That was, if she didn’t encounter any soldiers on the way. Gueldefore was likely by Ravana’s side, too. Perhaps he’d stop her. Perhaps he’d spare her.

He highly doubted it.

“Bronwen!” he screamed. She was entering an abandoned cobbler’s store, the door smashed in. She climbed over it, vanishing inside.

He found her in the back room, picking up shoes displayed on shelves. “Which one was it?” she muttered to herself, picking up a man’s boot, then a ballet flat, then a baby bootie.

“Bronwen, stop,” he said. “Morfran’s dead, and we’ve already taken more than half the tri-city. Let’s let someone else kill Ravana—”

She tossed him a sharp look. “You think I’m still weak, don’t you?” She spun back to the shoes, as if to spite him. “That’s why you wanted to do this alone. You don’t think I can help you kill her.”

He placed his hand on hers where she’d rested it atop a glass slipper. She stilled. He was close, closer than what would be considered just friends, his chest touching her back. “I know you can,” he murmured against her hair where it cloaked her ear, evoking a shudder from her. He’d said it with a nervous smile, trying to appear like he was the weak one. “But I don’t think I can.”

She turned her head, exposing the profile of her face; her flushed cheek, the delicate swoop of her nose, the purse of her lips. “You’re the bravest man I know, Bernard,” she whispered. “And that’s having seen my father brave troops alone before. You can do this. I’ll be right beside you.”

She jerked the glass slipper up.

The entire shelf swung back, the lever hidden in the shoe opening the secret wall into the tunnels.

She tossed him a studying look, taking in his face as if she were trying to commit it to memory. “Let’s go.”

Morfran still didn’t yield, and Bronwen still persisted. The tunnels ran deep underground—the tri-city itself was massive, and as such there was a lot of ground to cover—and Bronwen hurried through it all, only stopping to try to light a torch perched on a wall mount.

“A little help?” she asked when the flame sputtered out twice.

He huffed, raised his arms over her, and reluctantly lit it with a nearby match. “This is a horrendous idea. Ravana doesn’t like being cornered. She’ll fight with everything she can.”

“Then we’ll fight with everything we can back.”

“It’s too risky.”

“We have the advantage—a sneak attack.”

“And I suppose you think that you, the hexed one who fails at everything you do, are going to be doing the sneaking?”

She ignored him, taking the torch and pushing forward. He yanked at his hair as the flame grew smaller and smaller.

He could knock her out. He could say they’d been ambushed by soldiers and he’d had to make the executive decision to get them out of there. But she was clever. She already knew he didn’t want to be here. She’d probably put two and two together, and then she’d be furious.

But at least she’d be alive.

He picked up a fist-sized rock at his feet and caught up to her.