Page 65 of Untempered
That proper tone in a voice thick from crying made my rage spike. “I suppose it depends on how he interprets his own actions.” As far as I could tell, oaths to protect were based entirely onperceivedimpact, rather thanactualimpact. It was the only possible way Luca wasn’t dead. “He hasn’t fled, Audrey.”
I regretted the words as soon as I saw hope light her eyes. She drew in a deep breath, and just as swiftly it was extinguished. “He should,” she said, the words like rocks falling into a well. “I know he should.”
She wasn’t wrong. “He’ll get his chance.” If they let him out. “Come on. I’ll clean this.” She’d made a mess of it, but she would’ve gotten there.
“Where is he?” she asked, taking the steps ahead of me. “With the tabard on the ground, and his sword discarded…”
“No one fleeing would willingly leave behind their primary weapon,” I pointed out, but she froze ahead of me, and I knew as soon as she figured out what must’ve happened. “You need to wash, Audrey. You can’t get what that family had.” She opened her mouth to object, and I put myself in the center of the narrow, curling stairwell designed to defend or entrap. “No.”
Her resistance collapsed, and fresh tears filled her eyes. She lifted her skirts and hastened to the tub.
I was shocked when she didn’t slam the door behind her. All the same, the fouled blade and I stayed out. And when the damned thing was clean, I tossed the cloth in the fire and kept the sword, hiding it beside my bed. It was too long for me and too heavy, but Audrey’s arms were longer than mine, and she’d always wanted to learn to use one.
Mayhap she’d get the chance.
That night, as I half-expected, she needed time to cry herself out and adjust her worldview to include illness that took babies and guards who’d slay children. She sat with me as I told her tales of the women I remembered, who might be dead or alive, and left her to sleep with swollen eyes and a raw nose, still clutching the sodden handkerchief.
Before dawn was more than a suggestion on the horizon, I was up and letting myself out on silent feet past a lightly dozing Thomas. He was easier to slip past than Chay, who would go to bed but lowered the bar over the door. Thomas had attempted to stay up and hadn’t locked the door.
The castle was equally as simple for me to navigate. I kept to the main halls, as at this time of day, only servants were likely to be stirring. From my basket, I took my wig, slipped it on with a practiced flick, and gave it a quick one-handed fluff before settling my cloak to cover most of it. I encountered no one. One of the small, lesser-used gates was already open, with kitchen maids yawning as they walked into the darkness. I stepped in their shadows. Even before they commenced their work, they smelled of yeast and spices. One of them flicked a big-eyed glance at a guard who gave her a very proper nod and a very improper, long, lingering look as she walked out of his view. I didn’t impede his line of sight, though it left a sour taste on my tongue. Quickly, I peeled away from the servants to make my way to the meeting spot in the stables of a semi-reputable inn that was one of my favorite locations to use.
It was, as ever, busy enough that my entry wasn’t noteworthy, but not so busy that I risked extra attention. The woman I’d come to meet was there, a young, freckle-faced thing with the solid build of a woman who’d worked for her living. I recognized her from the awkward way she stood in the third stall, brushing the horse inexpertly.
I waved her out and saw her double-check the brooch on my cloak, a pretty pink flower with a few gold thorns on the stem. Her caution pleased me. She’d need it, from what I heard.
I rattled around in my head trying to bring up this one’s name, but it slipped away. Young, lower-class, married to a young, middle-class chap—unhappily. His parents controlled everything. She had no horse in any race and was tired of it.
From the way her hand hovered occasionally over her abdomen, she might not simply be thinking of her own future.
“You’ll work on the road,” I told her, my voice low. I knew she’d been told this already, but reminders never hurt. “Cooking, cleaning, mending. The merchant will take you to Ange’s Pass. From there, you’ll need to hunt out the Blue Bower.”
“And find Vanessa,” she said briskly. “Who will help me with the next leg.”
I nodded and reached into my basket, taking out a small pouch and passing it to her before we left the shelter of the stable. “For Vanessa—or to get you out of trouble, if you need it.”
She took it without thanks, tucking it away as we made our way onto the road. Her eyes got stuck on the cobblestones. We walked in silence until we reached the east edge of the market, where one of the merchants I’d worked with for some time was—but so were the La’Angi guard.
I slowed my pace somewhat and curled my shoulders, but the additional tweaks to my disguise weren’t necessary. They paid me no mind and were gone before I’d delivered my charge. The merchant scowled after them. I gathered from his expression this wasn’t a standard bribe-collection trip.
“Morning,” he said to us, still scowling. “Been regretting waiting,” he told me gruffly, hitching his pants. “House down the road from where I was staying was set alight two nights ago. Sickness, they say.” He nodded to the woman. “Good time to be getting out, lass.”
Sickness. The image of those children came as if called by that word. A fist squeezed my chest. Sickness was a foe I couldn’t fight.
But that was a problem for later. I reached into my basket, took out a preserves jar, and passed it over to the merchant, holding it so the gold inside didn’t chime. It was heavy this time—she wasn’t the only woman going with him, just the last to be ready.
“Ah,” he sighed, smiling at me as if I was giving him his favorite marmalade. “Thanking you, my dear.”
Pleasantries died on my tongue. I nodded. The guards had stopped not far into the market and were having some sort of animated discussion. Every now and then a hand would wave this way. “Safe travels,” I murmured, stepping back into the shadows.
It started to rain, soft, slow, and soaking. The merchant and his carts left, not needing to worry whether they’d leave prints in the mud or how long before they washed away.
I glanced back to the woman to check—but, yes, she’d been equipped with a good, fur-lined, oiled cloak. Of course she had. I had a tight, conscientious organization. I waited to make sure the others I knew were scheduled for today were there, too, before it was too late. Sure enough, a young woman, round with child and doing her best to conceal it, walked beside the second cart, a sack over her shoulder and her jaw hard. Behind her, another woman kept looking back from her healing black eyes. My heart squeezed for her. One of the caravan’s guards gestured her on gently with his hand. If he saw the tears on her cheeks, he gave no sign of it.
Go, I thought to her, aching.Go, and start anew.
The rain set in as I turned to return to the keep. I’d stood for longer than I’d meant to but would still make it before sunup.
I’d thought that it would hurt less as time went on. I’d thought that being able to help free others would make my own captivity less horrible. But time wasn’t making it easier.
