Page 18 of The Rising Wave

She had upheld her part of the bargain. He would be happy to do the same.

“Where does this lead?” one of the guards asked, and Luc guessed they were talking about the arch into the storage room.

“I don't know.” Garmand's answer was tight and sharp. “This whole place is out of bounds. By order of the Herald.”

“You're saying the general has never come down here himself? Or sent someone else?” The third person scoffed.

“As far as I'm aware.” There was something considering in Garmand's voice.

Footsteps approached, then came to a stop just under the archway.

He waited, hoping they would walk inside a little way and give him their backs. Before they could do that, though, Ava suddenly stepped out, eliciting a gasp of surprise from one of the guards.

It wasn't what he would have chosen, but a distraction wasn't a bad thing.

“That is my mother,” she said, pointing, and one of the guards shuffled back a step. “She was here almost the whole time I was imprisoned upstairs. Can you believe that?” Her voice was high and thin, the most discomposed Luc had heard her.

He could not blame her for it.

“What is that in your hand?” Garmand sounded nervous, and Luc frowned in confusion. Because clearly what was in her hand was a strip of sheet.

He couldn't see what she'd stitched into it. The thread was the same color as the fabric itself.

She looked down at it, and then, just briefly—a mere flick of her gaze—at Luc, before she raised her head again. “Your death.”

Her voice was no longer so thin, and there was a calm to it, but at face value, she had lost her mind.

It was nothing but a piece of cotton.

“We had nothing to do with your mother's death. We didn't even know she was here.” Garmand sounded afraid. As if she might actually be holding his death in her hand.

“You support the Herald. You kept me prisoner. You are here, and the Herald is not.” She said it simply, and then stepped forward.

Luc moved then, because he assumed the guards would take the opportunity to grab her, but as he stepped beside her, sword raised high, the guards were not where he thought they would be.

They were retreating.

The guard closest to Ava paused at the sight of him, gaze flickering up to meet his, and in that tick of the clock, Ava darted forward and shoved her little scrap of fabric down the front of his jacket.

He looked at her in horror, and began scrabbling at his clothes, eyes wide in panic, and then he went still, turning his head toward his fellow guards, as if Ava and Luc weren't standing right in front of him.

“What have you done to him?” Garmand hissed, his gaze fixed on Ava.

“Now you believe the stories the Herald tells about me?” Ava laughed at him, and Luc wondered if she understood their situation. If any of them did.

He was standing right here, sword raised, and they were having a conversation. Ignoring him.

The most dangerous person in the room.

He shook his head and swung at the nearest guard, catching him in the shoulder. Beside him, he thought he heard Ava gasp.

The guard cried out in pain, sword clattering to the ground, and Luc shoved one of the knives into his heart as he pushed him out of the way. He cut the neck of the guard beyond, and then brought it up again to engage Garmand.

At last the guard was focused on him. Almost shocked to see him.

Garmand was much better at swordwork than the other two, and Luc was not at his best. His ribs were on fire, but his arm was strong enough, and there seemed to be a warmth emanating from the cut on his forearm which Ava had sewn for him.

In a sudden flight of fancy, he imagined the warmth as extra strength and accuracy, helping guide his arm as he fought, and once it was in his head, he couldn't shake it.

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