Hidden Huntress
Page 116
They were going to kill him. “I’m not leaving you to die,” I said, racking my brain for a solution. A blow struck the door and the entire house shook.
“You have no choice. If they catch you, they’ll kill you in an instant. Trollus can afford to lose me, but losing you is quite another matter.”
“I’ll take you with me,” I babbled, unwilling to concede. “I can carry you. I’ll take you somewhere safe.”
Another blow smashed against the door with an echoing thud, and I knew it wasn’t stone that was keeping them out. It was magic against magic.
“There is nowhere in Trollus that is safe. You must get away now while there is still time.”
He was right, and I hated it. But staying wouldn’t just be risking my life – it would be risking Tristan’s, and in doing so, I’d be putting the fates of countless other trolls in jeopardy. Flinging my arms around his shoulders, I squeezed hard. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”
He patted me on the shoulder. “Take care of that boy for me, my sweet girl. He needs you.”
“I will,” I said, but my voice was drowned out by the thunder of magic.
“Run!”
I sprinted to the stairs, taking them two at a time. There were stacks of books and papers littered everywhere on the second level, and I leapt over them, staggering as the whole house swayed. Ahead was a window looking out over the neighboring home, and I flung it open. There was a gap between the two structures. I was going to have to jump. Climbing onto the ledge, I clung to the frame and slowly straightened. Stone fell and smashed against the street as the front of the house collapsed. Sucking in a breath, I bent my knees and leapt forward.
I landed on my feet, but momentum made me stumble into a fall, ripping my dress and scraping my knees. Ignoring the pain, I clambered up and ran to the far side of the roof. Below was a wall. Falling to my hands and knees, I slid over the edge and dropped onto the narrow edge of stone, but before I could go any further, an explosion shook the air.
Debris and dust sailed through the streets, and if I’d still been on the roof, it would surely have killed me. Screams cut the air, and everyone was running. Slipping off the wall, I joined the ranks of fleeing trolls, running as hard and fast as I could. And I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. Couldn’t bear to see the ruin of Pierre’s home and know that he was dead. That I hadn’t been able to help him.
My breath tore in my chest as I sprinted up a flight of stairs, and then another, working my way back to where Tristan’s magic waited to pull me away from danger. I’d been living soft for too long, and even fear wasn’t enough to compensate for the exhaustion numbing my legs. My ribs ached where they’d been broken, and rounding a corner, I ground to a halt and bent nearly double, resting my hands on my knees.
Pierre was dead, and it was my fault. I’d brought them down upon him. Dead for no reason other than that he had not hidden his support for Tristan. Slaughtered for believing the half-bloods deserved a better lot in life. Dead, because I’d been powerless to help him, and because a stupid prophesy had deemed my life worth more than his. I breathed in and out, trying to stay calm, trying to keep my wits about me.
A smell brushed at my nose, and if I’d been a dog, my hackles would have risen. If I’d been standing in Trianon, where upper and lower class alike tossed night-soil into the streets, such a smell would have caused as much notice as salt from the sea. But if nothing else, Trollus was always clean. My eyes fixed on the pale stone cobbles in front of me, I watched as a crimson rivulet of blood ran by the toe of my boot. And then another. And another. My heart in my throat, I lifted my face.
The street was painted with so much blood it seemed impossible that it could have come from only one body. I stared, trying to fit the pieces back together into something – someone – recognizable, but my mind couldn’t manage it. Not with Roland kneeling in the middle of the mess, tapping the tip of a knife thoughtfully against one tooth, bright eyes fixed on me.
He doesn’t know it’s you! But did that matter? It hadn’t for the half-blood who was now only the sum of his pieces. Tristan’s name rippled through my head as I considered whether to call him down. Except I knew that if I did, it would be no less than a battle to the death. I needed to try to find another way out of this.
“Your Highness.” I curtseyed low, holding the position until my knees ached. Even without magic, I had no hope of outrunning him – he was many times faster than me, even at my best. “Is there some way I might assist you?”
He huffed out an annoyed breath. “I’d hoped you might run. The rudeness would have been enough excuse.”
Excuse for what?
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Your Highness.” My knees were starting to shake.
“No one understands.” His voice sounded almost sad.
“Roland!”
Never in my life would I have dreamed I’d be so happy to see the Duke
d’Angoulême. He stalked past me toward the murderous prince, four tense-looking guards on his heels. “Stones and sky, boy! What could possibly have provoked you to do this?”
“He tripped and dropped the new Guerre set Lady Anaïs had made for me. I went all the way to the Artisan’s Row to collect it from Reagan, and now it is ruined.”
“Why do I suspect his tripping was no accident?” The Duke’s voice was acidic, and I could not help but notice he kept a wary eye on Roland.
“You have no choice. If they catch you, they’ll kill you in an instant. Trollus can afford to lose me, but losing you is quite another matter.”
“I’ll take you with me,” I babbled, unwilling to concede. “I can carry you. I’ll take you somewhere safe.”
Another blow smashed against the door with an echoing thud, and I knew it wasn’t stone that was keeping them out. It was magic against magic.
“There is nowhere in Trollus that is safe. You must get away now while there is still time.”
He was right, and I hated it. But staying wouldn’t just be risking my life – it would be risking Tristan’s, and in doing so, I’d be putting the fates of countless other trolls in jeopardy. Flinging my arms around his shoulders, I squeezed hard. “I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”
He patted me on the shoulder. “Take care of that boy for me, my sweet girl. He needs you.”
“I will,” I said, but my voice was drowned out by the thunder of magic.
“Run!”
I sprinted to the stairs, taking them two at a time. There were stacks of books and papers littered everywhere on the second level, and I leapt over them, staggering as the whole house swayed. Ahead was a window looking out over the neighboring home, and I flung it open. There was a gap between the two structures. I was going to have to jump. Climbing onto the ledge, I clung to the frame and slowly straightened. Stone fell and smashed against the street as the front of the house collapsed. Sucking in a breath, I bent my knees and leapt forward.
I landed on my feet, but momentum made me stumble into a fall, ripping my dress and scraping my knees. Ignoring the pain, I clambered up and ran to the far side of the roof. Below was a wall. Falling to my hands and knees, I slid over the edge and dropped onto the narrow edge of stone, but before I could go any further, an explosion shook the air.
Debris and dust sailed through the streets, and if I’d still been on the roof, it would surely have killed me. Screams cut the air, and everyone was running. Slipping off the wall, I joined the ranks of fleeing trolls, running as hard and fast as I could. And I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. Couldn’t bear to see the ruin of Pierre’s home and know that he was dead. That I hadn’t been able to help him.
My breath tore in my chest as I sprinted up a flight of stairs, and then another, working my way back to where Tristan’s magic waited to pull me away from danger. I’d been living soft for too long, and even fear wasn’t enough to compensate for the exhaustion numbing my legs. My ribs ached where they’d been broken, and rounding a corner, I ground to a halt and bent nearly double, resting my hands on my knees.
Pierre was dead, and it was my fault. I’d brought them down upon him. Dead for no reason other than that he had not hidden his support for Tristan. Slaughtered for believing the half-bloods deserved a better lot in life. Dead, because I’d been powerless to help him, and because a stupid prophesy had deemed my life worth more than his. I breathed in and out, trying to stay calm, trying to keep my wits about me.
A smell brushed at my nose, and if I’d been a dog, my hackles would have risen. If I’d been standing in Trianon, where upper and lower class alike tossed night-soil into the streets, such a smell would have caused as much notice as salt from the sea. But if nothing else, Trollus was always clean. My eyes fixed on the pale stone cobbles in front of me, I watched as a crimson rivulet of blood ran by the toe of my boot. And then another. And another. My heart in my throat, I lifted my face.
The street was painted with so much blood it seemed impossible that it could have come from only one body. I stared, trying to fit the pieces back together into something – someone – recognizable, but my mind couldn’t manage it. Not with Roland kneeling in the middle of the mess, tapping the tip of a knife thoughtfully against one tooth, bright eyes fixed on me.
He doesn’t know it’s you! But did that matter? It hadn’t for the half-blood who was now only the sum of his pieces. Tristan’s name rippled through my head as I considered whether to call him down. Except I knew that if I did, it would be no less than a battle to the death. I needed to try to find another way out of this.
“Your Highness.” I curtseyed low, holding the position until my knees ached. Even without magic, I had no hope of outrunning him – he was many times faster than me, even at my best. “Is there some way I might assist you?”
He huffed out an annoyed breath. “I’d hoped you might run. The rudeness would have been enough excuse.”
Excuse for what?
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Your Highness.” My knees were starting to shake.
“No one understands.” His voice sounded almost sad.
“Roland!”
Never in my life would I have dreamed I’d be so happy to see the Duke
d’Angoulême. He stalked past me toward the murderous prince, four tense-looking guards on his heels. “Stones and sky, boy! What could possibly have provoked you to do this?”
“He tripped and dropped the new Guerre set Lady Anaïs had made for me. I went all the way to the Artisan’s Row to collect it from Reagan, and now it is ruined.”
“Why do I suspect his tripping was no accident?” The Duke’s voice was acidic, and I could not help but notice he kept a wary eye on Roland.
