Chloris sobbed. “Run, Ayland!”
The guard shoved her hands over the side of the fountain, and Asmodeus followed, still aiming his wand at her wrists. She was pinned in place, her whole body trembling. The guard pulled something out of is belt—a knife. Thomas wanted to scream. His mind raced. He’d seen too much blood here already. My chance to atone. He shoved the potion into the deep pocket in his woolen shirt. “You should get out of here.”
“What?” Oswald barked, but Thomas was already running across the square.
The guard pivoted just as Thomas approached, and Thomas landed a hard punch in the ribs before the man could ready himself. The guard stumbled back, stunned. His pike clanked against the cobbles. Thomas darted for the weapon, and he held the pike’s shaft in his hand. But as he stood, a thick, muscled arm gripped his neck, choking him from behind. He dropped the pike. He couldn’t breathe.
I have about seven seconds before he squeezes the life out of me. His lungs were going to burst. Six… five… four… He’d learned how to get out of this hold in his mixed martial arts training. He just had to remember it. Three.
Leverage. It was about leverage. He pulled hard on the guard’s arm. Two. He bent lower, squeezing his head out of the man’s grip, giving him just enough time to kick the guard behind his knee. The man doubled over. Now free, Thomas slammed him in the back of his head with his elbow.
He rushed toward the pike again, yanking it from the ground. Clutching the cool metal, he pointed it at the bearded guard, who rubbed the back of his head while he glared at Thomas. With any luck, he won’t realize that I have no idea what to do with this. The guard roared, and the sound sent a shudder down Thomas’s spine. Still, I have the pike.
Peripherally, he could see that Oswald had joined the fray, wrestling Asmodeus for the wand. In the confusion, the Theurgeon had lost his control over Chloris. She started to run. “Chloris!” Thomas yelled. She turned to look at him as he reached into his shirt pocket. “Split this with your brother!” He tossed her the potion.
“Traitors!” The guard roared. “They attack the King’s Guard!”
Grunting, Asmodeus struggled to utter a spell through as he grappled with Oswald. Thomas sidestepped toward them, keeping his eye on the guard at all times. The guard continued to shout for help, and Thomas’s pulse raced at the thought of an oncoming force of guards. We need to get out of here—fast.
He stepped toward the Theurgeon, who still grappled with Oswald. When he was close enough, he slammed his elbow into the back of Asmodeus’s head. Asmodeus slumped on the ground, his jaw slack.
“Thanks.” Oswald stuffed the wand into his pocket and held out his hand. “Give me that. I can use it.”
Thomas handed him the pike, glancing around the square for the two children. They must have made it out.
At the sound of clanking metal, his mouth went dry. Dozens of guards poured out of Throcknell Fortress’s portcullis. They chanted a spell in unison, a deep and resonant sound that bounced off the stone surrounding them. “We need to run.”
They broke into an all-out sprint, Oswald chanting a spell of his own. A few times he turned, slashing the pike through the air at the guards. Blue light streamed from it, repelling some of the oncoming force. Whatever spell the King’s Guard were using, Oswald seemed to be able to deflect it.
The pair of fugitives disappeared into a narrow alley, heading south to the Shore Muck Canal. Oswald dashed forward, taking the lead.
A grin crept over Thomas’s face. “I think we lost them. I think—”
Before he could finish, a sharp pain screamed through his head.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Fiona
A wall of humidity and an oppressive scent of gardenias hit Fiona as she and Mariana stepped onto a gravel path that ran between the hedges.
The bright spring sun dazzled her eyes. She glanced at the bound marble woman as they passed, the mouth open in stony agony. After crossing through the gardens, they turned right toward the large willow.
As they approached, Munroe waved at them, and a few others trickled in—Sadie and her friend Connor among them. Tobias leaned against a magnolia tree, his hands jammed into his pockets. Fiona glanced over at his profile—the straight nose and high cheekbones. He stared at the river, his face as still as the garden’s statue. She stopped by his side, glancing over at his squared shoulders and stiffened spine. There was almost a hint of menace in his unnatural stillness.
Munroe’s auburn hair cascaded over a bright yellow sundress. “Okay, I think that’s all of us.”