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“Are you all right?” he heard Corayne call, but the whispers gobbled her voice up.
Burn the life behind you, save the realm from the fire.
And then the voice was gone again, receding with the wind, falling to nothing as the shouting outside the maze grew. The spire of Syrekom Cathedral rose ahead, its arches taunting. The shouting grew, and flames flickered in the leaves, bleeding through from pathways, closing in.
Corayne still watched him intently, slowing her pace to match. She reached out with a tentative hand. Without thought, Andry took it, her fingers warm in his own.
“It’s nothing,” he said, his breath coming in uneasy pants. “I’m fine.”
There was a moan behind them as Dom faltered again, falling to a knee. The woman growled a curse in her own language.
“Keep going!” she called to them before either could break stride.
Corayne turned to look back, but Andry tugged her on. “They’ll catch up,” he said, his grip tight.Was that a lie?he wondered.Does it even matter anymore?
The hedge shadows were tall and strange, wavering between starlight and torchlight, white and red. One of them lurched, coming alive. A broad silhouette stumbled out onto the trail, his fine red-and-silver surcoat stained with wine.
“Look at you, Trelland,” Lemon crowed, swaying on his feet. He leered, his face ruddy and sweating. A goblet gleamed in his hand. He waved it between Andry and Corayne, spilling dark red liquid. “Bringing a girl down the paths. I didn’t know you had it in you!”
Andry dropped Corayne’s hand and tried to push her by the other squire. His palm brushed up against the sheath of the Spindleblade. It felt cold as ice.
“Good night, Lemon,” he gritted out.Best to slip around him, leaving him spinning in the dark.“Enjoy the rest of the feast.”
“Have a drink with me, Brother,” Lemon slurred. He caught Andry around the neck. “And introduce me to your maiden,” he added, putting out his other arm to bar the way. The goblet collided with Corayne’s middle, spilling wine on her shirt. His smile widened as he took her in. “Good evening, my lady.”
Corayne looked down at her stained clothing, then back to Andry, her eyes snapping to his. Frustration flared in her, hot as coals.Don’t,he wanted to say.Just keep moving.
“Enjoy the feast,” she said in a small voice, taking Andry by surprise.
She angled out of Lemon’s grip, careful to keep her back to the hedges and the Spindleblade hidden. Luckily, Lemon was too drunk to notice Corayne’s lack of ladylike attire, not to mention the sword sheathed over her shoulder.
“All right,” Andry muttered, trying to pull free.
The torches closed in. There was only so much time before all hope of escaping was gone.
But Lemon’s hand tightened, fingers digging to get a better hold on Andry’s collar. He finally noticed the flickering lights and shouts echoing over the gardens. “Who’re they lookin’ for?” he said, his gaze sharpening. He licked his lips. “They called the garrison, Trell. We should help.”
“You do that, Lemon,” Andry replied, trying to pry his hand away.
The other squire bristled, his mood shifting. He brought up his other fist.
“There you are, Trelland,” Lemon hissed up into Andry’s face. His breath stank of wine and onions. “Still think you’re better than the rest of us, even with your lord dead and gone. Failed worse than any squire here.” The insult dug into him, sharp as a knife. But Lemon wasn’t finished. He looked again at Corayne. “You know he got his knight killed, don’t you?”
Andry felt his cheeks go red with heat.
She scowled, dropping all pretense, her eyes boring into Lemon’s. “He survived, which is more than the knights can say.”
Lemon only scoffed, and glared back at Corayne with a curl of his lip, his eyes raking over her. This time Andry watched him notice her ruined braid, her travel-worn clothing, the old leather boots on her feet. “What’re you staring at, you ratty bitch?”
Andry’s rage was like a thunderbolt. He broke the squire’s hold in an instant, taking him by the scruff of his shirt.“Davel,”he growled.
Corayne didn’t seem to mind such language. She raised her chin, continuing to glower. Her eyes were flat, black and yawning, unsettling to see.
“I’m trying to figure out exactly how long until you piss yourself, Squire,” Corayne said in response to Lemon’s question.
Lemon sputtered and lunged, but Andry held firm, using his height and sobriety to their full advantage. “That’s enough,” he said in a low voice. As if Lemon were an animal to be soothed.
It only incensed him further, and Lemon ripped himself away, spitting mad. But he didn’t have a chance to speak again. The dagger was a golden mirror at his neck, full of torchlight.
