Sylvie’s feelings shift a bit as I wash my hands. Sadness and anger. Talking to someone? Taran, probably. I know I’ve complicated things between them by telling her, but they’re both reasonable people. They’ll work through it eventually.
I’m drying my hands when I feel a sudden, stomach-dropping flash of fear and panic from her.
Then terror.
FUCK.
I throw open the washroom door, nearly knocking over a young boy from House Faber. “Guards! With me!” I shout, shoving aside anyone who gets in my way.
“Ronan?” calls Cyrus.
“It’s Sylvie. Get Quinn.”
I slam through the exterior door, and I’m running down the stairs when her feelings vanish.
They’re gone.
They’re just gone, as suddenly as when she falls into a deep sleep. I choke, my heart in my throat, as I consider what it could mean.
“Sylvie!” I shout.
Someone is there under the streetlamp on the ground.
My blood turns to ice.No.It can’t be her.
It can’t be.
It isn’t.
Gods, the relief is…short-lived. It’s Taran, and that’s also terrible. I can’t feel him either, and Sylvie is nowhere to be seen.
“Find her,” I shout to the guards clambering directionless behind me. I’ll head for her myself just as soon as I know if Taran’s alright.
I reach down for him. He’s only a couple of years younger than me, but he looks like a boy down on the ground, slumped on his side. There’s no blood visible, and when I touch his forehead, I can’t feel any wounds or bruises.
His blood is still flowing. I sigh in relief.
He must have been ambushed somehow. Taran’s a skilled fighter. If there had been combat, he would have fought back, but his sword is still at his side. Maybe it was a sleeping elixir like the one I took to the warehouse.
If so, it has an easy fix, and I need him with me if someone has taken Sylvie. “Healer!” I shout. “Bring the smelling salts.”
There’s some commotion on the steps now as some of the theatre goers come out to see where the guards rushed off to. I’m fortunate that an alchemist is among them. I don’t recognize the white-haired woman who approaches, but I’m grateful to see her brown robes.
She kneels and holds a vial up to Taran’s nose. He jolts awake, thrashing out and pulling himself upright suddenly. “Sylvie,” he says to me, reaching for his sword.
It’s not Taran’s first time being woken this way.
The alchemist still crouches on the ground, looking shocked. “He really ought to—”
“Thank you,” I tell her.
“Your majesty!” she exclaims, just then realizing who she was speaking to.
But Taran and I are already running for the nearest alley.
“Ronan!” yells Quinn from far behind.
“This way.” I have no idea if I’m heading in the right direction, but my legs don’t care. They need me to run to her.
