He stared at her as if she had lost her mind, and then abruptly shrugged. “Let’s stop talking about this. Let’s just go.”
They entered the heavy woods, following the pathway that led to Mistral’s cottage, working their way slowly through the darkness, aware now the danger they had supposed existed before was suddenly much greater. Phryne knew she should have insisted that the boy go back without her. There was nothing to connect him to her escape at this point, but if they caught him now he would be in as much trouble as she was. She knew he didn’t want to go with her, but she also knew his pride and his loyalty to the Orullians would not let him turn back. He was not the sort to give in to his doubts and fears; he would face them down and overcome them. There was no point in suggesting he do anything else.
“I wish we had better weapons,” he muttered. “All I have is a knife.”
Al I have is nothing, she thought. But weapons probably weren’t going to be of much use at this point. If this was a trap, if Isoeld was waiting for them, she would have brought help to make sure that Phryne couldn’t fight her way free. She shuddered to think of whom her stepmother might have found that would be willing to see her dead.
Elves? Something or someone else? She was suddenly very scared.
But she kept going anyway, intent on reaching her grandmother’s. It took awhile, the combination of darkness and forest slowing her sufficiently that she couldn’t be sure exactly which of the many paths that crisscrossed the woods she was on. Then, all at once, the forest opened up ahead to reveal the clearing and the cottage.
She stopped just within the fringe of the trees. The cottage was dark and silent. The front door hung open, its hinges torn loose at the top. The windows were broken out, glass shards glinting in a shaft of moonlight on the porch decking. The house had an empty, dead feeling about it, even from where she stood.
She glanced over at Xac Wen, who shrugged. He couldn’t detect anything, either.
“I’ll go first,” she whispered to him. “If something happens to me, you can go for help.”
She didn’t really think he would find any, but it was a way to keep him safely back from whatever was going to happen next. This way, he might have some small chance of escape. She didn’t try to fool herself about how small that chance might be. It was the best she could offer.
He gave her a reluctant nod.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the shelter of the trees and walked toward the house.
PHRYNE HAD NOT GONE A DOZEN STEPS BEFORE she slowed, then stopped altogether. Suddenly she could not go on. Mistral’s cottage was a malignant shell, empty and dark and so forbidding that it seemed impossible that anything good could come from going inside. The feeling was so intense that for a moment the girl considered turning back.
Mistral was gone, but something else might be waiting.
But then she tightened her resolve and kept walking. She had come this far, and if Isoeld had set a trap for her it was already too late to back away. If whatever minions her stepmother employed to kill a King and husband had come for her, as well, she would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her attempt to flee. She might be terrified, but she would not back down.
Head up, she started forward once more.
She stepped onto the porch, eyes searching the shadows, ears pricked for any sounds.
What she saw was an impenetrable blackness that obscured everything. What she heard was a deep and pervasive silence. The wooden steps and floorboards of the porch creaked softly beneath her feet. When she reached the open entry, the door splintered and hanging crookedly off its hinges mute evidence of the violence that had taken place, she stopped again. She could smell traces of things that testified to the nature of the emptiness that had claimed the house in her grandmother’s absence. Dust, wilted flowers, and stale air mixed with the metallic scent of blood.
Turning sideways to avoid the edges of the collapsed door, she edged through the opening, taking each step carefully, trying not to make any noise. By now she was pretty sure that no one was lurking inside, waiting to strike her down. But while she felt certain the house was empty, bereft of its owner and her friends, there was something …
She stifled that line of thinking and moved into the darkness, letting it envelop her.
She wasn’t a particularly brave person; she knew that about herself. But she was brash and reckless in situations where sometimes that was enough to get you through. She felt it might be so now. She let her eyes adjust, all the while searching the shadows, listening for what might be hidden within their silent covering.
Nothing.