“Who?” Reü says, although the slight tremble in his voice betrays his unease.
“Do not be a fool,” the umbra sneers, followed by the sounds of several stumbling steps from what I can only imagine is the umbra pushing Reü and sending him scrambling backward. I don’t blame him. They’re vicious creatures.
“We have been tracing her with you. But two nights ago, her trail disappeared. What did you do?”
We.That means there are at least two of them in there. Maybe they’ll take care of killing Reü for me. No, he’ll give me up long before he gives himself up. A part of me can’t believe the effort the minister is putting in, only to presumably bring me back to Bronich and burn me at the stake. I have to give it to him, he’s nothing if not persistent. I can only assume that he wants to set an example to everyone that running away is futile—that, and possibly punish me for killing two of his umbra.
“We cannot sense her anymore,” it hisses. “Did youkillher?” It is quite clear from its tone of voice that if he did, he’ll be dead too.
I glance down at my brace, glad that it’s good for something.
“No.” Reü’s voice is tight, as though the umbra is squeezing his throat.
“Good. You do not want to upset our master.” The umbra sounds pleased.
I close my eyes, wanting to pray, but I’m unsure to whom or for what. Should I pray that he will refuse them and somehow get away? That they will kill him? None of them are good options. If he gets away, I’ll be forced to follow, and I’ll still be chained to him. If he dies, I’m free, but I’ll have two or more umbra to deal with. Besides, it doesn’t sit right with me to pray for someone’s death regardless of how much I despise them.
“I want something in return,” Reü says.
Silence.
“Then join us. Our master can grant you more powers than you could ever dream of. The C’elen have grown weak. Pitiful. Only the Void grants thetruepower: immortality.”
The blood drains from my face. This is not the minister looking for me. Such powers are beyond his capacity to grant. It isCasimir.
Reü doesn’t answer right away, and I can almost hear the wheelschurning inside his head as he considers his options. Then I hear the dreaded words.
“I’ll come.”
“Good. Now, hand over the girl.”
“I will go get her and meet you outside,” Reü’s muffled voice says through the wall. Then footsteps cross the floor, and a door opens and closes at the other end of the room.
I step away from the wall, my gaze flickering around the room. The way I’m forced to stay here, it may as well be a prison cell. I grip the shadowshard but keep it hidden. I’m not going down without a fight. My body tenses as I hear his footsteps coming down the hallway. I’ll need to take him down quickly. I can’t risk him giving me any commands.
Moving to stand next to the door, I press my back against the wall. Sweat coats my palms, and my heart beats so loud I’m positive it can be heard through the door.
Reü steps into the room, confusion crossing his face when he can’t see me right away. I don’t hesitate. I can’taffordto hesitate. And although it’s unfair, cowardly even, I stab him in the back, slamming the shadowshard into the back of his heart. Having no idea how hard to push to penetrate a Rean body—or any body, for that matter—I use what strength I have, and we both go down. He slams to the floor, lifeless, my brace opening and falling off in the process.There’s no way the umbra didn’t hear that. I stumble to my feet, glancing between the mother piece, which is scattered on the floor a couple feet from Reü’s hand, and the brace. I grab both, then place the brace back on, hoping it’ll hide me from the umbra and relying on being able to take it off again when I want as long as I have placed it on myself. I pull the dagger out of Reü’s back and—not wanting his blood on me—wipe it off on one of the curtains framing the window. It’s a narrow window, located all the way up on the wall, close to the ceiling, but if I push the table below it, I should manage to climb up and squeeze through.
I take a wide stance on top of the small wooden table, dividing my weight on the unstable surface, and swear under my breath when I struggle to pry open the window latches with my left hand. The window has clearly not been opened in a long time.
Come on, come on, come on. Beads of sweat form on my forehead as I continue to struggle with the stubborn latches while simultaneously keeping my injured finger protected. I have mere moments before the umbra notices something amiss.There.The tips of my fingers are bleeding from the effort, but I don’t care. I lift the window latch and swing one leg through. Then I notice my satchel under the chair I was tied to earlier. I can’t leave without it.
I slide back down and grab it in two swift movements, then crawl back onto the unsteady table.Please don’t break on me, I plead when the table groans under my weight. Pulling myself up, I squeeze through the narrow window, wincing as the lower frame rubs against my wound.
Hanging on by my left fingertips alone, fifteen feet above the ground, I hear the door to the room slam open. With no time to waste, I let myself drop to the ground, bending my knees to absorb the landing. The pile of dirt below the window softens the blow, but the drop rips open my knife wound. Clutching my side, blood gushing through my fingers, I fight against the urge to run and stay close to the building. If they see me, they’ll catch me. I’ve experienced firsthand how quick they can move. But if they lose my trail...
I sneak as quietly as I can around the corner of what I now see is an abandoned farmhouse and am relieved to find it to be mostly surrounded by thick woods. If I can make it in there, I’ll have a fair chance at escaping.
chapter twenty-five
MY HEART HAMMERS IN MY chest as I push my way through the forest, its rhythm matching the pounding of my feet. The dense evergreen vegetation makes it difficult to walk straight through, forcing me to take detours more often than not. What started as a light drizzle has now become a heavy downpour, softening the ground into a quagmire. Slogging through the thick mud, I curse when I’m again forced to find a new path. My only encouragement is that with fog and rain this dense, coupled with the thick forest, it should make it nearly impossible for pursuers to spot me. However, no matter how fast or far I run, I cannot escape my guilt.
You killed someone.
You’re a murderer.
Murderer.
