“Keep it safe,” he warned her. “And watch your back. This is your battle now. Trust no one. No one.”
She had so many questions for him. But it wasn’t the time. He needed to relax. “I’ll take care of it,” she vowed softly. She had seen death enough to recognize the shadows on Brother Nicolas’s face. Nothing could be done for him. Just comfort him. “Don’t worry.”
Brother Nicolas looked up at her with a strange grin on his weathered lips, frozen in place for a moment. His eyes glossed over, and he seemed to slump back, releasing a final breath. The blood dripped over his lips. His blank eyes stared at Willow as if in accusation.
His death was her fault. She should never have stolen that book from Christian. She turned to the doorway.
Brother Marcus had abducted Sage. She had to go after her sister.
First, she would find Raven and her father. She rushed to the doorway and stepped into the corridor.
“You there!”
Three men in armor marched toward her from the stairway, followed by a man in a brown tunic and breeches. Alarms went off in her mind. Her instinct told her to run.
“What are you doing?” the leader asked, approaching. His chainmail armor was black and reflected no light.
“Brother Nicolas was stabbed. He is dead.” As she said it, she realized it made her appear guilty.
The black-armored man signaled one of the guards behind him, and the man with a dark beard and mustache entered the room. The black-armored man regarded her.
Shivers raced along Willow’s shoulders. She didn’t like this man. He had cruel dark eyes and a way of looking down his nose at her.
The one unarmored man stepped to the leader’s side.
Willow recognized the lack of eyebrows. It was the man who had attacked Christian at the inn, the man she had let go.
“It’s her,” he whispered to the leader, his voice echoing in the cavern.
The leader’s gaze swept her and lingered on the book. “What do you have there?”
Willow squeezed the book tighter to her chest. “Brother Nicolas gave me this book.”
His eyes narrowed a fraction, but enough for her fingers to tighten instinctively over the book. “He’s dead. How could he give it to you?”
“Before he died,” Willow clarified, her gaze shifting from the leader to No Eyebrows and the soldier. There were too many to fight.
“You were with him when he died?”
She nodded.
A drip, drip, drip came from somewhere down the musty corridor.
“Did he say anything?” he asked.
Not to trust anyone. “About what?”
Again, those dark eyes narrowed. But this time, there was no hiding it. He was as suspicious of her as she was of him.
The guard came out of Brother Nicolas’s room. He shook his head.
The leader glanced at the book in her hands again. He held out his hand, palm up. “Give me the book.”
Willow pulled back. “He gave it to me,” she insisted, her arms tightening around the small book.
“And you will give it to me.”
She quickly surveyed the men. The leader with squinty eyes and black armor, the man she had freed with no eyebrows, the guard with a mustache and beard, and the second guard with a perpetual frown. All were armed. Careful, she told herself. Four to one, and all these men were trained. She would have no chance in a swordfight. In the back of her mind, she groaned. She hated when Christian and Sage were right, but she should have killed the man with no eyebrows. She sighed softly. “I can see how this looks. But you have it all wrong. I’m not a killer of defenseless monks.”
