Page 42 of The Lost Fae
"She's about to learn!" Barnabus moves with a blinding speed trying to get around Lincoln.
I blink and Lincoln moves from skillfully grabbing Barnabus's arm to having the bandit pressed against him forcing his own hand and weapon to his throat. Mirroring the exact position I'd held Captain Beatrice last night. "You'll let us pass."
The men all laugh in unison with Barnabus. All except the one who coughs and presses a bandana to his mouth. Red droplets splatter the material. Blood.
"They don't care if I live or die." Barnabus chuckles, but Lincoln starts to shift them both to the edge of the crowd and his men start to move following Lincoln's steps.
Stay behind me.He doesn't turn to me, but I try to follow on weak knees. What do I not know? What do I not know about myself? What is Lincoln hiding?
I try to push away the image of Kai holding the knife to Rowan's throat. I try to remember that Lincoln loves me. Lincoln is on my side. But the same horrid feeling of betrayal starts to poison my mind.
Lincoln's head snaps to the side, his eyes large and pleading. "Please," he says as we both realize that I haven't moved.
"Does she not know?" Barnabus teases.
Lincoln forces his hand a little closer to his throat. "Shut up." He looks back towards me. "I've had a suspicion, but I wasn't sure. I'll explain later."
We need to get to Beatrice's boat. And we need to get there now. We need to get you back to The Shadow Court.
I tell myself it's okay. That I've trusted Lincoln to get me this far I can trust him to help me fulfill the rest of my destiny. Walking quietly, I get behind him, staring hard at his shoulders and the dark black coat.
"Men," Barnabus growls.
"They won't do anything," Lincoln says into his ear, stepping sideways toward our exit. Trolls still sit in the yard, their stone gazes turned toward us.
Lincoln's right. Not one of Barnabus's men takes a step forward. They watch with torn expressions, looking between their leader and the friend who has to lean against someone else to remain standing.
"Because you're wrong, Barnabus. As much as we hate to admit it," Lincoln’s throat bobs. "Deep down, we all care. They care about you. You care about them. Why else would you risk coming all this way?" He glances at me and continues. "Your crew can follow us if they’re up to it. Our ride is waiting. Or they can wait here for you to return."
"It's smart of you not to trust us." Barnabus gives his men a slight nod, and three of them break off with the one member that looks sickly. The rest hover.
Lincoln walks backwards so he can keep his eyes on the crew. I keep one shaking hand on his back as we maneuver through the watching trolls. None of them move to stop us. They're more concerned about anyone coming than anyone leaving. At the thick trees that line our approach, Barnabus's men stop walking, but their wings start flickering at their backs. Twitching and shaking the ice off of them.
We keep moving. Lincoln keeps watching. The sound of my heartbeat drowns out every other noise as we lose sight of Anastasia's home and the bandits all together.
"Move." Lincoln pushes Barnabus. Letting him walk a few steps in front of us with the iron sword held between them. "We're going to the shore."
"Are you stealing their boat?" His deep voice is filled with amusement. "Fae after my own heart I see." Barnabus chances a look at me, adding, "I don't understand what the trouble of your bitch helping us would be?"
"Don't call her a bitch."
"What do you want me to do?" I say quickly before Lincoln can stop me.
"See... she wants to help." The bandit smiles revealing yellow and brown teeth.
"She's not ready." Lincoln's eyebrows are low over his glare. "Move faster."
A deep vibrating hum fills the air. For a moment it sounds like a lawnmower, then my brain quickly suggests that perhaps it's a plane. Shadows dot the snow that crunches under our boots. Shadows shaped by the bodies of men. Lifting my chin, I find Barnabus's crew flying above us.
"Lincoln," I whisper.
"Move faster." Lincoln pressures his captive. "If they try anything, I'll slit your throat."
"It would be a very sweet release from this dreadfully long life." But Barnabus's lips are terribly pale. No matter how confident you may seem about death, every single one of us is truly afraid, even if it's only the smallest part of us.
"Don't tempt me."
I walk faster. My attention remains split between Lincoln and the Fae whose wings beat like giant graceful butterflies. Dangerous butterflies. Angry, powerful, sword wielding butterflies.
