My mouth opens to argue, but his fingers squeeze harder.
A silent, desperate plea.
I slam my mouth shut and nod. “Straight home.”
“Straight home.”
But as I start to turn, screams ring out, and the ground shakes like this icebound island has finally reached its limit and cracked.
Chapter 4
Elorie
Fear is thickerthan the snowflakes on the winter solstice as panic swells in the village.
My feet nearly slip on the slick, packed snow as I weave through the back alleyways to avoid the bottleneck of people rushing out of the square.
Winter answers the chaos with a sudden uptick in the wind, blowing snow around so it’s nearly impossible to see. I quickly scan the masses for Letia and her family, but they must have already run because they’re nowhere to be found.
What I saw through the window last night wasn’t my imagination.
The rebels are here.
The air is bitingly cold as I gulp a breath. It stings my lungs, and every swallow tastes like blood. My throat feels raw, like I’ve been screaming when I haven’t.
A thick patch of snow catches my boot, and I nearly lose my footing. I grab for the stone wall to catch myself, and the corner of one of my nails bends back.
But I don’t stop.
I ignore the fiery pain.
I keep moving.
The alley narrows, forcing me to turn sideways to sneak through. Screaming and clashing steel ring out in the streets.
The rebels are closing in, and Father is all alone at the house.
I need to get home.
A stone beneath my foot shifts when I step on it wrong, and I stumble. Catching myself again, I cut my palm on a brick this time, leaving a crimson trail in the snow behind me as I push forward.
Dripping blood is exactly what Idon’tneed when the Fae rebels will sniff it in the air with their heightened senses. But there’s no time to stop and deal with the wound. I apply pressure with my other hand and hurry.
When I reach the final turn, I pause in the alleyway and peek around the corner. The street is quiet. Rebels haven’t made it this far yet, but I have no doubt they will. Whoever was sneaking around last night must have found what they were looking for to make such a bold move in daylight.
A guttural scream travels the breeze behind me, and my stomach sinks. What danger has Callum walked into?
How many rebels flooded the shore?
Who in the prison would be important enough for them to risk their lives?
There’s still no movement when I steal a glance around the corner again, so I seize the opportunity to slip from between the homes and hurry down the street. The cut on my palm throbs with every beat of my pounding heart. Warm and sticky blood drips down my fingers.
The wind is merciless, gusting snow into my eyes and making everything blurry. But I’m so close to home.
Fifty paces.
Thirty.
