The knight detected what was going on a breath too late, and his hesitation was probably the one thing that allowed Hazel to get ahead of him.
“You! Guards, stop her!” he yelled, raising the alarm. Moments later, more voices joined the shouting and the giant bell tower bell rang out, alerting the entire castle to join the chase.
“Hazel! Gods!” Slaide called to her, sun-bleached wolf’s skull concealing his identity.
She was almost to him, and even though her problems didn’t end there, she knew it was where she needed to be.
With mere steps to go, another Raven Blade Knight stepped out from an alcove to her left. Hazel’s boots slid on the dusty cobblestone, and her feet almost swept themselves out from under her. He blocked her path to Slaide as the other knights approached from behind.
Trapped again.
Almost instantly, a dagger burst through his throat, and he slumped to the ground, clawing at the wound and gurgling as he choked on his own blood. When he fell, he revealed a pissed off Slaide, who stepped forward and retrieved his dagger from the knight’s neck before he was even dead.
He sidestepped the body and growing pool of blood, seizing Hazel by the wrist. And then they ran.
“I don’t know what you were thinking, but that was one of the most stupid—" Slaide’s words were cut off by the scene ahead. They were too late.
The road before them was blocked by a handful of knights and their commander, mounted on his pale steed.
“Well, would you look at what we’ve got here? The rebel witch and the thorn in our sides,” he deadpanned.
Slaide pulled Hazel behind him. “I’m going to need you to trust me again,” he murmured out of the corner of his mouth. “Can you do that?”
She could, couldn’t she? He’d lied—at least omitted—more than she’d ever have guessed. But each of those times had apparently been to protect her or someone else. If she wasn’t going to trust him, she should have stayed on that damn wagon.
“Yes.” She squeezed his arm as she looked straight ahead. Something told her this wasn’t going to be as simple as diving off of the balcony and trusting he wouldn’t let her fall to her death.
Slaide’s body tensed beneath her grip, the arm she was holding slipping into his pocket ever so slowly. The air shimmered, vibrating as though it was being pulled apart.
The next moments happened in the span of a breath as the world around them stood still. Hazel wondered if that was her imagination or yet another facet of Slaide’s magic.
When Slaide removed his hand from his pocket, he released a handful of black powder, shrouding them in the fine dust—and giving them a moment to escape. But to where?
Slaide apparently had an answer for that, too. Moments later the air that was still vibrating sundered, creating a rift large enough to fit them both—a gaping maw of swirling smoke and glittering stars.
“Grab them!” the commander shouted, his urgency evident in his panicked voice.
“I’d say after you,” Slaide said, voice low, “but I’m going to assume you’ve never rift-jumped?”
Hazel shook her head. Her stomach lurched prematurely.
“Right. Well, in that case, I suggest you hold on.” He grabbed her hand and shot her a warning glance when she immediately squeezed it tightly. “And you might want to close your eyes. This ismuchworse than flying.”
Without warning, he pulled her in tight, wrapping his muscular arms around her waist.
And the next thing Hazel knew, she was falling into an abyss.
The pair emergedfrom the rift in opposite fashions. Slaide stepped out of the vortex with a casual air befitting someone with a lifetime of practice under their belt.
Hazel, on the other hand, tumbled out into an ungraceful pile, scrambled to her hands and knees, and vomited.
She looked up at Slaide to find him assessing her with a discerning scowl, one brow lifted toward the heavens.
“That was…” Slaide’s words trailed off as a stupid smirk tried to grace his cocky face.
“Shove it,” Hazel grumbled. “What in the name of the gods was that? How are you even standing right now?” She continued hugging the grass. Her cat, seemingly unfazed, sauntered by as though showing off.
“That was a rift jump. It’s a tear in space and time that allows me to travel to certain places quickly—and without being seen. As for that,” he gestured toward Hazel and her apparent obsession with the ground, “you just get used to it. Like sailors and their sea legs. Time and practice, things you unfortunately do not have the luxury of. But at least you’re not dead.” He walked toward the cliff side jutting out beyond the trees.
