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Sarya tugged on the door, frowned, then pressed her hand to the wooden wall. A moment later, the door slid free. “It is not locked now.”
Jalissa pushed to her feet and swung her pack onto her back, securing the buckles. She was not sure what kind of feats of athleticism they might have to perform to exit this train—whether jumping off while it was still moving or running from train workers. Perhaps as part of her preparation for this mission, she should have added stretching and exercise. She was naturally graceful as an elf but she had not inherited the fighting skills and agility that Weylind, Melantha, and Farrendel all possessed.
Grimacing, Edmund staggered to his feet, using the crates behind him for support. He reached for his pack, but Sarya snagged it and shouldered it alongside hers. Edmund gave her a sharp look but did not argue.
And that just added to the nausea in Jalissa’s stomach. If Edmund had any energy left, he would have argued. He would have been smiling and joking even as they prepared to jump off this train.
Dragging in a breath, Edmund tottered toward the door. “We’ll need to jump out when the train is almost stopped. The engineers will be too busy stopping the train to glance back looking for anyone jumping off. That should give us the time we need to get into the shelter of the town.”
Sarya took up a station by the door, peering out.
Jalissa tensed, waiting for the signal to jump. Her heart thudded in her ears, and she scrubbed her palms against her trousers. She could do this.
Beneath her feet, the train vibrated as it slowed. A piercing whistle stabbed into Jalissa’s ears as the train announced it was pulling into the station.
With her ears still ringing, Jalissa barely heard the sliding of the door before Sarya leapt from the train.
Jalissa startled at Edmund’s slight nudge to her back, then she stepped forward and jumped before giving herself time to think about it.
The drop was only about five feet, and she landed lightly, bending her knees and not even staggering. Apparently she did have a touch of athleticism after all.
Edmund landed next to her, though he fell all the way to his knees, steadying himself with a hand to the ground. He did not immediately push himself upright, his face going yet another shade of white.
They did not have the time for Edmund to rest here. Jalissa grabbed his arm and threw all her strength into hauling him to his feet. He managed to get his feet under him, then they ran, or stumbled as the case might be, toward the ramshackle buildings on the far side of the train tracks.
Sarya led the way, hopping over the rails, scrambling over the rail bed, then darting between the first two shacks on the far side.
Once they were out of sight in an alley between two of the shacks, Edmund pulled free of Jalissa’s grip. He staggered a few feet away, collapsed to his knees, and promptly vomited.
Jalissa squeezed her eyes shut, resisting the urge to plug her ears. Her stomach churned, and she did not think all the nausea was his. While she was not as bothered by vomit as Farrendel was, the sight still made her go queasy.
She shoved the sensation aside and tried to draw in a steadying breath. She could not just leave Edmund to suffer on his own. They were in this together.
Swallowing, she forced herself to cross the alley, take off her pack, and fish out another vial of the elven medicine.
Edmund remained hunched, gasping in breaths, but he seemed to be getting the vomiting under control. He took the medicine without looking at her, downed it in a single swig, then he dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and swiped it over his mouth. He glanced at the handkerchief before folding the dirty side inward and stuffing it back into his pocket. “No blood yet. That’s good.”
Jalissa swallowed back the lump in her throat. In what world wasNo blood yetconsidered looking on the bright side?
Oh, right. The world where her husband was poisoned and they were on the run in an enemy kingdom, most likely blamed for poisoning the king. Had King Solan died yet? Had Crown Prince Jimson blamed the poisoning on them?
Edmund used the side of the building to shakily push to his feet. “All right. Here’s the plan.”
* * *
Three hours later,Jalissa strolled at Edmund’s side, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm. She held on more tightly than was normal, but hopefully no one would realize that she was subtly steadying him.
She wore the dark green, velvet dress that Edmund had told her to pack. Her hair was coiled in a bun at the back of her head, her ears hidden while a hat and veil they had purchased during their stroll through town further obscured her face. She struggled to keep her stride steady as their packs bumped and shifted where they were tied around her hips, giving her skirt the volume that was in style in Mongavaria at the moment.
Edmund wore a green tailored suit—the first time he had worn green while in Mongavaria—and he had picked up a bowler hat from the haberdashers, making him the picture of an elegant Mongavarian gentleman. A monocle and a silver-topped cane completed the look.
Behind them, Sarya trailed in their wake with her head slightly down. Her dress was of good quality, though a touch more plain. A hat and veil obscured her features as well. She was the picture of a lady’s companion.
Edmund strolled right past the lines waiting at the ticket counter, as would any pompous lord. The people waiting in line grumbled, but they made room, a sign that their disguise was convincing.
Jalissa kept her head high, her chin tilted in a haughty manner. All she had to do was appear the grand lady. Since Edmund was the only one who could mimic a Mongavarian accent, he had to do all the talking.
At the ticket window, Edmund pulled out a billfold and drew out a wad of Mongavarian currency. More than Jalissa realized he had. He plunked it down. “Three first-class tickets to the Woodlands. I will need two private compartments.”
