HOISTING GILLIAN IN MY ARMS, I GESTURE for Britta and Finn to take the lead. On my direction, they cross to a connecting narrow hallway. This passage, not commonly used, is so tight that I have to turn sideways to carry Gillian. It’s difficult to keep pace with the others and to make little noise, but I manage as we hurry to the exit that lets out by the stables and guard tower.
The gate that blocks the path to the bridge is closed. In order to leave the castle, we have to pass two guards on watch, enter the tower, and crank the pulley to lift the gate.
Britta motions me toward the stables. The moon is still out, lighting the yard. We use the shadows to slip into the stables. There, I place Gillian on a bed of hay and turn to face the others. “If we want any chance at escaping, we have to be ready to go the moment the gate rises.”
“How are we going to get it up?” Britta asks. I can tell by the way she sags against a raised trough that she’s tired. I’m not sure if it’s from what she did to Phelia or the night she spent in the dungeon.
Thinking of how to maximize our efforts, I turn to Finn and point out my horse, Gale, and Britta’s Snowfire. Then I grab a saddle from the tack shelf. “Can you ready the horses?”
His brow wrinkles, making him look quite a bit like his older brother.
“If you and Britta cause a distraction,” I explain, “I can enter the tower and subdue the guards.”
“I’ll ride out with Finn—that should be distraction enough.” Britta pushes away from the trough. She steps to Gillian’s side and rests her hand on the handmaid’s shoulder. “They’ll come after me and you can get in.”
The idea is good, but she doesn’t seem to have the stamina to fight anyone off. “What if they attack?” I ask.
She takes a quick glance around the dark stable. It’s hours till dawn and difficult to see much. “Any bows around here? Arrows?”
“The closest weapons closet is back through the castle.”
Unfazed, she pats the sword at her waist. “Guess this’ll have to do.”
I consider arguing her obvious exhaustion, but drop it. If she says she can fight, then she can fight.
The stables’ windows for airing out the stalls give me access to the outer court. I get into position with my sword ready, though the thought of killing anyone else picks at my sanity.On my count, Finn and Britta ride out.
As planned, the horse’s whinny grabs the guards’ attention as Britta and Finn charge out of the stable. I hear a shout and then the guards rush from the tower with their swords drawn.
I grip my sword, eyes tuned to Britta’s movements for a beat longer than I should waste. She’ll be fine. She can take care of herself. I remind myself of this as I rush to the now-empty tower.
More shouts echo from the yard. Thankfully the night adds to our element of surprise. Though the guards are calling for backup, they sound confused.
Keeping low, I scramble inside the tower and to the pulley. I tug on the lever, but it’s stiff and the metal chains won’t give. Cursing, I drop my sword and put both hands on the pulley’s lever to shove and pull. Shove and pull. The veins in my arms feel like they might pop. I hold my breath, exerting more effort than I ever thought possible, until the gate starts to rise and the chain slips into place, lifting the metal blockade out of Britta’s way.
Once it’s up, I sprint back to the stable, sword in hand.
Gillian lets out an agonized cry as I hoist her onto Gale and into a seated position. If there were time, something could be done to comfort her. There’s no time, however. We’re dead if we’re caught.
I swipe sweat from my eyes. Adrenaline charging through me, I ride us out of the stable, Gale’s hooves clattering against the flagstones.
One of the guards is in the tower. Britta is on the bridge, Finn seated behind her on Snowfire. I squint and notice the moonlight illuminating a second guard lying face-down on the planks at the horses’ feet. I’m not sure how she subdued him, nor am I entirely certain he’s alive.
But I hear the whine of metal. The gate is closing.
Britta yells my name, a clear arrow of sound in the night. The terror in her voice as I dig my heels into Gale, riding under the gate with my head ducked, tells me we missed the metal teeth by hairs.
Britta’s horse runs alongside us, thundering over the bridge. The middle of the night chill pricks over my face as I race along beside her, my heart thundering along to the horses’ rapid rhythm.
We make it into the hills above Brentyn, and Gillian coughs. I realize I’m clenching her too hard, so I loosen my grip and mutter an apology, though it’s doubtful she hears me since she’s unconscious.
“I—I didn’t think you’d make it,” Britta shouts over the scatter of gravel and rock under hoof.
Behind her, Finn rests his forehead against her back. His eyes are closed and his skin is ashen. It’s clear we’ve all experienced untold horrors these last two nights.
Now that we’re away from the castle, the moonlight curves around Britta’s face.
Though we’re running for our lives, the obvious worry in her eyes unlocks something in my chest. It settles some of the chaos inside. Up till now I’m certain she hasn’t cared a whit for me. But when she looks at me like that, it makes me wonder if perhaps when this is all over, there might be something more for us.
“I worried about that too,” I admit, and she smiles. It’s small, not much to lift her cheeks, but it’s a gift. One that makes it easier to breathe despite the intensity of our escape.
As we ride along the outskirts of the city, a change comes over Britta. Even though we’re gaining distance from the threat at the castle, and no guards have popped up behind us, her shoulders creep up toward her ears, showing her discomfort.
The moment the horses reach the castle healer Hagan’s cottage, Finn and Britta dismount. They both come to my side to assist with Gillian, but Britta holds her arms out expectantly to take the girl.
“Are you all right?” I ask them once I’m on the ground. “We got away. We can breathe for a moment.”
Finn gives the slightest of shrugs.
“Let’s get the horses in the barn,” Britta says, not answering my question. “I don’t want anyone seeing them when the sun comes up.”
I take Gillian from Britta as she leads both our animals into hiding. Once they’re hidden behind closed barn doors, she returns to my side where I wait with Finn outside Hagan’s rear door.
Britta reaches out gingerly to touch Gillian’s forehead. Some of the tension from escaping the castle has left her shoulders, but I can still see the tightness in the way she holds herself.
“I can heal her.” Spoken so lightly, it takes me a moment to register Britta’s whisper. I almost miss the questioning cadence.
“Is that what you want?”
Her fingers brush the crust of blood at Gillian’s hairline. It’s nearly the same color as the handmaid’s deep brown hair.