I was too far away from the keep to last five days without supplies.
I squeezed past a large woman and three children and took to a side street less occupied than the rest. Maybe I could hide here until the men passed.
“Halt! Who goes there?”
I cursed under my breath as I spotted a pair of city guards closing in from the opposite end.
I had all of three seconds to make my decision before the closest guard’s face lit up in recognition.
Thank the gods neither was a mage.
My feet took off before the soldier had even opened her mouth. I was scurrying up a tower of rusting crates, catching splinters in my palms as I scrabbled to the top. My balance was precarious.
I heard their pounding footfall as I lunged.
My hands caught hold of the nearest wooden beam, and I heaved myself up and over the building for all that I was worth.
There was a terrible jolt in the sockets of my arms and everything burned.
I staggered across the slatted roof, trying not to think about what would happen if I slipped, or, gods help me, stepped onto a piece of rotted wood. The beams shook and voices raised beneath—people wondering about the pounding feet over their heads.
Moments later a dagger whistled across the air. The soldiers had made it up faster than I expected. I didn’t have time to cast a defense as all of my effort was in running across an unstable roof. The blade caught the back of my thigh.
I had all of one second to make a decision. I couldn’t run with a blade embedded in my leg—it would damage the muscles with every leap—so I jerked the blade free as I cast out a globe. Then I ripped my sleeve and tied a makeshift wrap to my leg. My handwork was sloppy and rushed, but I didn’t have a choice.
Just because I had a magic shield didn’t mean they couldn’t approach.
Everything throbbed, and blood pulsed heavily against my leg.
I stalled at the ledge of the building. There was another roof, but I didn’t trust myself to make the leap with my injured leg. The drop was seven yards and there were no crates to climb, but it was in an empty alley, and no one would see. The fall would be agony on my leg, but it was doable. I just had to make the distance less than it was.
I ducked—the casting was still up as another throwing knife bounced harmlessly off its surface—and then I crouched, using my hands to clutch the beam as I hung off the side of the roof.
Then I let go, relaxing my arms and bending my knees as I braced myself for the ground.
I landed on the balls of my feet and fell to the right. The impact sent me back against the building’s wall. I caught the worst of the impact in my arm. It saved me from a broken back, but from the pain in my lower body and the shooting pain in my wrist, I wasn’t sure I hadn’t fractured my arm in the fall.
But now I had to run.
The guards were calling to others over the noisy square. They weren’t going to jump like I did; they were racing back to that first alley with the crates.
I limped my way to the front and scanned the crowd for the three angry men from before. I couldn’t find them anywhere.
Good.
It was time to make my break for the woods.
I was barely three yards from the King’s Road when someone’s cry broke the crowd.
“The rebel!”
Someone had recognized me.
“It’s her!”
And then one of the men from before yelled, “Catch that thief, boys!”
I had no choice. They knew who I was, so there was no point hiding my magic now. I cast a globe and started to run.
A terrible pain shot up my thigh as I lunged.
Behind me, the crowd was starting to break. Stones ricocheted against my shield.
Come on, Ryiah, run! But my limp was getting worse and the crowd was closing in.
“King killer!”
“Murderer.”
I was running, but it wasn’t enough. In seconds, I was surrounded.
A mob of angry villagers crowded around with the soldiers at the front.
Can I cast and buy myself enough time to run? That should have been the only question on my mind, but there was another, more pronounced: king killer?
Someone’s blade jabbed at my globe. I flinched instinctively, and the bandage broke at my thigh. Hot blood slicked down the side of my leg.
The mob pressed in, their rage beating down on me like a drum. I was safe, my casting would hold. But for how long? Angry chants and more rocks hit the barrier, one by one.
Panic tugged at my gut. There were close to thirty angry villagers. I could cast, but what would it cost me? Could I go on knowing the price it would reap?
I couldn’t take that many lives, not when the crowd’s only crime was a misplaced faith in the Crown.
“Someone get me some shackles and send an envoy to Devon. The reward will be enough to rebuild the entire village and feed our families for years.”
I couldn’t attack the crowd. They were only doing what was best.
The ground shifted and groaned. I barely had time to catch myself before I fell.
What…?