The man’s words trailed into silence as he moved farther away once more. Ambrose edged along the walls, scooting back toward the rotunda. The horse cloak coughed slightly.
So our plan is that we shall trample this man and then…
“Escape,” Ambrose whispered.
At least now he knew how to leave and where to go, but it was pointless without the witch queen’s potion. There were still the bedrooms to check. And the dining room hadn’t been properly explored. Maybe if he…
The sound of distant footsteps made him straighten. It wasn’t coming from the dock, but somewhere in the darkened rotunda.
Now we trample?
A figure sped toward him, and Ambrose reached for his sword—
“Got it!” Imelda yelled.
“What?”
The sight of Imelda stunned him. She was practically flying down the hall toward him, two vials of potion clutched to her chest, her bare feet kicking up the ends of her full skirt. That wild expression he’d come to associate with her spread across her face—lioness eyes wide with the thrill of skirting danger, cheeks flushed with breathlessness, curls tumbling around her.
Distance, he reminded himself.
But he could not make himself step back as she closed the space between them, finally coming to a stop before him.
“You came back,” he said.
Imelda stared at him, then frowned and waved the potions wildly in his face.
“Did you hit your head? Let’s go! I got the potion. Managed to use one on her, but who knows how long it will hold. This place is worse than the inn with the cannibals. Please tell me you did what I asked and found a way out?”
Dimly, Ambrose remembered Imelda’s offhand comment:“Why don’t you have a look around.”He was a fool. But he was a happy fool because he’d been wrong the whole time, and a painful joy needled up behind his ribs.
“I—”
More footsteps. Louder, this time. Angry shouts reached them at the end of the hall.
Trample now?
Imelda grabbed Ambrose’s hand, and they sprinted toward the dock, jumping onto the closest barge they could find. The boat rocked beneath them, pitching him forward. Ambrose clung to the boat’s edge and stared into the dark water.
Just below the reach of the oars stood an underwater grove full of statues with outstretched hands. Weeds wrapped around their throats and fingers; pale crabs scuttled through their flung-open mouths and made homes in the ruins of their teeth.
“We have to go!Now!” shouted Imelda.
The barge was tied to the one before it, and Ambrose lunged forward with his short dagger, making quick work of the knots tethering them in place. The dockworker Ambrose had seen was starting to shuffle toward them. Ambrose and Imelda hunkered down into the bottom of the barge. Any moment now, the guards would burst through and find them, and most likely, Ambrose would end up frozen just like the others.
“Maybe we should swim out or—”
There was a popping sound.
Ambrose stiffened as he swiveled his head. Imelda had unstoppered one of the potions.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Getting us out of here. My aunt said that she ships out the statues. Just pretend it was an urgent order.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“It doesn’t work on her own blood. I’m her own blood—ergo, it won’t work on me. At least, not forever. It’s our only chance to get out of here.”
