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“I would offer you my coat, but it is stuck.” Farrendel rested his head on hers. “Is there a story of your childhood you have not told me yet?”
Essie had to think a few minutes before she thought of one.
They spent hours like that. Telling stories and chatting. Mostly about little things. Her favorite flower. His favorite spot in Estyra to watch the sunrise.
She must have dozed off at some point. She woke when the boxcar shuddered while the brakes squealed. She rubbed at her face and forced herself to sit up, away from Farrendel’s warmth. “We’re stopping.”
“Yes.” Farrendel’s voice was steady. “We need to prepare.”
Essie tucked the bandages around the shackles, both to continue to halt the bleeding and hide the bandages from sight. Once done, she handed Farrendel his knife, which he gripped in a fist beneath the tailcoat.
For her part, she tied back her hair using the ribbon that had been in Farrendel’s hair since her hair had fallen from its pins.
Once her hair was out of her face, she pulled the train of her dress between her legs, then tied it around her waist, turning her dress into trousers. Very floppy trousers that bunched at her knees and exposed her ankles, but at this point, she didn’t care. Hopefully Lord Bletchly and Mark Hadley would just assume she wanted to keep her long dress off the ground and not that she was preparing to escape.
Since having her dress hiked to her knees showed off her derringer strapped to her calf, she removed the holster and secured the derringer beneath where her dress was tied around her waist. It would be easier to draw from there anyway.
Beneath them, the boxcar shuddered again, this time accompanied by a louder squeal of brakes and the grind of metal on metal.
So little time.
Essie staggered back to Farrendel’s side and curled against him, ignoring the cold of the wooden floor against her legs and the prickle of splinters against her knees. She rested her hands on his chest, but she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to say goodbye. That would be giving up hope too soon.
There was still a chance. A chance Farrendel could fight long enough for her to fetch help. A chance he’d be captured, and they could rescue him. A chance he could defeat all his enemies and escape.
All chances she clung to with every beat of her heart.
She gripped the front of his shirt. “I love you, Farrendel. Don’t forget that.”
“Essie, shynafir.” Her elven titlefierce heartturned into an endearment. Farrendel kissed her, long and slow, a lingering farewell. He moved his kiss from her mouth to her cheek, then whispered in her ear, “You, my love, are fierce enough to survive this.”
She would’ve said something. Kissed him again. Burst into tears.
But with a squeak and the clatter of the rolling door, cool air blasted inside.
She spun to face the door but didn’t release Farrendel’s shirt. Couldn’t force her fingers to let him go.
Lord Bletchly and Mark Hadley stood there with two men dressed in workers’ garb, dull brown shirt and sturdy trousers.
Lord Bletchly’s mouth curled. “I was feeling sorry I had to sacrifice you, princess. But it’s clear you’ve actually fallen in love with the elf.”
He spat outelfwith the same venom someone might saybeastormonster.
How had he managed to fool them so completely? He’d seemed supportive of the new treaty with the elves. He’d been pleasant to both her and Farrendel at Winstead Palace.
All just to get close enough to betray them.
Essie lifted her chin and stared right back. She wasn’t going to dignify that comment with a response.
The two workers leveled muskets at Essie and Farrendel. Mark motioned. “Get down from there, unless you want us to drag you out.”
There was no point to resisting. They needed to bide their time until the right moment, and Essie trusted Farrendel to judge when that moment would be.
She climbed to her feet and gripped Farrendel’s elbow, steadying him as he staggered upright.
Was that stagger real or feigned? Even Essie wasn’t entirely sure, and she knew how graceful Farrendel was normally. He could balance on a four-inch-wide branch without wobbling. Surely having his hands bound behind his back wouldn’t affect him that much.
Except that the shackles contained troll magic.
