A crack split the air.
Gunfire.
Faivish shoved Maisie hard to the side, dragging John against him as he turned to shield the boy.
Stone shattered in a burst of dust.
Maisie screamed.
Faivish crumpled against her. Blood bloomed dark across his breeches.
*
The doors slammed,the reins snapped, and the carriage jerked forward so hard Felix’s vision went white. Pain knifed up his thigh. He would’ve slid if Maisie hadn’t hauled him upright, arms around his chest.
Her hands were wet. Not rain, but his blood.
John pitched into the opposite seat, satchel crushed to him like a shield. His cap crooked, one ear sticking out, but his eyes—too wide, sharp, fixed on the red soaking Felix’s leg.
The wheels clattered hard. The window shivered open and let in horse sweat, fog, a ghost of gunpowder.
Felix tried to sit straighter. Fool. His teeth snapped shut on a hiss. Head slammed back against the cushion.
“Stay still,” Maisie breathed. Her palm pressed hard against his thigh. He felt the tremor in it.
The silence lasted too long. Then John’s voice, high, stretched too tight: “I saw it. List. Someone grabbed him—the pistol too. What happens now?”
Maisie didn’t look up. Her eyes stayed on the spreading red. “Not much,” she said, rough. “Men like him slip through. Always.”
Felix barked a laugh that broke halfway, ended on a groan. “Bad ones always do,” he muttered.
Vienna flickered in his head—the parade ground, white Lipizzaners stepping perfect circles. Nobles applauding. Jews in the shadows. Always shadows.
“Not if I ever sit in Parliament,” John said suddenly. His chin jutted, too old for his face. “I won’t allow it.”
Felix turned his head, caught Maisie trying to smile at him, failing. Her hand shook. Her face didn’t.
Another jolt. Pain shot higher, stealing his breath. “Missed the bone,” he rasped. “No bullet inside. Better not be or else Andre will have to cut it out.”
Maisie snapped at him. “You’re in good hands.”
“That doesn’t mean comfort. Infections kill. This will hurt worse before it eases.”
“They are riding ahead to the practice.” Her voice steadied him more than her hand.
Marvelous. A surgery specially prepared for him.
Maisie heaved.
No, no! Rope in a storm. He could take pain. He could even take dying. What he couldn’t take was her fear and tears.
John lurched forward, grabbed his sleeve with both hands. “You can’t die. You hear? You can’t. I finally—” His mouth worked, then words spilled, too fast, tripping. “I finally want parents. Not tutors. Not governesses. Not lies. Just you two and Deena. Please.”
Felix’s chest burned hotter than his thigh. He raised a shaking hand, laid it on the boy’s shoulder. Weak grip, still enough.
“I’ll hold on,” he whispered. His eyes found Maisie. “For you. For her. For us.” Not all infections killed, he had at least a twenty percent chance to avoid infection altogether with Alfie’s burning salves.Argh!
The carriage ride dragged and he felt a shiver down his back. Pulse dropping. Her lips touched his temple. Her cheek pressed to John’s hair. In that moment, it was only them.
