The stables.
Pushing hair back from her face, Devronica said, “The main gate should be open for another quarter hour. Ride hard until dawn.” She gave a half smile. “This is where we part ways, milady. May fortune favor us both.”
The lump in my throat broke loose. In another life, perhaps we could have been friends. I could envision afternoons of gossipover alterations, and heart-to-hearts amid hemming. Before I knew what came over me, I wrapped her in an embrace.
“Thank you, thank you so much,” I murmured into her hair.
She returned the embrace, a soft chuckle rumbling from her throat. “Thank you for reminding me that I’m more than a mark.”
Devronica drew back first, her hands lingering on my shoulders before turning away. She and her attendants retreated up the staircase.
Thistle, Branrir, and Mav strode down the line of stalls, examining the horses and tack.
The external door swung open. Cold night air rushed in, along with a half-dozen guards leading sweat-lathered horses. They froze mid-step as their eyes landed upon us.
“You there, halt!”
Thistle’s hands snapped up, moss green light swirling around her fingers. A cyclone of hay surged to life. It slammed into the shouting guard, wrapping him in a suffocating spiral and pinning him against the wall. He roared in fury, spitting straw, his boots kicking uselessly a foot above the ground.
Another guard bolted for Mav, sword arcing down. Mav pivoted, his own blade leaping free of its sheath with a hiss of steel. He drove the man backward with a savage series of strikes. On the far side of the stable, Branrir let out a guttural roar and seized the closest weapon to hand: a pitchfork. He wielded it like a war spear, lunging at a third guard. The tines struck the man’s breastplate with a hollow clang, driving him into a pile of hay bales.
Vesper launched from the rafters—a trebuchet of fur and fury. “For glory!”
The guard barely had time to look up before a snarling blur of claws and teeth struck his face. The man screamed as Vesper’s claws raked deep lines across his cheek.
I spun, searching for an exit. Another guard charged straight for me. I tried to call forth my Twilight but could summon no more than a puff of clouds, my magic depleted.
The guard lunged.
Steel flashed.
And then Mav was there.
His sword plunged through the man’s side with a wet, awful sound. The guard gasped, a strangled noise, then crumpled.
“Time to go!” Mav yelled, pulling me toward the line of patrol horses.
Branrir climbed into the saddle of a massive black horse. Thistle sprinted for a walnut one, Vesper vaulting to the steed with her. I stumbled, skirts catching on splintered wood. Mav spun, caught me around the waist.
“Up you go.” My body landed flush against his chest for one breathless heartbeat before he boosted me onto a tan gelding.
He swung up in front of me in a single, practiced motion. “Hold onto me, princess.” My arms locked around his waist, the solid press of him anchoring me as my pulse thundered in my ears.
The stable door slammed open.
Torches flared, slicing the darkness with jagged light. A flood of guards barreled in, swords raised, faces twisted in fury.
“There they are!” one roared. “Stop them!”
“Go!” Mav shouted, heels slamming into the horse’s flanks.
The horse bolted forward, nearly unseating me. I clung to Mav, breath tearing loose as the world surged into motion. Branrir and Thistle rode ahead, cutting a path through the chaos.
We burst into the moonlit courtyard. Cold night air slapped my cheeks as we wove down cobbled streets at breakneck speed. Aurillion’s portcullis loomed ahead—iron teeth glinting in the moonlight.
The gears creaked into motion.
The gate was closing.
