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Prue whinnies in the distance, the sound setting my heart at ease. But then another sound accompanies it— the crunch of leaves.
My body freezes, eyes snapping open as I pull back from Roan. The heat once raging beneath my skin arranges into cold focus as I scan the woods, each of my senses active and alert. Roan drops his hands to his sides.
“What's wrong?” He stares at me intently, his brows crinkled together.
“Shhh.” I mimic silence with a finger up against my lips, standing still as I listen intently for a sound, any sound that doesn’t belong. His features harden into a mask of concentration as realization dawns. He follows my gaze, joining me as I search the trees, while one hand grips the shiny gold hilt of his sword.
“Something isn’t right,” I whisper, a buzz running through me, goosebumps forming up both arms.Danger. Danger. Danger,it tells me.But where?
“We should make a run for the horses,” Roan replies underneath his breathing. Before I even have a chance to lift my feet, an arrow hits the tree closest to me, only a few inches from my shoulder. “Run!” he yells. Another arrow, whooshing between us this time, again disappearing without its mark. More arrows come as we rush to cover within the trees.
Our horses are only a few yards away, but the melee comes from the area behind Red and Prue. We scramble in the opposite direction, my legs pumping hard and fast. My heart falls as I move further away from my horse, now painfully within another’s grasp.
“Don’t lose them!” I hear a voice shout behind us. My fury, unfortunately, cannot melt the path of regret.
It’s a voice I recognize.
Jaren. As I look behind me, I count more than the two we left unconscious in the dirt. It would seem a few more have joined their ranks.
Another shout. “If you don’t run faster, you’ll be the one who has to report back to Tamen!” This yell isn’t intended for us.
Roan and I make eye contact for a mere moment, the surprise evident on his face as much as my own. My blood cools at the mention of this name, but I don’t slow.
Tamen. The one who gave us vital information about the princess crossing through Fort Lowsan. The one who passed out as Roan snapped his arm. These men work for Tamen?
Had he been in charge this whole time? Even in Fort Lowsan? Did I get it wrong thinking Phillip Crane was the head of their treason?
“Follow me!” Roan yells as I throw one foot in front of the other as quickly as possible.
I have no weapons but my dagger, and that’s no match for a quiver of arrows. Roan’s sword is swinging in its sheath, clattering at his side as we weave in and out of trees, the storm above us finally opening up to her full glory. Sheets of rain cover our escape, slowing the men and their ability to find a straight shot. But it doesn’t deter their advance.
“I get the girl!” I hear Jaren scream behind me. “You hear that,lady.Silas wants you very much alive!” His taunt rings through the trees, his laugh echoing around the woods in every direction.
The idea of my fate being decided by a slimy weasel like him, or Silas, or Tamen would make me laugh if I weren’t devoting all my breath to darting up the side of a mountain. My chest and legs are burning, but I keep moving, keep pumping myself forward, faster and faster. I’m use to the flat terrain of Turin, and every inch of my body is yelling at me for it. I turn to see Roan struggling, but still able to keep just a few paces behind me.
“Don’t stop!” Roan calls up to me, water soaking through his clothes and dripping from his fingertips. I look forward, demanding myself to keep pushing, pushing, pushing upward.
Their voices go distant, but I don’t let myself falter.
“Tread carefully,” Roan says, brushing his sodden hair from his eyes. His voice is quickly drowned by the tittering rain, falling in its deluge. Water drips down every crevice of his face, falling sharply from his jaw. I swipe at my own face, the torrent above making it difficult to see as the rain seeps into my eyes.
I'm too tired to think. Too tired to ask why.
“The mountain could come down on us. When the ground becomes over-saturated, there’s chance for flooding, or mudslides— both are likely with this incline.” Otto and the worm come back to me, and I clench my teeth. Not only are we running for our lives from a madman, but now the mountain and rain themselves might be trying to kill us as well.
My boots sink into the earth below me, slipping as I move. For every step I take, I lose half the distance as soft ground slides me backwards on the sloped mountainside. Mud clings to my arms and legs, my hands burning as I catch myself in yet another fall. Clean streaks of water tumble across my dirty skin as the rain continues to drop, unrelenting.
It feels like we’ve been climbing for hours, my legs crying for rest, when a tired hand grabs my arm. I turn to see Roan behind me, pointing to my right. Hidden next to us in the mountainside is a small lip of rock, moss and overgrown roots dangling around it. Roan sticks a hand through the foliage, meeting what appears to be emptiness on the other side. I leap forward, eyes darting from his face to the possible protection behind the veil of plants.
Darkness encompasses a small hole at its center. The possibility of refuge sends us both scrambling to get inside.
He climbs in first, moving through the veil of plants and disappearing right into the side of the mountain. As I enter behind him I stumble over his feet, catching myself on his outstretched hand, but still knocking against the back of the hollowed ridge. I rub my shoulder, aching from the impact, before I’m able to fully take in the space.
There’s hardly enough room for one, let alone two of us. But I collapse to the ground anyway, my aching, anxious body thanking me for the reprieve. We do our best to arrange ourselves to fit in the space. Roan sits in front, his boot poking through the entrance. He reaches out to grab some nearby branches pulling them over to hide his shoes from the open air and any searching eyes. I wind myself up snugly against the back stone wall, my knees pulled in tight.
Our heaving breaths continue to rack the tiny space for a long while. Water drips off us, pooling onto the dirt floor into muddy puddles.
Gradually it becomes easier to breath, and the only sound comes from the steady onslaught of pouring rain. I stare out through a small hole in the vines at the opposite ridge, devoid of thought or emotion, lost in the beat of the storm. We are quiet for a long while, long enough for exhaustion to sink its teeth through my skin.
