“Bram,” she cried, reaching for him, but the moment her fingers touched his brow, another jolt of electricity transferred from his skin to hers. She yelped, rearing back, and instinctively brought her throbbing fingers to her lips.
His gaze was withdrawn, as if he was being pulled inward by something that Leena could not see. Then he slumped sideways onto the bed, succumbing to unconsciousness.
When Leena touched his forehead, it was scorching.
The poison was eating him alive.
Leena felt likeit was mere moments before she was jerked awake by the door slamming open.
She hadn’t meant to close her eyes, nor had she meant to fall asleep—especially as she hadn’t even had the chance to line the bed with salt yet. Leena jolted into a sitting position, still feeling the burn of Bram’s lips on her own. He lay beside her, his eyes still closed.
Leena sighed with relief when she realized it was not a phantom that had disturbed her but the innkeeper. His large frame bustled through the door, his forehead red and blotchy.
“Pack your belongings, m’dear. You both must leave now.”
Leena’s foggy mind could not adjust to the sudden change in events. She looked at the innkeeper without comprehension. “Leave? We’ve paid for the night.”
The innkeeper scattered the coins on the floor, one rolling beneath the bed. “There—I’ve refunded you the full amount. Do not dawdle.”
Leena rose from the bed sharply. “I don’t understand.”
The innkeeper waved a beefy hand. “Ain’t your fault. The whole town’s gone mad for revolution. No one has been down in the minesfor a week. Tonight there’s been talk that your friend Martin sent for the King’s soldiers to capture those leading the protest.”
Leena’s blood froze, forcing her to be fully awake now. “What does that have to do with us?”
“The townspeople have gone bloodthirsty; they’re even building a damned barricade against the soldiers,” the innkeeper growled. “Once the townsmen hear of your relationship to Mr. Martin, they will tear apart my inn to get to you and your…husband.”
By initially claiming Martin’s protection, she had successfully managed to procure shelter, but hours later this same protection had led to their eviction. She looked out the window, the glass laced with ice, the snow falling so fast that the night sky was a white haze.
“My husband is gravely injured.” Leena drew herself up to her full height, staring at him with fierce eyes. “We’ve done nothing wrong. If we are forced out into this weather, he will not last the night.”
The innkeeper shrugged, not bothering with false geniality anymore. “I’ll not have trouble inside my inn.”
He made as if to walk toward Bram, but Leena stood in his way.
“We will leave,” Leena ground out, “but we will need a moment to prepare ourselves, and you will wait downstairs until then.”
The innkeeper’s eyes narrowed to slits, but he retreated, leaving the door open.
Leena knelt down and collected the coins off the floor, even stretching her aching shoulder to reach the one beneath the bed, trying to blink the tears from her eyes.
Dangerous as the town might be at the present, she had no choice now but to make her way to the old housekeeper’s cottage, and who was to say that the old woman would even remember or welcome her? But that was the only refuge remotely open to them.
She was loath to shake Bram awake, not when he needed every moment of rest she could give him. His forehead still burned even beneath the cool cloth.
He blinked at her, trying to latch on to her words, but his mind was too hazy. Finally, he gained some understanding of the urgency of their situation and stumbled out of bed before shrugging on his coat. Leena patted his pocket again to ensure that the red diary had not slipped out—she dreaded losing it after they had sacrificed so much to acquire it—and was reassured by the feel of its firm outline.
It was jarring to see the dreaded Saint of Silence so vulnerable.Once, she’d gone to St. Silas for medication to save Rami’s life. How everything had now shifted between them—power, hierarchy, even loyalty.
Leena took his hand, leading him down the stairs and into the lobby where the innkeeper watched them from behind the desk. She felt comforted by the heavy weight of Bram’s pistol in her pocket; her own had been lost in the crypts.
Once more that night they were out in the bleak cold without shelter.
Leena stood on the steps, trying to remember the directions to the housekeeper’s cottage.
That way was Weavingshaw, its lights visible through the white mist. To the left was the town, where even from here she could hear the steady hum of discordant chanting. To the right was the country road.
Leena struggled with herself for a moment before she led Bram toward the path that ran deeper into the maze of clustered houses. She huddled close to him to shield him from the bite of the wind, their boots struggling to grip the icy cobbled streets.
