Ewen slid off the stool and went to stand before the glass. He could hardly see anything in the darkness outside, only the barest outline of the inn’s facade. Then lightning splintered the sky, and he saw that a wagon stood before the inn, the clear shape of a bundle in the back.
Forgetting his paper and leads, which still sat on the bar, Ewen went outside and was immediately drenched. The storm was so loud that he could hear nothing from the pub behind him. He meant to take a closer look at the wagon, but no sooner had he crept out from under the pub’s awning than the lightning flared again, illuminating the dark silhouette in front of the inn. Ewen scrambled backward, pressing himself into the shadows. For a moment there was only darkness, and then the lightning showed him the witch’s profile beneath the cloak. Her head swiveled from side to side, reminding Ewen of a dog that had caught a scent. He pressed his back against the wall with all of his might, praying that he was hidden, that those pale eyes could not see him . . .
After an eternity, Brenna left the cover of the inn’s doorway and proceeded down the steps. The next flash of lightning revealed a second bundle slung over her shoulder, and Ewen realized, with mounting horror, that the bundle was the size of a man. He had not seen what Brenna had done to Will in the Keep, but he had heard plenty of tales in the guard quarters. Elston said that when Brenna had finished with Will, he was nothing more than mince.
Brenna climbed into the seat of the wagon and took the reins. She was leaving, Ewen realized, and his first reaction was a vast relief. The witch was up to no good; she might even have killed someone. But she would drive away, out of Gin Reach, and then she would no longer be Ewen’s problem. When Bradshaw returned, they could leave this awful town on the edge of nowhere and go back to New London, to Ewen’s brothers, to the life he knew.
But then, his heart sinking, Ewen realized that that wasn’t quite true. The Mace had told him to keep an eye out for anything unusual, and here was a witch, transporting what looked like people in the middle of the night. More, Brenna was an escaped prisoner, and before Ewen had ever spoken to the Mace, he had been, first and foremost, a jailor. Da had made him a jailor, chosen Ewen even though his brothers were smarter and braver, and he had never let a prisoner escape.
Ewen looked through the window of the pub behind him, but they were all talking and drinking. Perhaps he could ask the publican for help . . . but no, the publican would never leave his bar. If only Bradshaw were still here to tell him what to do! But there was no time. In another flash of lightning, Ewen saw that the wagon had already begun to roll. He groped at his waist and found that he still had his knife. No sword; the Mace had never allowed him to have one. Ewen wouldn’t have known how to use it anyway, and even his knifework was very sloppy. Venner had said so.
Not a real Queen’s Guard, he thought again. Even real Queen’s Guards were afraid of Brenna, but there was no one else. No help would come in time.
“I’m going, Da,” he whispered into the rain. “I’m going, all right?”
He slipped off the wall and began to work his way up the street, following the wagon.
When Kelsea woke, she was first aware that her hands were bound behind her, and next, that she was drenched. She was on the floor of a moving wagon, and for a moment she wondered, astonished, if she was still on her way to Mortmesne, if the past few months had been nothing but the deepest dream. She opened her eyes and saw nothing, but then lightning flashed and she found, relieved, that this was a different wagon, smaller. There was a large bundle beside her, and in the next flash of lightning Kelsea caught sight of a pair of dark eyes beneath a hood: the Red Queen.
Brenna.
Kelsea twisted around and found a cloaked figure driving the wagon. Kelsea remembered nothing after hearing Brenna’s voice in the darkness. There was a smear of blood on the Red Queen’s forehead; had they both been knocked out? Kelsea had taken too many head wounds lately, but it wasn’t a concussion that frightened her now. She didn’t know how Brenna had gotten free of the Keep, but the woman wasn’t in Gin Reach by accident. She had come for Kelsea, just as she would have come for anyone who had harmed Arlen Thorne. Kelsea wriggled helplessly, trying to judge whether she still wore Tear’s sapphire. She couldn’t tell. Would the sapphire even do any good here? Brenna was rumored to be a witch, but her actual powers were an unknown.
The wagon halted and Kelsea closed her eyes, nudging the Red Queen to do the same. Whatever else Brenna might be, she had incredible strength; she pulled Kelsea from the wagon as though she weighed nothing, rolled her from the cloak, and dumped her on the ground. Kelsea slitted her eyes, trying to determine where they were, but even with the brilliant illumination of lightning, she could barely see anything through the driving rain. The soil beneath her cheek felt like sand. They must be in the desert.