We exit out through the forecourt, passing clusters of mourners. Some groups are gathered in prayer around bodies that still haven’t been moved from the battle scene; some are loading debris into carts. There’s a squad of VIA milling around, shouting orders. I hug the edges of the court, keeping my hood low.
No one stops me as I ride to the main gate. There’s a long stretch of slowly declining hillside that leads toward the drawbridge and the outer wall. It’s a three- or four-mile ride at least.
This hill was hit hard by the blasts. Parts are still burning, the embers wafting smoke as mist begins to drizzle over the whole miserable scene. I kick my mare’s sides to pick up speed, driving us into a trot, which quickly builds to a canter.
We’ve come more than halfway down when I hear it. More hoofbeats, sounding from behind me. I whip around to find another rider galloping toward me. It’s too dark to make out their face, but I instinctively spur my horse forward. We pick up into a sprint and tear on ever faster, but the horseman is hot in pursuit. Then I hear someone at the wall roar: “CLOSE THE GATE!”
I’m horror-stricken as the drawbridge starts rattling.
This is it. The end of my story.
I’m going to be apprehended, either by this rider or the soldiers at the gate. There’ll be no stopping them from examining my ears. It’s a short ride between here and the dungeons. Either I make it through this gate, or I’m not leaving this castle.
The drawbridge very slowly begins to rise.
With another kick, I urge my mare into a gallop. She takes the cue and doubles her speed. We’re flying as fast as the wind now, hooves clattering, mud slinging as we hurtle toward the drawbridge, which creeps higher by the second.She’ll run her heart out, I think, but the gate’s closing too fast.We’re not going to make it….
There’s nothing I can do except pull around hard before we crash. We loop to a stop, rounding toward my pursuer as he rides up and then vaults a dismount. His hood falls back as he runs toward me.
When I realize it’s Finn, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Something in between happens.
Has he come to kill me himself?
“Lyria!” he calls out, staggering toward me. “Thank God.”
I see why I didn’t recognize him. He’s in that black uniform that I’ve seen around the palace—the dress uniform of the Frumentari.
My feet have locked into place.
“Why are you here?” I demand as he draws closer.
Finn’s eyes are wide with remorse, but I notice he won’t meet my gaze. “I came here to stop you.”
My guts lurch. “So I’m your prisoner now?”
“No!” Finn says. “I’m trying to protect you!”
He grabs the mare’s reins.
I slide out of the saddle, landing hard next to him. I sweep out with my Talent, confirming we’ve got an audience. Thegateway is filled with guards—apprehensive, taut, awaiting a signal.
“Please, Finn,” I implore him. “Just let me go. It’s the best thing for both of us.”
“The best thing is to stay together.” He’s growing desperate. “I have no intention of holding you against your will. But I beg you to be rational. I can’t protect you outside these walls. Nothing has to change just because I know the truth.”
“How can you say that?” I ask. “It’s changed everything!”
“It doesn’t have to! If you want nothing to do with me,fine. But I can’t let you run away and get yourself killed for my deficiencies.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” I argue.
“Yes, itis! Can you really tell me you’d be safer outtherethan you are in this palace?! We arefullyat war. There’s not anywhere left in Verdinae that’s safe for someone like you.”
“YouareVerdinae!” I scream. “Don’t you get that?” All the rage I’ve been suppressing, all the reservations I’ve held back, come pouring out at once. “You might care about me, but what about the rest of the Elves? What about Evermore? Your family has spenthundreds of yearskilling people like me. You are Verdinae as much asIam magic.You’ve devoted your whole life to the empire. At least be a man andownthat fact.”
His face goes very flat as the color washes away. “But maybe that’s why we were supposed to meet,” he says softly. “So that you could show me how I’m wrong. You’ve already changed me. I believe you’re a better person than I am, Lyria. I’m willing to see the world from your eyes.”
“No!” I shake my head. “I’m not a supporting character inyourstory. I’m not some stepping stone on your way to the throne. Bringing me here was a mistake—savingyouwas a mistake. I should have never left the Ironwoods.”
