Page 17 of Heart of the Raven Prince

A sack launches at my head. I swear, jumping out of the way at the last moment before it slams against the stone wall behind me and splits open, grain spilling out and dusting the floor. Glancing to my right, I find a barrel with a lid askew and waste no time. Rushing forward, I grab the lid and fling it at the male. He ducks; the lid soaring over his head and splintering into the wall at his back.

“Fucking hell! Calm down already!” he shouts, picking up a handful of apples and holding them at the ready like he’s going to toss them at me any moment. That gives me pause.

Apples? Is he really going to fight me with apples?

I frown, noticing that he’s not making any more moves to attack me, but to defend himself. He must be trying to get me to lower my guard. I refuse to fall for it. The door is just behind him, and I’ll be damned if he’s going to stop me from running through it. Glancing to my left, I see the flickering lantern still situated atop another barrel and shift the weight on my feet. If he were smart, he would keep an eye on my stance. Instead, he’s watching my eyes. Eyes that betray none of my intentions.

Never let an opponent trap you in their gaze, Fawn. You can learn so much more from their stance, their footing. Their body speaks loudly, learn to listen.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, beginning to lower his arms. He’s speaking to me in a low, comforting voice. Clearly, he thinks this fight is over.

Wrong move.

“Too bad we don’t share that sentiment,” I say, grabbing the lantern and launching it directly at his head. He does what I expect—ducking again—and the lantern shatters against the wall, plunging the room into darkness as the only light winks out. I hear him swear again, followed by the resounding thumps as apples hit the ground and a barrel is toppled over. Glass crunches when he walks over the destroyed bits of lantern. He’s making so much fucking noise; I can tell exactly where he is in this room even without light.

Clearly, he’s not one of Caden’s best men. So why the fuck did he leave me here?

I don’t have time to ponder Caden’s reasoning. I sink into my training, moving around the room like a ghost, my hands out in front of me while I wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. A loud crash comes from my left, but I keep my eyes firmly on the vague deep gray outline of the door, barely distinguishable in the darkness. Knowing this will be my only opportunity, I rush for the door, slamming into the wood as I fumble for the handle. Relief courses through me when I grip the cool iron handle, giving it a twist, and yanking the door open.

“Gods fucking dammit, don’t—”

I bolt into the night.

The darkness is different in the shaded red light of their moon. I’ve decided it is a moon, not a sun. This cursed land doesn’t deserve the light of a sun. Still, it takes a moment for my eyes to grow used to the crimson-tinged shadows as I dart in and out of alleys. The streets remain sparsely filled, with only a few fae strolling by. I have no idea where I’m going, or what I’m even planning, I just know I need to keep running until I am sure that fae male is done chasing me.

I haven’t heard him harshly whisper-screaming at me to come back here right now or so help me in several minutes, so I can only assume I’ve lost him. But that doesn’t slow me. Peering around the corner, I swear internally when I find the streets packed, and far more lanterns lining the road and storefronts. I must have run to a denser area of the city. On one hand, it’ll be easier to lose myself in a crowd, but on the other hand one look at me screams I don’t belong. The style of my clothing is so wildly different from their own. That alone will make me stand out. Then of course there is the matter of my eyes, far less easy to hide than my rounded ears. It doesn’t go unnoticed by me that this area of the city seems infested with more fae sporting blood red eyes and glinting fangs.

“Gods and fucking demons,” I swear, plastering myself back against the alley wall. There is a pile of crates that I make my way to, crouching down behind them, trying to make myself as small as I can. Huffing out a breath, I swipe my wild hair from my face and try to think. I need something to cut the rope around my wrists, and I highly doubt I’m going to be lucky enough to stumble upon an errant dagger. Then my eyes land on the nail protruding from the side of a crate. It’ll take forever, but it’s better than nothing, so I begin to saw my hands over the nail.

It is infuriatingly slow.

The nail is rusted and dull, and I barely even snap a few rope fibers, but I shove down that rising temper that begs at me to chunk the entire thing across the alley and scream in frustration. I keep at it, one stupid fucking rope fiber at a time. I’ve barely made any headway when I hear the distinct sound of shuffling and I still, shrinking down as far as I am able to as the noise gets closer.

“Human,” a hissed whisper fills the alley. It’s the older fae male. I stay frozen in place, holding my breath and hoping he cannot see me behind the crates. “Trust me when I say this isn’t a part of town you want to find yourself in.”

There is a beat of silence. Two. Three.

He swears, and I hear him shuffling off again. After several more seconds of strained listening, I let loose a tightly held breath when I am sure he’s gone. Rolling my stiff shoulders and trying to breathe through the phantom grip around my throat, I return to attempting to shred my bindings.

It feels like it takes hours. It’s impossible to judge time when my mind is as frayed as this rope, but I am finally making some headway on it. I’m sweating by the time it's actually frayed enough that I’m able to forego the nail. I focus on pulling and twisting my hands to stretch the breaking rope. With one final determined yank, the rope snaps, and I barely keep a cry of relief from escaping my lips.

Hurriedly shaking the rope off my wrists, I suck in a breath at the bruised and chafed indentations on my skin, but I don’t focus on it for long. Instead, I turn my attention back to the next pressing matter: finding a place to hide. Any moment now Caden will come back to retrieve his prisoner, and I somehow doubt he’s going to be as shit at tracking like that fae male was. If I miss this opportunity, I know I won’t get a second chance.

Get out of the city. Find cover.

They are the two tasks that require my immediate attention. I suppose it’s too much to hope that this city sits on the outskirts of a vast woods I can easily lose myself in. After rubbing some feeling back into my wrists, I peer around the crates. The alley remains empty, but I can’t afford to wait around to see if the old man will come back. Taking three deep steadying breaths, I stand up and walk out of the alley.

The street is crowded with fae, so I stay close to the wall, keeping my head down as much as possible. I try to remain small, unobtrusive, even as I am jostled about through the throng. A quick glance at the street shows another alley across the way, I just have to make it there unnoticed. Making sure no massive Clydesdale carrying a bloodthirsty fae prince is patrolling the street, I don’t give myself another moment to overthink before I am sprinting across the road.

Or, at least, I try to.

The cobblestone streets are so packed with ambling red-eyed fae and great covered carriages, that the trip is far more stop-and-go than I would like. I’m having to feint and dash around groups and coachmen who shout at me when I dart before their steeds. More than one fae have begun to take notice of me, nudging their companion and nodding my way. I don’t give them a moment to get a good look, continuing my chaotic death race across the street. At last, I am pushing my way through the crowd and skittering into the darkened alley. It’s longer than the others I’ve been winding through, twisting off to the side so that I’m unable to see where it leads.

Hurrying forward, desperate to put the busy street behind me, I can’t shake the feeling of eyes on me. I want to chalk it up to nerves, to blame it on my ragged mind teetering dangerously close to snapping, but I know better. My father taught me to know better.

Someone is following me.

And that pricking sensation of magic has returned.