The guards from the southern gate.
Swearing, she sprinted in the direction of the copse of trees where the horses were hidden. As promised, one remained, and she flung herself into the saddle, digging in her heels and riding in the direction of the coming soldiers.
With Bronwyn injured and Aren utterly incompetent on horseback, she needed to lure the pursuers off. Give them time to reach Sarhina, who had more supplies.
Pulling back her hood, she tore the tie loose from her hair so that it flowed down her back. Even in the dark, it should be enough to confirm her identity.
Flying down the road, she waited until the group was within sight, then hauled her horse up, wheeling the animal in a circle as though she were lost. Panicked. Then Lara laid the reins to the animal’s shoulder and tore back down the road, smiling grimly as they gave chase.
The rain had stopped, but the road was muddy, filthy water splattering her mount and her legs as she led her father’s soldiers away from Aren and her sisters, heading toward a small town in an inlet west of Vencia. The animal skidded and slid down the incline toward the stone houses lining the slope, lamplight glowing in the windows. Only a few people were out in the streets. They gaped and jumped out of the way as she galloped down to the small docks where the fishing vessels were moored.
“Wait!” She screamed loud enough that half the town would hear. “I’m coming—don’t leave me behind! Aren, don’t leave me behind!”
Reaching the dock, she flung herself off the side of the horse and unfastened the lines mooring the vessels, pushing them away from the dock until the harbor was in disarray. Then, hearing the soldiers had caught up, she swung under the dock, her body mostly submerged, fingers gripping a barnacle-crusted pier.
The waves pulled and dragged on her, and an old familiar fear rose in her chest. What if she lost her grip? What if the tide pulled her out to sea? What if there were sharks lurking below?
“Do you see her?” a soldier shouted. He and several of his companions ran over the dock above. “That was her horse!”
More soldiers raced onto the dock, boots making heavy thuds that covered her gasping breaths. They went to the far end, and she could imagine them peering out over the dark sea, searching for any signs of a vessel.
“There are witnesses saying she was shouting to someone down here, sir,” a man said, striding above her, his shadowy form visible through the gaps in the planks. “For them to wait for her. She used the Ithicanian’s name.”
The commanding officer swore. “They’re on the water. Get the signals lit for the ships patrolling. If the navy doesn’t pick them up soon, they’ll be lost. Get some of the fishermen down here to help with the hunt.”
Lara waited for them to retreat back to shore, then moved slowly down the underside of the dock, slipping her fingers between the gaps, knowing she needed to hurry. Once daylight hit, trackers would swiftly determine that Aren and her sisters hadn’t gone this way, and her father would suspect a ruse. They needed to be gone by then.
Reaching the rocky beach, Lara crawled in the knee-deep water, cringing every time a wave washed over her head. Her hands and knees were bleeding from the sharp rocks, but she couldn’t risk climbing to her feet while still in sight of the group of soldiers.
And there were more arriving by the minute. They weren’t fools. They would search every boat and up and down the shoreline, and it wouldn’t surprise her if they brought dogs to assist with the task.
Deeming herself out of eyesight, Lara emerged onto the beach, wincing at the way her boots squelched, the noise seeming to echo through the night. Skirting the edge of the town, she climbed the hill at a jog, then cut east, keeping a dozen paces back from the road until she reached a bridge over a small river, the rushing of water filling her ears. It began raining again, the occasional flash of lightning brightening the sky. She followed the river upstream and searched for the nearly indecipherable smear of glowing algae that would mark her path.
And only when she found it did she allow herself to wonder whether Bronwyn was still alive. Whether any of her other sisters had been harmed. Whether they’d been killed.
Guilt bit at her insides. They’d known what they were getting into when they agreed to help, but they were still in this position because of her. She’d saved their lives only to risk them again.
And Aren?
Thinking about him made her sick to her stomach. The way he’d looked at her, the hate in his voice. There’d been no reason to believe it would be different, but she’d still hoped.
Following the faint markings of algae and wiping them off as she passed, Lara climbed the hill, arms and legs feeling like they were made of lead, countless little injuries leeching away her strength.
Reaching the mouth of the small cave, she saw the horses tethered to one side. Saw the droplets of blood on the rock leading inward. Please all still be alive, she prayed. Please still be here, Aren. “Huntress.” Her voice was raspy, and she swallowed before adding, “It’s Lara.”
Then she stepped inside, only to be greeted by a familiar, sour voice. “Well, the stars are truly not in our favor tonight, for here you are, still alive.”
23
Aren
After ten minutes of riding, they had to stop in order to tie Bronwyn to her horse.
“Take it out,” she muttered to him. “It hurts.”
“It’s all that’s keeping you from bleeding to death.” But Aren was not unsympathetic, having been shot more than once himself. “We’ll get it out as soon as we’re somewhere safe.”
If she made it that long.
Cresta held the reins of her sister’s mount, Bronwyn slumped over the horse’s neck, but even in the blackness, Aren marked the way Cresta kept looking back, occasionally stopping to check her pulse. Distracted.
“Where are we going?” he finally asked. “And who is meeting us there?”
“Up the river there’s a small cave. Our sister Sarhina will be there with the supplies you and Lara need for the journey.”
“Journey where, exactly?” He hated not knowing the plan. Hated being a follower when he’d spent his whole life a leader.
“Lara will explain when she meets up with us.”
“Or not. She could be dead.”
Cresta laughed softly. “I’m grateful not to be going with you two. There is nothing worse than being the third wheel in a lovers’ quarrel.”
“She’s no longer my lover,” he replied through clenched teeth.
Her only response was a sound of amusement, as though the conflict between him and Lara were nothing more than a disagreement over the décor in a room. “As you say, Your Grace. But don’t think you’ll get off so easily. Lara won't be killed by our father’s soldiers. The woman is next to impossible to kill—that’s why we call her the little cockroach—and the very fact that we haven’t been caught suggests that everything is going exactly according to her plan.”
Bronwyn took the opportunity to moan, and Aren thumped his heels against his horse, awkwardly pulling on the reins until it moved next to her, the river water splashing up to soak his legs. Reaching down, he pressed his fingers to her throat, the pulse beneath them weak, her skin cold. “We need to hurry.”