Page 50 of Gilded Locks

The Rogue took a step back, hands up in defense.

Grace rolled her eyes. “I saw you, and I’m still here, begging you to bury that cloak and mask in the deepest corner of your trunk and to fight beside me in some other way.”

The Rogue shook his head. “You don’t know me.” He started to walk toward the wards, though he clearly didn’t know which way would take him home.

“Of course I do.” Grace followed after him.

“You never got my mask off,” the Rogue said.

“Okay, fine.” Grace threw her hands into the air. “I didn’t succeed in unmasking you. I didn’t see your face, but I know it’s you, James.”

The Rogue halted but didn’t look back. After a moment of silence, he said, “Best not to go saying names out here. The patrolman might hear.”

It wasn’t an admission, but it was close. Grace sighed. That was all she was going to get from him, wasn’t it? “Will you at least promise to wait a few days before doing anything more asthe Rogue? Watch what happens, see the consequences before you make this worse.” And give her time to make a plan with her parents, like she should have done a long time ago.

“I’ll consider it,” he said.

Grace nodded, though he couldn’t see, standing with his back to her as he was.

“Come on then, we need to get out of Sherwood Forest,” Grace said

Grace brought him to the wards carefully, watching for patrolmen, but the magic barrier had done its job. No one was in sight. The ward of diversion didn’t act on approach from within the fortress. This made directing him easier, but also meant he was fully aware when they came to the ward of resistance. Grace was forced to explain, with some omissions, that once, while exploring the woods, she’d encountered remnants of the old magic and had, through practice, learned to pass through it. She spoke the words of yielding as quietly as she could, but she had no doubt the Rogue heard her. Then she grabbed his hand, ignored the flare of desire in his eyes, and pulled him after her.

“Follow my exact footsteps,” she reminded the Rogue.

Grace headed for the farthest fields. They moved quietly; the Rogue snapped branches only now and then. Grace scanned the open expanse, saw no one—though she heard the sound of minor commotion wafting from the direction of the town square—and dashed, hand still clasped in the Rogue’s, to the run-down shed on the farm.

The small building was the size of a large closet, with rotting walls and a dirt floor. Bent and cracked wooden shelves hung haphazardly from the walls.

As the door closed behind them, Grace looked at the Rogue. “You really won’t accept that I know who you are?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“I could follow you, watch you go to your home. Or we could stay here, wait until you give in and let me remove that mask.”

The Rogue sighed. “Trust for trust.”

“What?”

“I’ll wait. I’ll wait at least two days to use this disguise again. And you let me retain my anonymity tonight. If you’re so confident in your knowledge, you don’t lose anything in this deal.”

Grace’s mouth quirked in consideration.

Her body ached from a day of farm work followed by hours of dashing through the forest and fighting enchantments. And her emotional energy was zapped too. So much had changed in the space of twenty-four hours.

He was right. She already knew it was him.

“Deal.”

He nodded.

Grace slipped from the ramshackle shed before the Rogue, with a promise not to watch from her window as he returned to his home.

Her parents greeted her with relieved hugs and fuming chastisement. She only had energy enough to inform them she’d succeeded. The patrols hadn’t caught either of them. The Rogue was safe, and she’d secured a promise to delay further appearances.

They didn’t want to end the conversation there, but she reminded them of the harvest. It was well past midnight, and they needed to be up with the dawn. If she didn’t get some sleep, she’d be useless to them.

Her parents grumbled and muttered but decided they had to ensure the continued success of the supply runs if there was to be any hope for the people.

---