Roman slipped away with the officers.
It was a good thing he had managed to leave when he did, Roman realized when he was halfway down the metal stairs. A twinge of pain shot down his right leg. At first he thought it was only the aftershocks of his fear and the effort of countless steps until he felt it in his chest next. Something was gnawing at him from within, making his lungs heavy.
He stifled a cough, hid his limp.
Roman finally made it to the main doors. He stepped outside and walked until he found a vacant side street. Only then did he stop to lean against the brick wall.
He covered his mouth with his palm and coughed. His temples throbbed in response and nausea crept up his throat. He didn’t know why he felt so terrible, until he remembered the taste of the gas, weeks ago in Avalon Bluff. How it had stung his lungs. How it had spread through him, making his head ache, his stomach churn, his legs feel shaky.
He could feel his panic rising, connected to that memory. The terror he had felt when the gas surrounded him, when he had crawled through the field.
You survived that day, Roman told himself. It’s over, and you survived. You’re safe now.
He closed his eyes, drawing slow, deep breaths. The tension in his bones eased although the twinge of pain in his leg remained, as did his headache and nausea.
Roman laid his hand over his pocket, where Iris’s wedding ring hid.
I pray that my days will be long at your side.
It had all started to come back to him the moment he had touched her.
Let me fill and satisfy every longing in your soul.
He remembered running to her through the golden field.
May your hand be in mine, by sun and by night.
He remembered exchanging vows with her in the garden.
Let our breaths twine and our blood become one, until our bones turn to dust.
He remembered how she had whispered his name in the sweetened darkness.
Even then, may I find your soul still sworn to mine.
A shiver coursed through him as he looked up at the moon and the stars.
He remembered everything.
PART THREE
Wings in a Cage
{25}
Outshine, Once Again
They rolled into River Down on fumes.
It was late afternoon and scathingly sunny. Not a cloud was in the sky, and Iris shielded her eyes as Tobias shifted the roadster to a low, rumbling gear. The town was teeming with soldiers and lorries, making it difficult to navigate the winding roads. Enva’s brigade had arrived hours ago, it seemed, settling in wherever space could be found—street corners, backyards, the mossy riverbanks, the city square. The town’s citizens were a stark contrast as they carried out hot meals and coffee and washed laundry, hanging it to dry on clotheslines.
Iris watched it all with vague interest. Her mind felt kilometers away, as if she had left it behind in that wardrobe. In that strange, torch-lit room with Roman.
When Tobias at last parked in front of Lucy’s home, Iris snapped out of her daze. It had been a while since she had slept soundly or eaten a proper meal. None of them in the roadster had, letting their exhaustion and hunger grow long and sharp as fangs within them. There was no time to rest, hardly time to eat. Not with the hounds and an angry god behind them. Tobias had only stopped in Bitteryne to refill the petrol and to let Iris and Attie snag some sandwiches and a thermos of coffee from Lonnie Fielding before they were on the road again.
Attie opened the car’s back door. Iris followed her out, wincing when her feet touched the cobblestones. She hadn’t realized how sore and battered she was until she had stood and was moving again, forcing needlelike blood into her feet.
To Iris’s shock, Lucy was standing on the front porch like a statue, gazing at them. No, it was more like a scowl, and Iris braced herself as Marisol’s sister descended the steps and approached them. She was wearing a black blouse, dark brown trousers, and tightly laced boots that squeaked.
Iris waited, preparing herself for a scolding, but the lines in Lucy’s brows gentled.
“You three all right?” she asked gruffly.
“We’re alive,” Attie said.
Lucy was silent, but her blue eyes rushed over them, as if searching for wounds. Her gaze lingered a bit too long on Iris’s face, and Iris resisted the temptation to touch her tousled hair, her sunburned cheeks, her chapped lips. She knew she must look awful, and she was about to apologize for her appearance when Lucy spoke.
“Come inside,” she said in a softer tone. “I have a pot of tea and some biscuits waiting for you.”
* * *
Marisol and Keegan were truly what were waiting inside, sitting at the kitchen table. Their hands were laced together, their heads bent close to each other as they conversed.
Marisol must not have heard the roadster park on the curb like Lucy had, because she glanced up and gasped when she saw Tobias, Attie, and Iris step into the kitchen.
“Are you hurt?” she demanded, standing in a rush. “Keegan told me the three of you showed up in Hawk Shire, after you told me you wouldn’t pass Winthrop!” But there was hardly any bite in her words, only relief as she embraced the three of them at once, gathering them as a hen does its chicks, warm beneath her wings.
“We’re fine,” Iris said, inadvertently meeting Keegan’s sharp gaze over Marisol’s shoulder.
The brigadier rose from the table but remained silent.
Marisol swung back around, fire in her eyes. “You told me they were in the procession, Keegan. You told me they were safe.”
Lucy set the kettle on the stove, but her eyes darted back and forth, taking note of everything.
“We had an agreement,” Keegan said calmly. If Marisol was fire, she was water. “What happened?”
“A flat tire,” Tobias answered. “We were able to fix it in time but some of Dacre’s soldiers saw us retreat.” He glanced at Iris, as if uncertain what else to say.
Keegan noticed.
“Iris?” the brigadier said.
Iris cracked her knuckles. “Dacre set his hounds loose.”
The kitchen fell deathly quiet. Not even the birds sang their melodies from the backyard.
Marisol laid her hand over her throat, as if hiding the erratic beat of her pulse, and finally said, “The hounds? The hounds chased you?”
“Bexley outran them in his roadster,” Attie stated. Her shoulder was close to Tobias’s; there was only a fraction of space between their fingers, hanging at their sides. “We have all the dents and mud to prove it.”
“There shouldn’t be any dents or mud to prove it,” Marisol said, her cheeks flushing. “There shouldn’t be any hounds, or eithrals, or bombs. You should get to be children, young people, adults who can dream and love and live your lives without all of this … horrible mess.”