Inside, the crowd had already transformed into an angry mob, many of the noblemen shaking their dueling swords in the air, raving on about killing the witch. The mentality was as contagious as any disease and left Hazel wondering how these people had fallen so low, how they’d left their humanity behind without a second thought.
Such was the reign of a King left unchecked,she supposed.
They left the room in haste, Slaide dragging Hazel by her wrist behind him. He strode to the carved marble bench and leapt onto it with feline grace. In no time at all, he discarded his jacket, leaving just a linen undershirt between Hazel and his solid, chiseled body. He faced Hazel with his arms outstretched. “I’m going to need you to trust me.”
“What happened to needing only my compliance, not my trust?” Despite the circumstances, she had to smirk at the opportunity to use his own words against him.
He rolled his eyes, but a reluctant smile broke through.
“I’m glad your humor is still intact.” He looked out to the sky, then back to her, reaching his arm out. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
What strange, alternate reality had she stumbled into, where this man who was once her enemy, who could snap her neck without touching her if he wanted, was now the one offering to save her family? To save her?
Hazel reached up, accepting his hand. He pulled her up onto the bench and she stumbled, her gaze falling over the sheer drop off beyond the railing. She found herself diving back into the safety of Slaide’s embrace. He hugged her, then held her away to look into her eyes.
“You might want to close your eyes.” He pulled her tight to his body and launched them both from the balcony into a free fall. Hazel screamed, but the sound was torn from her throat by the speed of their dive. They plummeted together, Slaide waiting until they were just above the treetops to expand his glorious, feathered wings.
“You okay, sweets?” he spoke softly against her hair.
“I’m fine,” she mumbled into his shirt. She was definitely not fine. Her stomach teetered on the edge of something disastrous, a twisting, swirling combination of exhilaration and soul crushing, debilitating anxiety.
His laugh rumbled deep in his chest. “You can open your eyes now, if you want. Usually, the initial fall is the worst part for first-timers.”
Hazel thought about that, weighing his words. She had no desire to see the world from above… and yet… when would she ever get this chance again, to see everything the way a bird did? She turned her head and peeked one eye open, slamming it closed immediately upon glimpsing the ground below. Then she braved opening it again, working up to them both, taking in the scenery as it blew by them. It was both the scariest and most fantastic thing she’d ever witnessed. They flew over the trees at breakneck speeds, their shadow sending creatures scurrying on the forest floor.
A commotion behind them drew their attention. It was the mob. The glow of torches bobbed in the distance, warning of their approach.
“Hold on,” Slaide said as they cleared the last row of trees. The royal stables came into view, and Hazel spotted Phillip and Nanna grazing in the moonlight. Slaide made a beeline descent, not for the barn itself but for the pasture. Phillip looked up as they approached, and Hazel found herself wondering how often Slaide made his entrance in this way, for neither of the horses worried themselves over a giant winged man in the sky.
The landing was gentler than Hazel expected, Slaide landing in a crouch with a soft thud. And then her hand was in his again and they were jogging to their mounts, who simply looked up as though this were an everyday occurrence. And maybe it was. After all, Hazel had no idea what Slaide got up to at night. She wasn’t too keen on riding Nanna bareback but hoped and prayed to whatever gods cared to listen that the angsty pony would sense their urgency and mind her manners. Just this once.
But as soon as that thought crossed her mind, she was relieved to hear Slaide whistle softly in her direction. She jogged over to him where he crouched, interlacing his fingers and creating a step up for her. She placed her foot into his hands at a run, and Slaide launched her up to Phillip’s back. Then he was behind her, urging Phillip on.
The gelding was soon at a gallop and headed straight for the pasture fence, with no gate in sight. She wasn’t one to doubt the horse’s abilities, but in this moment, they could not spare time for a misjudged jump. Could he even jump that high?
She received her answer a few moments later as Slaide wrapped his arm around her waist, instructing her to “squeeze with her legs like her life depends on it.” Below her, the horse’s muscles contracted, tension coiling, and then Phillip’s feet left the ground, sending them soaring through the air.
Phillip cleared the fence as though it wasn’t there, and they were galloping into the night, guided only by sheer will and the light of the moon.
They rode long and hard as time passed, the midnight sky giving way to the first purples of the pre-dawn hour. Hazel had commanded Slaide to bypass Larksridge. Her father may or may not have caught wind of this already; either way, she wasn’t going to waste time dragging him into it. Agnes was priority number one.
As they approached the road leading to Agnes’s stead, she could already tell something was off. There was no hum of the ward magic along her skin, no familiar buzz in her head.It’s nothing. Connall beat us here and got her to safety, that’s all.
But when they rounded the bend where the path faded into nothing but trees, Slaide brought Phillip to a screeching halt, the move sending dirt and debris flying. Hazel’s throat plummeted into an abyss unlike anything she’d felt before.
They were greeted by an orange glow through the sparse, half-dead forest.
Agnes’s cottage was engulfed in flames.
They were too late. Hazel made to scream, but the sound was drowned out by wails and shouts in the distance. They had to move.
Slaide pushed Phillip into a gallop once more, churning the ground into a cloud of dust in their wake. They’d been so close, had ridden so hard, and still it was not enough. They made it to Agnes’s glade and the wards were, in fact, gone. The blaze roared with an unmatched intensity, making it impossible to get too close as it continued to feed on the thatched roof and many flammable materials within her home.
But what startled Hazel the most, perhaps even more than the fire, were the people. There were maybe a dozen townsfolk, bustling about, shouting orders to one another, attempting to save what they could. She recognized several faces from the tavern and the market as women and men alike fetched waterfrom the nearby stream, tossing bucket after bucket onto the relentless fire.
Hazel froze in her panic. Where was Agnes? And where was Connall? If the townspeople were here, that meant he was, too. After all, Connall would have been the one to rally them from their beds at this late hour to save her. It was a small silver lining that the townspeople still came to Connall’s aid despite the horrible rumors about him.
There was no sign of anyone who might have started the fire, but she was on high alert. The castle mob would be there in a matter of minutes to be sure. She spun to ask Slaide what to do, but he was gone, and Phillip too. She had no doubt that he’d probably sprung into action while she stood there gawking.
