Page 80 of Lady of the Lake

He’d been waiting for his chance to strike the moment I left the castle. And if he knew I was here, I imagine he’s been spending his days speaking to anyone in villages near one of the prince’s hunting cottages and asking them to inform him if they saw me. Yesterday, they’d stared at me as I showed up in town. Had there been recognition on their faces or alarm?

Maybe. Probably.

And they’d sent word to him as soon as I left. He’s here for revenge, and if he captures me, I have a terrible feeling my death will be slow and agonizing.

They move slowly, spreading out as they approach the cottage. I don’t know if they saw the movement through the window, but I hope not. I hurry to the other side of the cottage and slip into my boots, staying low so they don’t see me. I peerout the window again. They’re much closer now, a few dozen yards away.

My wrists tingle with cold magic, and I look down to see Nimuë’s symbols shimmering on my skin. As my heart slams, I feel something grow within me, magic reacting to my fear, the ancient power that had taken root the moment I crossed into Brocéliande, unfurling when I’d passed Nimuë’s statue. My body hums with power, strength coursing through my veins.

But I have no doubt that even armed with this power, theywilltake me down. There are too many of them, all armed. Vidal alone is pure death, and this time, I don’t have a poison-tipped dagger.

My heart pounds, and my legs shake.

Hurrying to the back window, I pry it open and scan the forest for movement. No one.

I leap through the window, landing lightly on my feet. The instant my boots hit the snow, magic surges through me. Pressing my back flat against the wall, I take a moment to scan my surroundings. My fingers twitch as my gaze locks onto the axe Talan used to chop wood yesterday. It’s buried deep in a tree stump, just within reach. I lunge forward, gripping the wooden handle and yanking it free. Armed with the axe, I dash toward the tree line, sprinting hard and pumping my arms, moving quickly enough that I don’t feel the cold in my thin gown. The wind shrieks in my ears as I race through the forest, my body brimming with magical energy.

But they’ve spotted me. Somewhere behind me, I hear shouts of alarm.

As I run, two arrows sink into the snow to my left. I quickly zig, then zag, my movements too fast for the arrows to find their mark. Vidal roars at his men, but I’m only trying to focus on one thing—speed. I charge through the forest, kicking up snow as I run. More arrows whip past me, whistling.

I dive deeper into the woods, desperately hoping the oaks will give me cover, but as I run, an arrow thunks into a nearby tree. They’re closing in on me.

CHAPTER 38

Irush through the woods, branches whipping my body and face. My bare feet slam over the snow and moss, snapping twigs. An enormous fallen tree blocks my way, and I leap above it, hurtling through the air. I land with jarring force on the other side, nearly slipping on the ice.

I steady myself and keep running.

My palm is sweaty on the hilt of the axe.

From behind me, the shouts of the King’s Watch ring out. They’ll easily track me, following my footprints in the fresh snow. They probably have horses, and I suspect some are good trackers. If I run in a straight line, they’ll cut me off ahead.

I veer to the left, pumping my arms hard to keep going. As fast as I’m running, my lungs should be closing on me right now, but they’re not. Even if I don’t fully understand my magic, I feel it pouring strength into my body like a rushing current, a thundering river of buried power. It makes me faster, lighter, like I’m gliding over the earth instead of hammering against it.

Angry shouts pierce the air, coming from several directions. They’ve split up to catch me.

An arrow slams into my thigh, and the pain rips through me, jagged, blinding. I can’t breathe. I stumble, dropping the axe.Grimacing hard, I grip my thigh, trying to stanch the bleeding. With an agonized grimace, I rip the arrowhead out. Blood gushes from the wound, staining the snow. I grunt in pain, but Ihaveto keep going.

I reach for the axe again and pick it up.

The agony makes it hard to think straight, and my heart is slamming hard. I’m hobbling now more than running, and shaking and sweating. The voices are closing in on me. Even though it’s cold out, I’m sick with nausea, and I can’t feel my feet as they sink into the snow.

A warrior appears, prowling between the oaks. He lunges, startling a blackbird into flight, the noisy cry cutting though the silence.

All the magical strength that had been coursing through my body seems to have evaporated, and my lungs contract. I’m wheezing, trying to catch my breath.

What happens if I die out here? Will they hide my body, bury it in the snow like Arwenna’s? No marker, no funeral?

I imagine no one finding me here, a mystery lost to time, lying undiscovered and decaying like autumn leaves beneath the snow.

I have only a second to act.

My attacker rushes at me, and I’m already swinging my axe before I realize it. With a grunt, I manage to hit him in his side, the blade sinking deep into his flesh, carving into his stomach. His silver eyes widen in shock, and he stumbles back.

He clumsily swings his sword at me. He’s not long for this world, but he’s fighting to the last moment. I duck, and his blade whooshes above my head. With my uninjured leg, I kick him in the chest, and he slams back into the earth, bleeding onto the snow.

Twigs snap behind me, and I whirl to meet a second attacker. Red hair streaming behind him, he runs at me, snarling. Idodge his thrust, then lean forward and touch his bare neck, unleashing my powers at him.

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