Page 9 of Mother of Death and Dawn

“…have gone too far… still can catch them… I’ve ordered every guard in the house—yes,everyguard, I assure you…”

I resisted the urge to hiss a curse.

Melina’s eyes shot to me, wide with terror. “Do you have any idea how many guards are in this place? They’ll know we went here—”

“We don’t have time to be scared,” I said, firmly. “Only to act. Which way, Melina?”

Her eyes darted between the two halls, then she pointed. “To the fields.”

We flew.

The glances we had earned from those we passed now turned to outright stares. I kept my hand firmly around Melina’s wrist, urging her forward even when fear began to falter her steps.

“Focus,” I murmured to her. “We are so close—”

We rounded a corner, and she stopped short, sending both of us stumbling.

Ahead of us was a short staircase and a door with sunlight spilling beneath it. Standing before it was a young man in a guard’s uniform. He looked to be about Melina’s age, perhaps in his late teens. Tousled dark hair fell over his forehead, low enough to frame the surprise in his eyes when he saw us.

“Melina?”

“Markus!”

Melina had gone completely still. Both of the names came in little breaths that carried too many shades to count.

A knot of unease formed in my stomach as I watched the two of them—watched the way they looked at each other. Like teenagers in love.

Gods, was there anything more unpredictably dangerous than teenagers in love?

Markus stood between us and freedom. He frowned. My stare fell to his hand, which rested at the hilt of his sword.

“You’re the one they’re looking for?” His gaze flicked to me, and something shifted in it.

“We need to get out, Markus,” Melina said, her voice small. “You can come with us, you can…”

“Get out?” His brow knotted.

I was getting a terrible feeling about this.

“Come with us.” She took a step forward, hand slightly outstretched. “You can come. They’ll never find you. They’ll never know.”

I saw it, in that moment, in the nearly invisible hardening of the muscles around his eyes. He would never do it.

Because this young man was not a slave. He was a hired guard, paid, albeit meagerly, for his services. Perhaps he liked Melina. Perhaps he even loved her, or thought he did.

But the minute Melina used the word “we,” used it to make him one of us, he was gone.

She kept walking forward. “Markus, please…”

The moment she touched him, he grabbed her.

But I was ready. I moved just as fast as he did.

Whatever apology he muttered was dampened by the sound of her body slamming against the wall as he tried to restrain her.

And then by the sound of steel against steel, as I lunged for him with my stolen sword. He blocked me, but it was distracted, clumsy. I was a better swordsman, and I seized upon his inexperience.

Melina let out a strangled cry. Blood spattered over me.

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