If I don’t kill her, she’ll keep hanging scientists and the Outlanders who harbor them. My people. “I’m not a murderer,” I say.
“I know that.” He looks at me, carefully weighing his words. “But if we bring her to Alaric, he’ll kill her anyway. He probably won’t be quick about it, either.”
“Then her death’s on him,” I say, rubbing a hand across my face. I hadn’t thought of that, but he’s right. Alaric will most likely kill her. I’m tired. It isn’t easy to carry a person around without fuel from a witch. I feel weak and heavy and I’m angry about it. “I don’t care what Alaric does to her. She should be punished. Are you going to help me bring her to him or not?”
“Of course,” Tristan replies, holding his hands out to calm me down. “Just take it easy, okay?”
I’m acting crazy. A part of me is aware of that fact, but the rest of me is too busy being crazy to care. I take a breath.
“How long do you think she’ll stay unconscious?” Tristan asks.
“I can keep her like this for hours,” I reply. “She’s weak right now. And there’s something off about her.” I put my hand on her belly and feel the low thrum of her pulse under my palm. My fingers want to curve around the crescent of her hip, and my thumb wants to nestle inside the hollow of her belly button. “I can’t find her willstone.”
Tristan frowns and leans over her. His willstone flares as he scans her himself. “She didn’t swallow it, Ro. There’s no willstone in her body.”
“It’s incredible that she can stand being separated from it. Maybe that explains that strange feeling I’m getting from her. It’s shock.”
Tristan nods, conceding the point, but still not convinced. “If it’s shock, she might die without any help from us.”
I don’t answer him. Tristan gets up and I hear him rattling around in the kitchen. He comes back with a needle and thread and starts sewing the blanket shut around Lillian to conceal her.
“Are you still on good terms with Esmeralda?” I ask.
Tristan has to take a second to think. “Yeah?” he says uncertainly.
“She’s watching the safe house over the tunnel this month,” I explain. “We could go there to get Lillian out of the city.”
“Esmeralda likes you better than me. Bat your eyelashes at her,” Tristan says, teasing me to hide his bitterness.
“You’re better at sweet talking. I don’t want anyone to see Lillian before we get her to Alaric, and Esmeralda is going to ask questions.”
“I’ll try. Not that girls hear a word I say when you’re around.”
If I were a player like Tristan, he wouldn’t be so jealous. I don’t want the women who want me, and that bothers him more than being second choice. It’s like a thorn in our friendship, stuck halfway between us where neither of us can reach.
“We’ll play it by ear when we get there,” he says, tacking down the last few stitches and sealing off Lillian’s face. “But first, we gotta get there with this.”
The bundled shape looks like a dead body. I see Tristan’s lips twitch for a moment, but his nascent laugh is squashed by a fearful thought. If it wasn’t Lillian in there, this situation might be funny. But it is Lillian. And if we get caught we’re dead.
“Thanks, Tristan,” I say. He doesn’t make a big deal of it, but he knows that I know what he’s giving up. We’ve kidnapped the Salem Witch. Whatever the outcome, our lives in the city are over.