I exhale like he’s punched me.
As he grabs my arm and drags me forward, I yank against him. “Let go of me, I have to go to the square—”
“You’re going to live through this whether you want to or not—”
“Why do you care!”
The mercenary wheels around and nearly shoves his face under my hood. “I did the noble thing once, and it proved to be a curse I set on myself. It ruined my life. You obviously don’t know how things work so I’m not allowing you to make the same mistake.Neversacrifice yourself for another. Survival is all that matters, and you’ll thank me for this in the morning. When you’re stillalive.”
Catching a sob in my throat, I squeeze my eyes shut as if I can make it all go away. “I don’t want to live in this world.”
“Neither do I.”
As he drags me along with him, I’m too scattered and numb to keep arguing. But when we get to the Gauntlet’s front corner and pull up short, I force myself to focus.
“You stay here,” he says. “What do you need and where is it.”
Pivoting, I rise up onto my tiptoes and look in one of the opaque windows. I can’t see much, but there’s nothing moving and there’s not a voice or a sound inside. All I can think of is those four men with the knives striding down the main lane. Did they kill everyone? Sallae Mae, and the other women? Mr. Lewis?
The mercenary stamps a boot. “We can’t waste any more time. We need to find a hiding place before the crowd scatters—”
Without thinking, I bolt away from him, running down the front of the lodging house and skidding to a halt at the door. Which is partially open.
“Dearest moon in the heavens,” I whisper as the mercenary curses at my elbow.
The pub is ransacked, the trestle tables knocked over, the chairs scattered, tankards all over the floor with puddles of ale everywhere. Over in his regular spot, Mr. Lewis is seated at the only upright anything in sight, as if he watched them do the vandalizing from his perch.
A lantern flickers before him, the light playing over his downcast, pudgy face.
As Mr. Lewis looks over at us, he shows no surprise.
“Sit down,” he says gruffly. “So I can finally tell you about your mother.”
ThirteenRevelations.
I drift over to Mr. Lewis as if I’m in a dream and lower myself onto the bench across from him. There’s a dust-covered satchel and a sizable box next to the lantern as well as an untouched tankard of ale. My employer’s flushed, sweat-run face becomes pensive, and he stares off somewhere over my shoulder, seeming not to notice me or the mercenary.
“What about my mother,” I breathe when he doesn’t speak.
“I didn’t believe him.” Mr. Lewis shakes his bald head and swipes his face with his meaty palm. “When I was told… I didn’t believe any of it. But here we are, and it’s exactly what my father said. A night when the villagers take to the square and bring their flames, on the hunt, for the one who saves.”
He abruptly looks at the mercenary, who’s stayed by the door. “You’re even in the prophecy. I should have connected it all when you walked in last night, but who is ever ready for destiny to unfold.”
“What of my mother—”
Ignoring me, Mr. Lewis shoos off the mercenary. “You must leave us now for a moment—no argument, wait outside. She and I will be done here directly, and I’ll call you back in. And no, they won’t return here. They’ve already looked for her twice.Leave us.”
There’s a pause, and I brace for a set-to. Instead, my escort just turns and walks out.
The man only argues with me, I think bitterly.
When Mr. Lewis and I are alone, my employer shakes his head.
“Now I know why you wear the Pox cloak,” he says in a soft voice. “But like so much else, I did not believe…”
“Mr. Lewis, I don’t understand any of this—”
“Every firstborn son in my line has been called to the deathbed of his fatherand given these.” He places his palms on the satchel and the box. “We are told of the promised one who lives under this roof, the one we must shelter beneath the stairs… the daughter of the Savior, creator of the Fulcrum, subduer of the Dark King.”
