Page 58 of Fires of the Forsaken
“Dead,” Cheriour said.
Quinn dropped his head into his hands with an aggravated noise. “You…get rid of her. I’ll be needing your help as well.”
With that, he darted up the steps, barking orders at the soldiers standing by the castle doors.
Cheriour turned, leaning close to my ear to keep the curious gawkers from overhearing his words. “I told you to mind your words with Quinn.”
“Okay, well, I wasn’t expecting the jackass to throw a knife at my head! And the way he talked to me...”
“Stop…quiet…”Cheriour shook my arm.
Er, no. He wasn’t shaking my arm. I was doing that all on my own. My entire body trembled. A sickly sensation settled in my stomach. I could still feel that knife whipping through my hair. If Cheriour had been a half a second later pulling me out of the way, or if that knife had gone a centimeter lower…bam. Headless Addie.
Cheriour’s fingers loosened. His thumb rested against the inside of my wrist. Could he feel my jackrabbiting pulse? Probably. “I’ll show you to your room.” His fingers rubbed a soft, slow circle over my skin. “Rest tonight. You’ll be safe.”
Yeah…safe.
For now.
18
The Incident
Humans are flawed creatures. We are more intelligent than other beasts of the earth; capable of great kindness, empathy, and creativity. Yet many of us are ruled by the same base emotions that drive a boar to attack, or a hound to hunt. For all our advancements and so-called intelligence,we are little better than animals.
My first experience with cruelty—humancruelty—came after we’d lived in Swindon for over six years.
* * *
The…incidentoccurred on a tranquil winter evening.
The market had begun to close for the night, but Terrick had sent me to retrieve a loaf of bread to have with supper. He had an insatiable appetite for bread.
And for the bread maker.
“Ach, you’re a lucky girl,” Carragh told me as she handed me her last loaf. “I was about to give this to the pigs. It won’t be much good tomorrow—likely’ll be harder than a rock. You and Terrick best eat it tonight.”
“We will.” I tucked the bread under my arm and handed her a coin.
She waved my hand away. “No, child. I’ll not be takin’ payment for stale bread.”
“If you do not take it now, Terrick will bring it later.” I smiled at the hopeful expression that crossed her face.
I may have been young, but I was not foolish. Carragh and Terrick enjoyed each other’s company.
“Keep your coin.” Carragh fought to keep from smiling.
“As you wish.” I turned and walked back through the market, jiggling the coin in my hand. Many of the vendors had retired for the evening. Indeed, when I turned a corner, I found the street deserted, and the booths emptied.
Except one. The dressmaker, Darcie.
I liked Darcie. She was kind, and never without a smile. She hadn’t even gotten angry when my buck, Ned, had escaped his pen the year before and gleefully explored the market, consuming everything in his path. Including one of Darcie’s fine gowns.
Darcie had merely laughed as I’d wrestled the cloth from Ned’s tightly clamped jaw. She’d also refused Terrick’s payment, claiming the entertainment she’d received watching me corral my wayward goat had been fair compensation for the gown.
Normally, Darcie would have packed her fabrics away before sunset. But, that night, they still hung from the booth, flapping in the breeze.
The sight was unusual, but not a cause for concern. Until I heard the cry. It was muffled and quiet, but unmistakably afraid. Most children might have run away from the noise; perhaps to fetch an adult. It’s what I should’ve done. Instead, I foolishly rantowardthe sound, batting the fluttering dresses away as I peered over the booth.
