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A scream shattered the silence. Chaos erupted in the crowd. People ran for cover as more arrows fell.
Charlotte raised her arm to shield herself, not that it would help, and looked around to find Draven.
She homed in on him immediately, some part of her always aware of his presence like a compass seeking true north. His eyes, furious and feral, locked with hers. This was chaos but all would be well. It had to be. His presence reassured her of this. The distance between them could be crossed in a moment of moments, a handful of seconds. He was with her. She was not alone.
Draven took the first step toward her when an arrow pierced his chest. It did not slow his progress, nor did the second or third. Pain twisted his face into something monstrous.
A sharp shove from behind made her fall forward onto her hands, breaking her line of sight. When she sat back up, she couldn’t find Draven in the crush of people running in panic. From her position on the floor, all she saw were feet and elbows.
Fear grabbed her, squeezing the air out of her chest. Draven was gone, and she was alone. Her last words to him had been unkind. She needed him to be well.
Panic made it difficult to think. She cared for him, perhaps more than cared, and she wasn’t ready for it to be over. When she saw him again, she’d tell him.
The jolt from another shove as a person ran into her, kicking her in their haste for cover, broke her free from her spiraling fear.
“We need cover,” Charlotte said, grabbing Jane’s hand to help her to her feet. Her hand was slippery, and Charlotte desperately tried not to think about why it was slippery. She laced their fingers together to get a better grip and pulled Jane to her feet. She yelped in pain and leaned heavily against Charlotte as they stumbled to a table. It was not ideal, but little about the situation seemed ideal.
The journey only took a moment, but it felt like forever with Jane gasping in pain with each step and the jostling that threatened to knock them to the floor. Finally, they reached the table. They crawled underneath.
Charlotte encouraged Jane to lie down. Her medical knowledge was limited to collecting herbs on walks with her friend, not whatever chaotic hell this was. Laying down seemed correct. Did she elevate the wound? Tie a strip of cloth around the leg to stem the bleeding? A dark stain spread steadily across the gown.
“How bad is it?” Jane had an arm draped over her face.
“I’m not a doctor.”
Jane groaned. “It’s bad. I know. Just yank it out.”
Charlotte’s hands fluttered, feeling utterly useless. All she was capable of was sending for a doctor and that wasn’t in the cards at the moment. Where was Draven? She saw him hit by an arrow. Had it been silver? He told her silver didn’t hurt. He had stabbed himself with a dagger to prove his point. What was an arrow or two?
That reasoning did not comfort her. She needed to find Draven, to assure herself that he survived. How had any of this even happened? This was a nightmare.
Taking a breath to calm herself, Charlotte focused on the person in front of her. She might lack any practical skills, but she had witnessed very capable people in dire situations. She could mimic that. In a steady voice, she told Jane, “I think that’s a bad idea. I’ve read that it’s best to keep it in place.”
“You’re not the one with an arrow in her leg. Get it out!”
“Jane. Jane, look at me.” Charlotte crawled forward enough to place her hand on Jane’s shoulder. Around them, steel clashed against steel. People screamed in pain. Glass shattered. Underneath the table, they were hidden, and it was calm. She could be calm for Jane. She took deep, even breaths. Jane mimicked her, knowingly or unwittingly, Charlotte could not say. She said in a steady voice, “Yanking it out will cause more damage, and I think that arrow is helping to slow the bleeding.”
A pair of rough hands grabbed her and yanked her back. Charlotte screamed, thrashing wildly.
“I found you,” Orianne said, pulling her out from beneath the table.
Charlotte shuffled backward, unsure if she could trust the guard. “What happened? Where’s Lord Draven?”
“A rebel attack.” Orianna squatted on the ground next to Charlotte. A nasty gash on her head matted her hair and dripped blood along the side of her face. “Are you bleeding? That’s blood. Lord Draven will have my hide if anything happens to you.” The guard turned Charlotte’s hands over, inspecting them for damage.
“I could ask the same of you,” she said, pulling her hands away.
“Looks worse than it is. Are you injured?”
“It’s not mine. It’s Jane’s. She needs a doctor.”
“So do a lot of folks right now.” Orianne crouched down to peer under the table. “She’ll live.”
As Orianne straightened, another panicked guest collided with her. The guard blocked Charlotte with her body, taking the brunt of the impact. “Come on, Lady Charlotte, I need to get you to a secured location.”
“Not without Jane.”
“She’ll slow us down.”
