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Your Grace! That must be Nathaniel.

She needed to look through that window. With trembling fingers, she pushed a barrel to stand under the window. Thankfully, she needed to move it only a few inches. Then, she picked up an empty box and placed it on top. That should be high enough.

She heaved herself to the top of the barrel, then climbed onto the box and looked.

Her heart shuddered. Three officers… Two of them held Nathaniel down on a chair while the third one beat him. There were three more officers, one of them holding his wounded arm. The admiral she’d met at Emma’s soirée stood watching. It was dark, and only the candles in the candelabra directly above them had been lit.

“Which will it be, Kelford?” demanded the admiral.

Calliope’s hands shook.

“You won’t kill me,” growled Nathaniel.

“Ah, but I will. There’s much more at stake than your life. And I will sacrifice it, even if I don’t want to.”

Nathaniel said nothing, just glared at the man. His lip was cut and bloody, his right eye was swelling, and blood dripped from the side of his head. The admiral nodded to one of the thugs who took out his saber and stood behind Nathaniel. He grabbed Nathaniel’s head, pulled it back, then pressed the blade against Nathaniel’s neck.

Calliope felt the crate under her feet wobble. No!

This was what he must have felt like that night when he watched the highwaymen threaten his mama. The fear, the desperation digging at her, making her entire body go numb, invisible pain tearing at her very soul. If they killed him, she would never be the same.

A big part of her would die with him.

“For the last time, Kelford,” said the admiral. “What is it going to be? Your silence? Or your life?”

She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to act. Do something.

There was a row of very large, iron-hanging candelabra along the length of the ceiling of the warehouse. Each of them had twenty or so candles in the large circle to illuminate the work in the dark months.

She just needed to scare the men, to give Nathaniel a chance to run. She took out her first muff pistol and aimed at the chain of the candelabra above the admiral.

Her hands trembled, and she told herself to breathe. Just like Nathaniel had taught her. She needed to breathe. She aimed, calming her nerves.

Removed the safety.

And pulled the trigger.

The force of the explosion sent a jolting recoil through her body. As the ground seemed to sway beneath her, Calliope’s feet skidded on the uneven surface of the crate. Desperately, her arms flailed in the cold air, grasping for something, anything, to steady herself. Her fingers managed to catch the worn edge of the window just as the weight of imbalance threatened to tip her over. Using every ounce of strength, she hauled herself up and braced herself against the window’s frame, her heart pounding fiercely in her chest.

Below, a wild interplay of shadows and dim light drew her attention. The chains of the heavy candelabra groaned, weakened by her shot. Then it split and started a nightmarish fall. Every candle flickered wildly as it spiraled downwards, casting an eerie dance of light across the large space of the warehouse. With an ear-splitting crash, it found its mark. The admiral, perhaps too stunned or disoriented to react, had remained rooted to the spot.

Now he lay sprawled beneath the weight of the twisted iron candelabra, its heavy arms pressing him into the wooden floorboards. His uniform was marred with melted candle wax. A few, still lit, cast a flickering glow on his pallid face, highlighting the shock that was frozen in his wide-open eyes. His tricorn hat had been knocked askew, revealing strands of silver hair slicked with sweat and seeping blood.

In their panic, the other officers’ gazes darted about, trying to piece together the situation. Seizing the opportunity, Nathaniel pushed himself up with the strength of his legs. Despite his hands being bound behind him, he launched himself shoulder-first at the nearest officer.

The man was caught off guard, and the force sent him reeling backward onto the fallen candelabra. A sharp spike from the iron fixture penetrated through the breast of his coat, immobilizing him with a combination of pain and shock.

As the room continued its descent into chaos, Nathaniel managed to maneuver himself to the admiral’s side. With a swift movement, he used the tip of the admiral’s own saber to slice through the bindings, freeing his hands.

An officer attacked him, and Nathaniel hit him with his fist, the man collapsing into the crumbled mass of the candelabra. Grabbing a dropped saber, Nathaniel brought the blade up as another officer lunged. Metal sliced through the air, Nathaniel’s saber drawing a red line across the officer’s chest.

From the corner of her eye, Calliope saw movement. Another officer, pulling free his pistol. The world slowed. She had to protect Nathaniel! She fumbled with the ribbon of her dress, frantically pulling at the second loaded pistol. Finally, it came free and she took the position Nathaniel had taught her.

Breathe, aim, pull. The explosion of her second pistol shook the window frame, and the officer dropped, saber clattering against the warehouse floor.

Nathaniel looked up and saw her in the window. Their gazes connected, relief…love…fear…all mixed in her chest, and she saw the same in his eyes. He ran, the remaining officers at his heels. He opened the door of the warehouse and disappeared behind it. She heard his running footsteps against the cobblestones.

She quickly descended from the crate, and there he was, appearing from around the corner, eyes wide, saber dripping red. Relief shuddered through her, potent and sweet. And together, they sprinted back to the carriage.