By the time Leif wrestled control back, Rusalka had taken them far away from the wagon and its precious cargo—Mara and his father. None of the patrol members had chased after him. Leif dismounted and walked Rusalka, letting the horse cool down. He needed to cool his raging thoughts, as well.
Impotent fury burned in his chest over what Mara had done. She’d commanded Rusalka to go home, and the horse hadn’t hesitated. Damn. This was the exact reason why he’d wanted Mara to ride Rusalka. So she’d be safe. But she’d refused, and now she was caught, along with his father. Double damn.
Trying to suppress his fear and anger, Leif considered his next move. The patrol would most likely take them to Fulgor, to either the security headquarters or the garrison. If he could intercept them before they arrived...
No. Too many of them. Plus the soldiers were on horseback, and Leif would need to bring along a couple mounts for Mara and Esau. Doubtful he’d find any extra horses in the middle of nowhere. Leif glanced around at the forest and realized he had no sense of his location. As much as he hated—no, despised—the idea, he’d have to wait until they were taken to a specific place before he could rescue them.
At least he had friends and family in Fulgor. Opal, Mara’s younger sister, wouldn’t hesitate to help him, and neither would her husband, Devlen. Leif checked Rusalka’s legs and gave her water, but his mind was already planning his next move.
Only later, with Rusalka headed toward Fulgor, did Leif grudgingly acknowledge Mara’s quick thinking and intelligence. Of the three of them, he had the best chance of coordinating a successful rescue. He had magic, connections and the most experience. It made sense that he’d be the one to escape.
But that didn’t mean he had to like it.
*
Opal’s glass factory appeared to be abandoned. No light shone from any of the windows. The sweet smell of burning white coal didn’t float downwind. No one had entered or left since he’d started surveilling the place around midafternoon. Leif looped around the building one more time, checking for other watchers, and spotted a couple with a view of the front doors. Interesting.
He ducked down the alley and picked the side door’s lock. Inside, he confirmed his suspicions. Dark, quiet and cold—three things he’d never experienced when visiting Opal’s factory previously. The four kilns had always remained blazingly hot, day and night. Heating glass to its melting point took too much time and effort to let the cauldrons cool.
Leif lit a lantern and checked the apartment on the second story. Opal, Devlen and their two adopted children, Reema and Teegan, lived above the factory. A sick feeling swirled in his stomach when he spotted the overturned chairs and broken table in the kitchen. The military must have taken them. With Devlen’s superior fighting skills and Opal’s ability to make magic detectors, they would be an asset to the Cartel. Once they were brainwashed, of course. And even though Opal was immune to magical subversion, she would do anything to keep Reema safe.
Yelena had sent a messenger to Opal weeks ago, warning them of the Sitian takeover, but Leif guessed they didn’t get it in time. Good thing Teegan was currently safe on the coast.
Leaving by the same door he’d entered, Leif headed toward the headquarters for Fulgor’s security. Nic and Eve, two officers and friends of Opal, might be able to help him. But once he arrived, the number of uniformed soldiers coming and going at HQ meant the military had taken control of the local security and would likely arrest Leif on sight. No surprise, as martial law had been declared, but it had still been worth checking. Leif watched the flow in and out for a couple hours, just in case he spotted Nic’s broad shoulders or Eve’s short hair. No luck.
Leif had one last place to go before he ran out of options. Then what?
He pushed down the panic. He’d worry about that later.
The Pig Pen bustled with customers despite the late hour. Leif noted four Sitian soldiers, but he’d altered his appearance as much as he could under the circumstances. It was hard to disguise his square face or his stocky build. No sign of Nic or Eve, and their two stools remained empty. Nic’s twin brother Ian owned the Pen and nobody would dare to sit in Nic’s or his partner’s space. Leif settled on one of the empty stools and waited.
“Those stools are not for you,” the man next to him said. “You better find another place to sit.”
“I like this stool,” Leif said.
“You’re either brave or stupid.”
“I like to think I’m a little of both. It keeps people guessing,” Leif replied. Then he waved at Ian, who was tending the bar. “An order of beef stew and an ale.”
His neighbor laughed and muttered, “This ought to be good.”