The red-haired woman stared at me, even-tempered. “You’re no noble.” She accused.
My eyes darted to the Bloodstone clutched in her other hand.
“That’s mine,” I said stupidly.
The woman’s eyebrows shot up. “Is it?”
“What are you doing?” I blurted out. “You’ll never make it past Main Street, let alone the gates.”
“Mistress!” The owl-masked man ran toward us, halting when he noticed me. “It’s ready.”
“Good.” The red-haired woman lowered her weapon.
Shouting sounded behind us—knights hollering orders. With a wave of her hand, the flaming scythe vanished, and she turned away.
I glanced between the two thieves, wondering who else sought the Bloodstone this night.
As Ainwir always liked to say, sometimes unexpected trouble presented new opportunities. It would be far easier to rob a woman than a vault.
Hiking up my skirt, I followed the pair of thieves, glancing over my shoulder to see a torrent of guards in pursuit. Something whizzed overhead, and a javelin slammed into the pavement a few inches from my toes.
Yelping, I scrambled around it, spotting the red-braid whirl around another corner. Throwing myself around the stone to take cover, I grimaced when I realized we’d reached Main Street. A carriage waited on a wide road, doors open, and the woman flew inside, pulling them closed. A cloaked driver slapped the reins, and the horses took off.
Shit. Trying in vain to catch them, my hand wobbled for the door handle as a javelin cut a chunk of my hair loose, lodging into the door by my head.
Shrieking, I lost my footing and nearly fell face-first into the gutters. Instead, the door flew open, and a hand grabbed my collar, hauling me inside.
Scrambling for purchase, my hands found the folds of a scarf and latched on. I tumbled forward onto a man’s chest as the carriage door slammed closed behind me.
Sage green eyes behind an owl mask regarded me. “Are you alright?” He asked calmly.
Lifting myself off him, I glanced between the occupants as the carriage bounced along the road.
The man in the horrific purple coat sat opposite the flaming-haired woman.
“Terpsichore.” The woman said flatly. “You look different from how I remember.”
The man in purple leaned forward, his low-brimmed hat falling over his mask. “Were wesupposedto rescue her?”
“No.” The owl-masked man said. “But she was going to die, so I thought we’d give her a lift.”
“What do you want with the Bloodstone?” I demanded.
“You first.” The woman said.
I opened my mouth to answer, but a scream emerged instead. The sound of a horse braying in pain preceded the carriage veering wildly before it flipped onto its side. I slammed into the door as the carriage slid across the road.
This time, the owl-masked man landed on top of me. Our bodies tangled as the carriage slammed into something else and came to a stop. We jolted against the seats, and pain streaked through my side. The breath left my lungs as I flailed, desperate to escape the pile of bodies. The woman kicked the door that was now the ceiling, throwing it open before effortlessly hoisting herself up.
“Sorry!” The owl-masked man breathed, regaining his feet and helping me to mine.
A flash of purple crossed my eyes as the gaudy noble climbed out. He leaned back into the hole, offering me a hand up that I took. Sweaty palms latching onto his, I hauled myself outside and balanced on the overturned carriage.
I should have expected the sight that awaited us. A line of mounted soldiers blocked the road, and a javelin had skewered one of the carriage horse’s legs. Blood streamed from its leg as it writhed in pain.
Men on foot closed in from the other side, as civilians raced for their doors, shutting themselves away from the chaos.
Spinning, I searched for an exit. More cavalry galloped from the south, blocking a side street. The mounted soldiers fanned out, circling our wreck. A foot soldier braced between each horse, javelins held high, ready to fly should we resist.
