“Stay beside the murder villa. Great.” He nickers as I follow Chastain.
A fountain pours in the middle of a courtyard, its water running red as bodies float in the pool at its base. All masters, judging from their ornate dress.
Chastain, hands on his hips, spins and takes in the fancy villas and their dead occupants. “So, we already won before we got here. Great. But where in the Spires are the slaves?”
Scuffling sounds in the farthest villa, and I pull my sword.
Chastain circles around to my right, his steps silent, and I head for the open front door. This villa is the largest. Three stories of opulence—jewels worked into the doorframe and thick lines of gold around each window. But blood is spattered across its front stairs, and a trail indicates someone dragged a body away. The sound comes again, and I motion for Chastain to go around to the back. He slinks off as I prowl toward the double wood doors, one hanging slightly askew from its hinges.
The sound grows louder. Footsteps, but the gait is off, as if one of their legs is injured.
I tense, my blade humming for some fresh blood.
I’m almost to the door when it swings open and an older slave limps out.
I lower my sword and take in her pained expression. “Are you all right?”
She looks up at me with blue eyes. “Help me.” Pointing to her leg, she hobbles toward me. “I’m bleeding.”
“What happened here?” I sheathe my sword and drop to my knee in front of her to inspect her wound. But when I touch her ripped pants leg, I find no injury. My hackles rise.
“Death to the masters!” She draws a hidden blade and swings it at my neck.
10
Beth
The thick canvas isn’t the easiest thing to cut, but I manage it, the blade sawing through the fabric. The noise of the wagon hides the sound, and I almost have an opening large enough to fit through when we come to a halt.
I stop, one foot through the hole, and peek back toward Parnon’s shadow.
“We’ll wait here a while. Once it’s clear, we can go.” He leans against the canvas on the front of the wagon, his heft testing the seams.
Leaning back inside as far as I can, I grumble, “Fine.”
“Just rest, changeling.”
I don’t respond, but I do ease my leg all the way down to the wooden step at the back of the wagon. With more effort than I’d intended, I duck through the hole, panicking for a moment when my shoulders get stuck. But then I twist a little and slide the rest of the way out.
Gently, I climb down and quietly land on the dirt beneath the trees.
Parnon is out of sight, and no one else is here to bust me.
I’m free. Nodding at myself, I take a deep, cleansing breath and let it out slowly. The trees are thin here, and beyond their narrow leaves, smoke continues to fill the sky. But there’s something else as well, a towering mountain in the distance. A thin ribbon of black smoke curls above its pointed peak, which is barely visible through the falling ash. The Brute Volcano smolders, still burning deep inside.
It’s a sight, one Gareth would have denied me in the back of that wagon. I showed him, all right. I shake a silent fist at the hole in the canvas. But, I glance around, what now?
“Did you have a plan, changeling?”
I whirl and find Parnon leaning over the side of the wagon, his sandy eyes lined with amusement.
“You knew?” I throw my hands up.
“Of course. Your mate is no fool. Neither am I.” He shrugs. “Frankly, I’m disappointed you didn’t get out sooner.”
I stomp over to him and stare up at his sandy face. “Let’s go. They need us.”
“No, changeling.” He shakes his head. “You are staying with me until they say it’s safe.”
