No sooner does he unlock the door and slip inside than two guards approach.
“Where are you taking these women?” the taller one barks.
“Mukhtar Jawad has requested us to be transferred,” Hind says.
The second guard chuffs, narrowing eyes that look almost as cold and dead as a bloodsucker's at Shadi. “Do you need a touched one to speak for you?”
Big brass buttons wink in the dusty starlight, a vertical line down the front of the Moulay's pressed coat. Seeing his weapon pointed at Shadi the way it is, Shay wonders for the first time if that's why their uniforms are red. To camouflage the blood.
Shadi rolls his shoulders and widens his stance. “I was given instructions from the Snow Queen. The pregnant touched one needs to be evaluated by a midwife.”
“Mezyan.” The guard nods. “And what about the other two?”
“Can't you tell? Have a closer look, khoya,” Khawla says, putting a hand to her very unpregnant belly. She steps forward, and faster than Shay can believe, Khawla rips the weapon straight from the hands of one Moulay and bashes the other in his face with the butt of it. Blood gushes from his nose.
Shay gasps, a sound she feels rather than hears, like her soul is shivering out of her body. Had she been exposed to Khawla's apparent combat skills sooner, she might have asked for a few lessons.
Khawla cocks the snagged weapon and points it at the unarmed Moulay. Shadi turns his weapon on the bleeding Moulay, who gathers himself enough to lift his own weapon in a standoff. Hind backs away, waving at Shay to do the same. Someone whistles loudly, and two new Moulays appear from around the corner of the nearest residence.
One steps toward Shay, the other toward Hind.
“Stay back!” The blast seems to come from everywhere when Khawla pulls the trigger. A warning shot, aimed at the ground near the guard's feet, sends him into a body swerve that defies gravity. Shock, hot and metal, reverberates in Shay's teeth.
Walid bursts from the building and hurls a small gray canister away from the courtyard. A smoke bomb. It hisses as it sails over their heads and lands out of sight, where it releases a loudwhoosh. The air crackles and fizzes as it fills with reams of dark smoke.
“Fire!” Walid yells, his voice surer and more commanding than Shay imagined possible. “Fire in the rear quadrant. Remain calm and proceed to the front gate!”
While the guards are distracted, Khawla and Shadi lay down their weapons, allowing them to all join hands. Walid, who's on the end of the chain and has a free hand, keeps his. Ducking, they dive into the thick of the smoke and make toward the back gate.
The smoke stings Shay's eyes and lungs, burns sharp through the pores of her skin. Mucus runs backward from her nose down her throat, clogging her airway. She hears Hind coughing beside her and squeezes her frail hand.Blearily, they power through, emerging with ragged gasps and sputters on the other side of the billowing cloud.
Shay catches sight of the gate first and then, with a sinking sense of disbelief, sees the large camel-drawn cart piled high with bags of salt that effectively blocks it.
“Devil be damned!” Walid exclaims. “The earlier delivery must have been delayed by the rain.”
“Don't worry,” Shadi tells him. “We'll find a way through the front gate.”
Hind looks even paler now. Her eyes are red and tearing. She keeps holding tightly to Shay's hand, even when everyone else has let go.
“I don't think my mother can make it back through the smoke again.” Shay eyes the lingering fumes. They're dissipating, but not quickly enough. “Let's keep to the walls? Make our way around the perimeter?”
“Good thinking,” Khawla says.
They're on the move again, going a little more slowly now to accommodate Hind. But it's alright, because the Moulays seem to be looking for them everywhere but along the perimeter wall. That is until they're in the final stretch, the front gates visible in the distance.
A lone Moulay appears in their path.
Hind and Shay take cover behind Walid because he's the only one still holding a weapon.
The new Moulay turns his musket on the boy, nostrils flaring when he snarls, “Drop the weapon, traitor!”
Shay nearly drowns in the booming of her heart. Shaking, Walid slowly lowers his weapon to the ground, and Shay couldn't be angry at him if she tried.
Sheshould be protectinghim.
Not only is she old enough to be, well, if not his mother, his teacher or governess, but she's the one wearing armor. Shame flashes through her, and everything inside her wants to hug the boy to her chest, to reassure him all will be well.
A sudden crack like a split down a frozen lake captures everyone's attention. The woman who storms toward them with a guard on each side is tall. Shewears a crown of twisted branches and white feathers. A light-blue gown cascades around her, layered with lace and fur. Her skin glistens, as if every part of her is covered by a thin sheet of ice. Her eyes are twin pits as dark as open graves, her lips like blue leeches clinging to a pale-white face.
