And she knew they were not alone.
21
Toran
An uneven scraping sound bounced off the warehouse walls.
“You hear that, right?” Toran asked.
Beside him, Nes’s lips were pursed as if ready for him to taste. Part of him still wanted to bend over and take them between his, to see if they were as supple as they looked, but he made himself draw back.
He glanced toward the darkest shadows in the distillery and the set of steps leading down to the cellar.
“It’s probably a rat or animal of some sort.” Nes pulled away, squinting into the dark.
“That’s no animal.”
She lifted a brow. “Are you an expert on animal noises now?”
“Yes. Be quiet.”
She blinked at him. “If it’s not an animal, then what is it?”
He put a finger to her lips. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m trying to listen.”
He strained his ears to hear in between the soft whistle of the wind and the swirl of muted footsteps out on the street.
The sounds came closer, a scratch of wood on wood, a soft grunt.
He stepped in front of Nes and drew his sword, ignoring the way she glared at him as his blade slid against its sheath.
“Now who doesn’t understand the wordquiet?” she hissed.
“Do you not understand that whatever is over there is headed straight for us?” he countered. “You have no weapon, so it’s best I be prepared.”
She huffed. “Is that something you learned training to be the Crown?”
His muscles itched for movement, and he shifted his stance, irritationworming its way through his body. “No, that’s just common sense. Something you seem to be lacking.”
“I have plenty of common sense,” she snapped.
At least one of them did. He was beginning to wonder if he’d abandoned common sense altogether. Were it not for this thing advancing on them, he would have kissed her. And even with the annoyance he was feeling toward her, he still wanted to. He’d most certainly left his common sense back at the castle with Quint.
“Life is just far more interesting when you don’t use it.” She smirked at him as if she could read his mind and the desire lingering in his lips.
The sounds—as consistent as hiccups—grew closer. Whatever was coming was alive, just barely. He raised his sword toward the sounds, his grip steady and strong. The hilt felt warm in his hands in spite of the winter chill.
Despite her words, he saw the way Nes angled her feet, leaning into her toes, and how she shifted slightly to her right, readying herself to bolt.
From the black of the basement, a figure emerged. Tall and thin, their skin and features were unclear, as if they’d been smudged with darkness.
Everything was still. And then it was a whirl of motion as the figure burst from the shadows. Their attacker barreled forward like a mudslide, no trajectory, no care for what lay in its path. Nes dodged, skidding to her right and scurrying up the nearest support beam.
“That’s your plan?” Toran yelled. There was no need for quiet now. “Run away?”
From the widest of the rafters overhead, Nes called down, “As you so graciously pointed out, I have no weapon. You do. Feel free to use it!”
He grumbled but swung his sword in warning when the figure advanced on him. Despite the low light, he was certain it was a man. But there was something in the way he walked, a gait so uneven and askew that Toran sensed he was missing something.
