Her eyes flickered over him, lingering on his wounded thigh, taking in the labored rhythm of his breaths and the way he leaned against the wall. He was weak enough now that she had a chance of overpowering him if she was fast. James could see her considering this, but when she moved, she backed away and sat down on a carved wooden chair.
“What do you have to say?” she asked. She spoke calmly, with her hands folded carefully in her lap.
He spoke his piece, and she listened almost without breathing, weighing every word.
“How can I be sure of you?” she asked when he was done.
“You can’t be sure of anything,” was his only reply.
Rand and Bacchus stood back-to-back, swords drawn, as Red Shields closed in on either side. Scattered at their feet were the bodies of men they’d already cut down. Those bodies were illuminated, as was everything else in the courtyard, by the flickering light of hungry flames. Even as soldiers regrouped around them, the flames climbed higher. Occasional cracks rent the air as roof beams buckled and walls caved in. The bleary-eyed wallhuggers who’d fled the fire had long left for a safer part of the compound.
“Think he made it?” shouted Bacchus. His voice was barely audible over the flames and shouts.
“Aye,” said Rand. “He always does.”
Bacchus smiled then, a dangerous smile that made the advancing Red Shields slow in their approach. “You know, he probably meant for us to do something smaller and get our hides out of here.”
“Selfish bastard,” said Rand. “Trying to steal all the credit for himself. But I reckon we’ve done enough. Time to clear out?”
“Agreed,” said Bacchus. And he raised his blade to meet yet another soldier.
The girl didn’t speak to James for very long, but it was enough time for him to get his point across. Nevertheless, she didn’t agree to his request—it was too great a thing—though she promised him that she would consider it.
After they finished, she watched as he laboriously pushed himself to his feet and let himself out. She remained sitting, staring at the door after it had closed behind him.
Sometime later, triumphant shouts sounded as the alarm bell rang clearly three times in a row, signaling that the escaped prisoner had been recaptured. Darylene blinked, and some sort of emotion flickered across her face. She hid it quickly behind her usual mask of calm. Then she took out her handkerchief and scrubbed away the smear of blood he’d left on the door.
N I N E T E E N
Lettie was missing.
Flick was halfway through his morning chores when he noticed that the girl was nowhere to be seen in Mercie’s small cottage. Between the kitchen, Mercie’s bedroom, and the workroom where the three of them slept, there weren’t many places a young girl could hide.
“Did she go into the city with Mercie?” Idalee asked when Flick told her.
“No,” Flick said. “I saw Mercie leave alone this morning.”
The two of them looked at each other, then flew into action. Flick swept the house one more time while Idalee called Lettie’s name outside. It was unlike the girl to wander off by herself, and he feared the worst. But why would anyone kidnap Lettie, yet leave no word or demand?
Still no luck in the house, so Flick ran outside. Mercie’s house was slightly set off from the road, between two farms on either side, with the forest at the back. He had a clear view of the neighboring farms as well as the road in the distance. He saw no one.
“Flick,” called Idalee from the forest. “She’s over here.”
There was an odd tone to Idalee’s voice. Flick found her just a few trees into the forest. Idalee pointed to the ground in front of her, and Flick looked down to see Lettie curled up…asleep…between two demon kittens.
“Lettie, what are you—” Flick strode toward them, but Idalee yanked him back.
“I don’t think you want to surprise those two,” she whispered.