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“Run?” I panted. “Really?! That’s all you’ve got?”
“They know,” he growled, chasing down each step after me. “Danyal told them. Damn him!”
“The crown?”
His sneer thinned even more. “Not there.”
I stopped on a half-landing. “What? But you said—”
Lark grabbed my arm and shoved me into motion again. “I was wrong. But I did discover information we’ll need.” He slowed. “There were letters—”
“Get them!” someone several flights above yelled.
“We have to get out of here first.” He pulled me down the steps after him. “When we reach the foyer, run outside. Don’t stop. There’s a carriage waiting at the steps. It will take us to your court, your home. Do you understand?”
So hedidhave a plan. “Yes.”
We reached a door, and he spun me into his arms, chest to chest. His gloved fingers skimmed my face. “I hurt you?”
“It’s nothing.” I smiled, letting him know we were fine. “All part of the act.”
The marching of boots drew ever closer, but Lark hadn’t opened the door. He studied my face, while his own shifted from desperation to determination. He wiped blood from my chin, turned, and flung open the door. “Go.”
We had an audience of administration workers, but none tried to stop us. News of the truth hadn’t reached this far. Beaten and disheveled, I was the perfect distraction alongside Lark’s portrayal of his brother. He caught my arm again and pulled me through the gawking crowd. “Come along, Arin.” Nobody seemed alarmed, and the guards had yet to reach the ground floor.
We hurried outside and down the steps. A glossy black coach waited. Lark opened the door, glancing behind us. “Get in, hurry.”
I grabbed the handles and climbed in. My jacket snagged on something. I twisted, caught sight of Lark’s hand in my pocket, and frowned up at his face.
He smiled. “For your new life.”
“What?” I shoved my hand into my pocket and grasped a handful of gold coins. What was this? My heart hiccupped.
Lark slammed the carriage door closed between us.
“Lark?” I tried the handle. It didn’t budge. My heart lurched again, tripping inside my chest, sensing the wrongness unfolding in front of me. “Wait, the door’s stuck—” I pulled and shoved. It creaked but didn’t give.
“To the border. Don’t stop for anything,” Lark barked at the driver.
What? No. Not without him. “Lark!”
He backed away from the carriage.
“Wait!” The window. I grasped the metal latch and heaved the window down, but it wedged halfway. “Lark, wait. The door’s stuck. Tell the driver to wait.” I knew, of course I did. My heart knew, but my head refused to believe it. He was leaving me.
His gloved fingers slipped the carriage key into his pocket.
He’d locked the door.
I couldn’t open itbecause he’d locked it.
A whip cracked the air and the horses lurched the carriage forward. Why was he doing this?
Lark stepped back again and bowed his head. Resignation softened his eyes. But satisfaction hardened them too.
“You bastard! Open this fucking door!”
His eyes widened, some kind of panicked thought occurring to him. “Don’t trust Draven.”
