Gil led her through the familiar narrow roadways behind her home with remarkable grace, pausing only now and then to evaluate the best course to take. Despite the baying of the royal hounds, he was calm and unbothered, unhurried to make any decisions. Yet he did not waste any time, either. Each calculating pause was no more than a moment, just long enough to evaluate the road ahead, the turns they could take, and the sounds that filtered through the noise of everyday life. The rattle of armor or footsteps too regular and distinct made him turn. A dog’s whine made him retreat. But every step led them unerringly farther, and Thea followed close at his heels.
She dared not wonder at how abruptly her life had been upended. To pay it any mind at all might have brought her to tears. Instead she watched her footing and held tight to her bag. Gil still carried her sewing basket, an act of chivalry she was sure her back would appreciate before the day was out. With fortune, she would convince him to bear that burden for the rest of their trip.
How far was it to the border? She hardly knew. She knew how big Kentoria was on paper, but the distance between dots on the map was too hard to reckon without tools. Or the map in front of her, she supposed. She had only a vague notion of where things were in relation to one another. All she was sure of was the capital’s location beside the lake and the river that fed it, and the heavily-traveled road that led east, toward the coast.
“Where are we going?” Thea barely dared speak. The question escaped so softly that at first, she wasn’t certain Gil had heard. After a moment, though, he glanced back at her with a speculative glint in his eyes. At first, she’d thought them the gray of storm clouds. Now she took it back. They were cold and sharp, the scuffed steel of a razor-edged blade.
When he finally answered, his voice was as calm as the rest of him. “Away. For now, that’s all you need to know.”
Thea wasn’t sure she agreed. Refuge would be easier to find where dogs couldn’t track them, where politics wouldn’t require them to be handed over to whatever noble took Kentoria’s throne now that Gaius Rothalan was dead. Most of the bordering countries were on amiable terms with her homeland; if not allies, at least they weren’t antagonistic. Only the small country of Ranor to the north held Kentoria in poor regard, though their forces were so minuscule that they dared not prod the hornet’s nest at their feet.
Would somewhere like Ranor let them in? Hide their passage and force the scattered remnants of the Rothalan bloodline to dig for answers? The dense parts of Samara shrank away, replaced with the warehouses, lumber yards, and sugar shacks that had come to represent the kingdom in a way nothing else could.
As she stared past the structures and their workers and into the hills of maples dressed in red and gold, Thea realized she wouldn’t see them again. The heart of Samara, the only home she’d known, now lay behind them. Everything ahead was unfamiliar, and panic frayed the edges of her heart.
“Keep walking.” Gil’s mask lent his voice an odd resonance, but the rich depths of his smooth baritone remained solid beneath it. Steady. Reassuring in ways it shouldn’t have been.
She chased away the thought by changing the subject. “Shouldn’t you take that off? The dogs will smell you from a mile away.”
“I see no reason to continue to discuss my choices after I have explained them once.”
“What if someone doesn’t understand?”
“Then that’s a failing on their part, not mine. I am many things, in addition to being a killer, and one of them is well-spoken.” He put out an arm to keep her from passing him when he stopped. Her basket swayed on his forearm.
Thea started to ask why they’d halted, then decided to look around instead. They’d stopped at the back side of a pavilion where lumber from culled maples sat in tall stacks to dry. She poked a finger at a bead of sap on the end of a board. It had already hardened. From there, her attention swept out across the wide-open field. The green expanse was laced with so many paths cut by wagon wheels, it resembled the leg of her mother’s antique table, where the old family cat’s claws had carved patterns. A few figures dotted the criss-crossing paths, quiet compared to the noise of the city that lay behind them. She turned an ear back the way they’d come, half expecting to hear the dogs.
She heard nothing.
Gil nodded toward the trees beyond the field. “The river is on the other side of that sugarbush. Once we’re through the trees, we’ll cross the water. The dogs may lose us there.”
“I can’t swim that well,” Thea protested. “And certainly not in a dress.”
“We won’t swim. We’ll take the ferry.”
She scanned him from head to foot and snorted. “They’ll never let us aboard.” On her own, she might have stood a chance. But even had he agreed to remove the executioner’s mask, he was still dressed all in black—an unlucky color, one the ferryman would never allow on his boat—and the assortment of knives sheathed at his waist and strapped to his thighs could have armed a dozen men.
For a moment, she thought he might protest. Instead, he glanced down at himself and evaluated his appearance. Without a word, he pulled a piece of dull green fabric from her sewing basket and wrapped it around his shoulders. He was deft, even one-handed, and a moment later, he’d fashioned a makeshift hood and a cloak that covered most of his upper half.
Thea pursed her lips.
“It will do until you make me something new. And then I won’t need to worry about hiding.” He removed his mask to reveal a smile so grim, she almost wished he’d kept it on.
“The ferryman will be able to identify you,” she said instead.
“Choose your battles, woman. I cannot possibly satisfy all your complaints right now.” The bloody mask disappeared beneath the green cloth and he nudged the back of her boot with his foot to set her in the right direction. Together, they crossed the open field.
It was more exposed than she’d first imagined. Her heart beat harder as they zigzagged across trails toward the river, its waters little more than a silver gleam in the distance. Soon, the sun would set. How would they travel in the dark?
The sawmills along the river came into view and a long, keening cry rose in the field behind them.
Thea’s heart leaped into her throat.
“Remain calm.” Gil’s hand closed on her upper arm, keeping her from jumping or running ahead. “Nothing has gone wrong. All we have to do is reach the ferry.”
And the dogs would follow them right across the river.
The moment she opened her mouth to ask his plan for when that happened, he cursed under his breath.
As the ferryman’s shack came into view, so did a dozen armored guards.
“Our little detour was costly,” Gil murmured.
A prickle of irritation crawled up her neck. Surely he didn’t mean to imply it was her fault. He was the one who demanded her magic.
He didn’t give her time to protest. Instead, he grasped her by the wrist and pushed the basket’s handle into her hold. “Board the ferry at the first opportunity you get. No matter what happens, you must cross the river.”
Her fingers closed and he released the basket so swiftly that her arms dropped with the sudden weight. “What do you mean?”
Gil put a hand against the middle of her back and steered her through the grove and straight for the ferry.
A guard stepped into their path with a hand raised, palm out. “Ferry’s not running. You’ll have to turn back.”
“Not running?” Gil sounded convincingly dismayed. “You can’t possibly mean to divert us to the bridge this close to nightfall.”
The guard’s voice turned gruff. “Bridge is closed. Head back for Samara.” He pointed toward the city.
At the same time, another guard spoke. “Take down your hood.”
Gil pressed more firmly against Thea’s back, aiming her toward the ferry behind the guards. “I would rather not.”
The guard frowned and stepped forward, hand out to seize his hood.
Gil caught his wrist and wrenched his arm.
A wave of shouts went up from the guards. They sprang forward as Gil struck his captive twice in the chest and sent him to the ground. Two went for Thea.
He targeted them first. “Go!” Gil snarled as he intercepted them. The dagger he drew to deflect their swords seemed woefully inadequate.
Thea yelped and scrambled around the guards. More came at her and she ducked under a blade with her hands over her head.
Gil kicked a man’s knee out from under him and the guard collapsed with a cry. He darted closer, striking a new enemy, drawing attention instead of coming to her rescue. The guards centered on him as he took another down. “Move!”
“I’m trying!” Thea scrambled forward and squeaked when a guard caught her by the hair. She stumbled and gripped her temples as pain shot across her scalp.
An instant later, Gil’s open palm impacted the guard’s jaw and sent him reeling. A dozen guards, and he’d already taken down five.
Gulping back fear, Thea cradled her sewing basket in both arms and dove for the ferry. It rocked beneath her, water sloshing across its stained planks. Gil was right behind her, and the guards behind him.
“Stay down,” he barked as he seized the guide chain and pulled hard. The ferry lurched and jerked to a halt. His breath hissed between his teeth as a guard leaped the gap between the dock and ferry.
Thea disobeyed. She dragged herself across the ferry’s deck as Gil parried a slash, her basket looped over her arm. Another guard prepared to jump. She reached up and snagged the hilt of a dagger on Gil’s thigh.
He glanced down at her, startled, and the distraction let the guard’s sword sweep dangerously close to his ear. It speared the fabric of his makeshift hood and snagged instead of slicing, leaving the man wide open for attack.
Thea jerked the dagger free as Gil took advantage of the opening. Two blows sent the guard crashing backwards into the water without his sword. She grimaced as the murky river water spattered her face, but leaned farther over the side anyway. The rope that bound the ferry to the dock resisted as she dragged the dagger across it. Why had she thought it would be easy to cut?
The second guard made the leap and was greeted with a fist to the face.
“Come on, you,” Thea growled as she sawed faster.
The rope snapped without warning and she almost fell over the edge. A strong hand closed on the back of her dress and hauled her up just far enough to drop her on the deck. It wasn’t far to fall, but her breath left her in a whoosh when she struck.
Then the ferry lurched into motion again. The gap grew and the guards clustered at the end of the dock as the baying of search dogs rose among the trees. Already, some of the guards raced to meet the newcomers, while others shouted for boats or watched helplessly from the shore.
Gil set his jaw as he heaved them along the guide chain. The torn fabric slipped from his shoulders as he pulled, every tendon standing out in the backs of his hands.
Thea caught the fabric and gathered it close as she looked back. The river was wide and dark, but the light of the setting sun hit the city of Samara and set its trees aflame. A lump rose in her throat as she watched her home shrink away behind them.
“Look forward,” Gil said softly as he repositioned his hands. He kept them moving at a steady pace, faster than the ferryman would have done. “There’s nothing for you there now.”
She stared a moment longer, then lowered her eyes. His dagger was still in her hand. She tilted it and studied her distorted reflection in its polished surface. “There was nothing for me there to begin with.” He was too busy to take it, so she leaned forward to return it to its sheath.
He watched until he deemed her no threat. For a time, they rode in silence, but as they neared the far side of the river, he spoke. “I committed an error.”
“You didn’t check the rope.”
“I allowed myself to be distracted.”
“But you rescued me, so I suppose I should be grateful for that.” An absurd notion, she mused. Gratitude toward the man who’d put her in this situation to begin with. She gave her head the slightest of shakes, determined to dislodge any appreciation before it could take root. She would sew clothing to hide them in exchange for her life. She would escape Kentoria. And then she’d start over, and the two of them would never cross paths again.
“I had little choice,” Gil replied, shattering what little respect she might have grudgingly offered. “We still have need of each other, don’t we?”
Unfortunately so. Thea turned in place to stare at the shore, where the guards in their glinting armor converged on tiny boats in preparation for pursuit. “How are we escaping when we land?”
He didn’t look back, wholly focused on dragging the ferry along the chain. A mist of sweat speckled his forehead, betraying the effort it took. “That part’s easy.”
“How so?”
Gil’s answer came with a grim smile. “We run.”
