Page 62 of Nightbane
The man’s mouth turned into a curious shape, and his eyes were not on her but her hair as he crumpled to the ground.
A group of guards chose that exact moment to walk by the entrance of the alley. One stopped. Took a look at the man bleeding at her feet. That didn’t seem to disturb him that much.
He might not have pursued her if she hadn’t taken off, wielding the ruby blade she had just fished from the man’s rib cavity. It was an admittance of guilt. But she couldn’t stop herself.
She bolted, and he followed.
The group joined him.
Isla hurtled back into the market. She ducked and wove herself into the crowd, not turning around to see how close they were to catching her. She pulled her starstick out of her pocket and saw it was faintly glowing.
Thank the stars.
All she needed was to hide long enough to draw her puddle, and she would be gone, gloves be damned.
She ducked beneath a low-hanging row of axes, jumped over a tangle of snakes sitting in front of a shop—fangs not even removed—and tried to find a place to hide.
By now, everyone was watching.
Risking a glance behind her, she realized why. Many, many guards had joined the pursuit.
Did they have no one better to chase in this wretched market?she thought.
Then, she remembered what the old man had called her.Wildling.He’d still been alive when she left him. Had he told the guards?
Wildlings weren’t supposed to be here. There weren’t laws against it, but who would be foolish enough to travel to the infamous Nightshade lands? Her. She was foolish enough.
She ran faster. They were on her heels.
The boiling blood—she tipped the cauldron over onto the streets, and it sizzled as it burned their feet. They cursed, and she was off again.
She turned a corner, into another branch of the market, and searched desperately for another path, but they were too quick, right behind her.
Her blade gripped in one hand and starstick in the other, she wondered which one she would have to use as she turned and climbed up a short wall. She ran as fast as she could, turned again, and found a nearly empty part of the market, half abandoned. Without risking a glimpse behind her, she fell to her knees.
Mercifully, though her starstick seemed temperamental on Nightshade, it worked. It was a simple, practiced movement. Drawing her portal, watching it ripple, preparing to jump through—
Before it fully settled, she heard footsteps in front of her. The puddle shrank and disappeared.
She looked up, only to find Grim standing in the center of the road.
“You,” he said.
You.
The guards caught up to her then. She was roughly hauled to her feet, against one of them. He smelled of smoke and sweat. Before she could reach for her dagger, a dozen blades were at her throat.
Grim’s eyes did not leave hers as he waved his hand and said, “Take her to the cells.”
Her wrists were shackled to the ceiling. It had been hours, and her arms ached. The guards had taken her cloak, as if it had disgusted them that she dared wear their color. They had taken her starstick too.
Grim appeared in front of her cell and frowned. “Is that supposed to pass for black?”
He was looking at her silk dress.
She hadn’t intended for it to be seen. She wasn’t wearing anything beneath it. Her hands weren’t available to cover up parts that she didn’t want him to see, but he didn’t even bother looking, giving her body the most cursory of glances before meeting her eyes.
“Demon,” was all she said.
