Nicolai’s hand dropped and the Addamos charged, jumping off the roof.
I cast the spheres at the ground. Smoke bombs. The thin ceramic casing shattered, combining the two liquids inside and creating a thick, gray smoke.
I turned and leaped onto the nearest horse—Butters. He was still tied to Dorian’s saddle. I swore as I sliced through the rope.
The first of the Addamos dashed through the smoke, but quick pressure to Butters’s right side signaled him to kick out with his hooves, scattering the clippers.
Then we were free. Butters’s shod hooves clattered against the flagstones, Dorian behind us, as we raced away from the Addamos.
Butters was fast, almost too fast, racing down an unfamiliar street in the middle of the night. Ahead, a group of revelers appeared. We ran through, dispersing them and their screams of alarm.
I aimed Butters straight, trying to get as much of a lead as possible. This was Addamo territory; they’d catch me, given enough time. I had to get free of Genoni. If I couldn’t escape them, no one would make the Da Vias pay.
I shook my head. I’d killed three members of their Family, all while in their territory. They’d chase me even after I left Genoni. Simply leaving the city wouldn’t be enough.
I glanced behind me. Dorian paced Butters, dutifully following. Maybe I could buy myself some time. . . .
“Dorian!” I called his name over the sound of their loud hooves, and his ears twitched in response. I shouted the command for him to turn right. He tossed his head, warring with his desire to stay behind Butters, but I had trained him well. He swung down a side street, away from us.
I lost sight of him. This is their fault—the Da Vias. One more beautiful thing gone from my life. Tears pricked my eyes. Don’t think about it. He was a good horse. Someone would give him a good home.
At the next fork, I swung Butters north, away from Ravenna and my home territory. Some of the Addamos would’ve gone ahead to the city limits to catch me there. Hopefully this change in direction would shave off a few pursuers.
There! Before me stood the old, crumbled city wall. Behind it lay the end of the tightly packed buildings of the cities and the start of fields, spread through the valley until the river cut across them. That was my destination—the river and the bridge that spanned it.
We hit the fields and I leaned forward in the saddle. Butters took the cue gladly and raced faster.
A shout from behind. I spared a glance. From two different streets Addamos poured from the city, seven of them, each mounted on a horse of their own. They whipped their mounts in a desperate attempt to catch me.
They could do it, too. Butters was fast and willing, but their mounts were fresher, and they knew the quickest path to reach the bridge.
A whistle shrieked above me. I hauled left on Butters’s reins, and only my quick reflexes saved us from the arrow. Butters slid to the side, almost losing his feet. I kicked him to regain his lost speed.
I stared over my shoulder for the archer.
There were two of them, their horses moving slower as their riders used both hands to pull on their bows.
I kneed Butters farther left, placing myself directly in front of the closing front runners, blocking me from the view of the archers.
Only a few yards ahead stood the bridge over the river. They wouldn’t follow me across it. They couldn’t. Only someone with nothing to lose would cross the bridge at night.
Someone like me.
All bridges over the river were crooked, with sharp turns in the middle before they continued on.
Spirits, like people, need bridges to pass over rivers, but they could only cross moving water in a straight line. The bridges zigzagged, to prevent the ghosts from reaching the cities.
An arrow slammed into my shoulder. I slipped left and lost my grip. Only my thighs squeezing Butters’s barrel kept me in my seat. He stumbled again, compensating for my sudden shift in balance. Then we were on the bridge. Butters cut the last corner with an awkward leap. He landed, and I slapped painfully against the saddle. We’d done it. We’d crossed the river.
I’d reached the dead plains, home to angry ghosts.
nine
I DIDN’T SLOW BUTTERS UNTIL WE WERE SAFE FROM the Addamo archers. I stopped him with a tap of my legs and my voice. He halted, his head hanging as his sides heaved.
Bonelessly, I slid to the ground, my knees almost giving way beneath me. I leaned against Butters and examined my left shoulder.
The arrowhead had pierced me through the top of my shoulder, the metal tip protruding from the front of me. The injury wasn’t life-threatening if I could treat it and it didn’t become infected. I wouldn’t treat it here, though. Not until I was safe.
The Addamos sat on their horses on the other side of the river. My gamble had worked—they wouldn’t come after me into the dead plains, not at night.