Page 50 of The Hood and his Thief

The silence stretched as they both considered.

That’s when she heard it.

Distracted as they had been by their discovery, neither of them had noticed the growing sound of footsteps in the hallway.

Ansel’s gaze snapped up, meeting hers with wide, urgent eyes.

Let’s go, he mouthed silently.

Rhosyn grabbed the contracts from him and shoved them unceremoniously into the front of her jacket.

They turned toward the door, but by the time they reached it, it was too late. The footsteps were nearly right outside the door, their escape cut off. Rhosyn held her breath, lungs burning as she tried to control her hammering heart, as if it might be heard by whoever patrolled the halls at this time of night.

Right as the stomp of boots on stone—likely signaling a guard—reached its loudest, the steps stuttered. Then paused. Rhosyn’s heart stopped. Where every door in the hallway they had entered through had been closed, the door to the room they occupied was ajar from Ansel’s watch.

Rhosyn whipped her head back and forth. The room had no window, leaving no escape. Their only two options were to hide, or to fight their way out. For possibly the first time in her life, Rhosyn chose to hide.

She dove under the desk in the middle of the room. Ansel seemed to have a similar thought process. He darted towards the fireplace, ducking inside and reaching up into the chimney. Rhosyn grimaced as he disappeared, remembering a harrowing story of Scarlett’s involving climbing through a chimney.

Ansel’s toes disappeared behind the mantle just as a quiet squeak signaled the door opening.

Rhosyn counted every heavy step of boots against flagstones as the guard walked into the room. Some instinct told her to squeeze her eyes shut, as if that might make her invisible. Instead, she forced herself to keep them open, tracking the movement of his shadow as he strode across the room. Her knees brushed against her chin as she shoved herself as tightly as possible into the corner of the desk, trying to conceal every inch of herself in the shadows there.

The footsteps paused, and Rhosyn imagined the guard swinging his gaze back and forth like a lamp in the night. She thanked luck she had closed the safe after removing the papers, habit kicking in to always leave everything as she found it.

After long, breathless seconds, the guard’s shadow retreated towards the door, seemingly satisfied that it had only been left open by accident. Just as his silhouette moved out of her line of sight, it happened.

A quiet sneeze from the fireplace.

Now Rhosyn did squeeze her eyes shut in despair. A metallic shink marked a weapon being drawn, and the guard’s feet rounded the desk as he marched towards the open hearth. If he turned around and looked down, he would spot Rhosyn there, but his attention was on the fireplace, leaving his back turned to her.

He bent down to look in the hearth and Rhosyn’s mind raced. With him distracted by Ansel, the route between her and the door was clear. She could make a break for it—leave Ansel to be discovered while she escaped. She could run straight to Chief Thorne and put an end to this whole thing.

The guard angled his sword ready to stab up the chimney to where Ansel hid, and Rhosyn knew that wasn’t an option.

With a strangled shout, Rhosyn sprang from her hiding spot. Nate would have rolled his eyes, telling her a battle cry defeated the point of a surprise attack, but it served its purpose in bringing the guard up short before he could stab Ansel. She landed on his back, forearms coming around his throat.

He grunted at the impact, swinging his sword wildly as he tried to slash her over his shoulders. Before he could, Ansel tumbled from the chimney, so covered in soot that he looked like nothing more than a shadow. His roll from his hiding spot carried him seamlessly to his feet and he kicked the weapon from their assailant’s hand.

It clattered to the ground, but the guard stayed intent on dislodging Rhosyn. She pressed down on his windpipe, trying to squeeze consciousness from him. His fingers grappled at her wrists, and her biceps screamed as she fought to keep him from pulling her loose.

With a muffled roar, he turned and lunged back, slamming Rhosyn into wall. Her skull cracked against stone, white spots dancing across her vision, but still she held tight. More often than not, brawls were won by the ability to take a hit, and Rhosyn was the best brawler of them all.

She would outlast this guard, who was not a scrappy boxer, but a polished fighter, much less threatening without his weapon in hand. Rhosyn gritted her teeth as she squeezed even tighter, and his struggles began to weaken.

His knees hit the ground with a thud, and Rhosyn landed on her feet, still keeping her arms around his neck. As he lost consciousness, she lowered him to the ground, not letting his head hit the stone as she released the pressure on his neck. By the time his face lolled back to an angle where he could have seen her, his eyes were closed. He had never seen her face.

Ansel stood frozen at the guard’s feet. He and Rhosyn panted as they stared at each other. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, expression unreadable under the layer of soot on his face.

Before he could speak, distant noises drifted down the hallway. The commotion of the brief fight would not have gone unnoticed.

“Run,” Rhosyn ordered.

Ansel didn’t need to be told twice, and together they sprinted from the room. Their footsteps echoed as they pounded down the hall, but it hardly mattered now. The time for stealth had passed and now their priority was speed.

A few doors down on their left, moonlight streamed in through a window leaving a silvery splash on the ground.

“Here!” Ansel panted.