The Traitor's Kiss (Traitor's Trilogy #1)

“Alex,” she said, and he flinched. That she’d never heard his name before last night made Sage wonder if anyone ever used it, and what that did to him. If everyone only ever called him “sir” or “Captain,” it would be easy to forget he was anything else. Had he taken the role of Mouse to escape that?

“I’m probably safer out there than in here tomorrow,” she whispered. “Let me go.”

His shoulders slumped, and she knew she’d won.





68

SAGE WATCHED ALEX brace his feet and bend down to grasp the carved stone lattice over the sewer drain. The thick grime around it came up with the cover, but she could see it had been removed recently, and clumps of dirt and moss pressed back in to hide the fact. It was very heavy, and he lifted and rotated it out of the way only as much as she needed to get through. Together they stared at the blackness below.

“You’re sure you want to do this?” Alex asked.

“I’m the only one who has a chance of making it.”

He nodded without looking up from the hole. “You know the way through?”

“As well as I can.”

“And you know where to meet my scouts?”

“One point south of the pass.”

“And you have the knife I gave you?”

“Right where I can reach it.”

Alex turned her to him and grasped her by her elbows, leaning down to touch his forehead to hers. She wasn’t sure who was shaking more. It was so easy to imagine he was Ash again, and she let herself think it, feel it. Sage closed her eyes and matched her breathing to his.

He raised one hand to sweep a few stray hairs to the back of her neck. “Let me say it one last time, Sage. Please.”

“No.” She pulled away, shaking her head. He wasn’t Ash, and she didn’t want to hear it.

He released her, hands dropping to his side. “Then let me say I’m s—”

“No,” she said again. It didn’t give her as much satisfaction as she thought it would to watch her words hit him like blows.

He opened his mouth again to say something, but then pressed his lips together and nodded.

“I’m ready,” she said, though she wasn’t.

Alex nodded and clasped her arms again, then lifted her up and lowered her slowly into the damp hole. “Got my feet,” she said when her boots touched the bottom of the tunnel, and he let go. The way his eyes searched told her he couldn’t see her in the shadows.

“If you’re in trouble, I swear I will never stop until I get to you,” he called softly.

Sage could’ve pretended she was already gone, but she couldn’t leave without answering.

“I know.”





69

SAGE CREPT THROUGH total darkness, feeling her way through the twists and turns Gramwell had described. She had to walk hunched over, sliding her feet through the frigid, slimy water. Occasionally she stumbled on stones or—worse—softer, unidentifiable objects. Fortunately, her toes were numb with cold after the first few minutes.

She tried not to think of him—Alex. Of his pleading eyes and his soft touch, of the way his hands shook as they released hers. Of his promise to abandon everything for her if she was in trouble. If the soldiers failed, she might never see him again. Or she might see him hanging from the top of the keep.

No matter how much she hated him, he didn’t deserve that.

She tripped on a protruding stone and clutched at what she hoped was a tree root growing through the wall to stay upright. The numbness in her fingers and toes seeped into her limbs. Was this what it was like to be dead—seeing and hearing and feeling nothing, wandering in the dark forever?

A glimmer of light shone on the walls ahead, and she stumbled toward it with a grateful sob. Another turn and the grate glowed at the end of the tunnel. A dozen steps more and she was gripping the bars, listening for insects and nocturnal creatures, concentrating to sort them from the echoes behind her. Nothing sounded disturbed.

Relieved, she felt along the vertical bars until she found the weak one. She yanked it free, letting loose a shower of dirt and rust. Her eyes caught her pale hands glowing in the moonlight, which inspired her to rub the grime onto her face, neck, and hands. It was like the day she met the matchmaker, only this time she was trying for the opposite effect. The thought made her smile a little, and she used it to focus on her task, like Alex needed her to.

Once satisfied with her camouflage, she crouched down and began to work her body through the largest gap in the metal grate, arms and head first, facedown. Being skinny and flat chested was finally an advantage. The sash she’d sewn together to hold the red blaze rested snugly against her waist and caused no problems. Her hips, however, were a different story.

Sage grunted and strained to squeeze them through, mentally grumbling that she should have brought a pound of butter to grease the way. She eased her breeches down a little and wriggled back and forth, painfully gaining another inch. The corroded metal bars scraped her exposed flesh, and she bit her lower lip to keep from crying out as she pushed with her toes and pulled with her arms. With a flash of agony, she surged out another foot, smacking her face on the rock she’d grabbed hold of and bashing her knees on the grate. Even with pain coming from so many places at once, she gasped and groaned in relief.

But now she was wet all over, and muddy and bleeding to boot. Sage eased her legs the rest of the way out and pulled her breeches back to her waist. She sat up and looked at the tunnel, debating whether to bother replacing the bar. Instead she reached through the grate and pulled the rod out, hefting it in her hand. It wouldn’t hurt to have another weapon. Pausing once more to listen for signs of disturbance, she descended carefully down the embankment and headed southeast.

The rocky terrain and late spring made for less undergrowth, so Sage had little to slow her progress. Before long, she’d put about three miles between herself and the fortress and turned east along a steep rise when she sensed something was wrong—the forest was too quiet. Sage pressed her back against a tree and held her breath to listen. To her right, maybe forty yards away, a twig snapped in sharp protest of being stepped on.

She wasn’t alone.

She couldn’t hold her air in forever. As quietly as she could manage, Sage exhaled and inhaled several quick, shaky breaths, trying not to create large puffs of steam in the frigid air, though he surely knew where she was already. She gripped the rusty iron bar in her sweaty hands. Over her thudding heart, she heard the crushing of dry leaves. Closer.

Sage took a deep lungful of air and launched into a sprint along the ridge. A large shape crashed through the brush after her. Wind whipped past her ears as she ran faster than she ever had in her life, but she knew her wind wouldn’t last.

He was gaining on her.

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