MARKS- Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

Breck is thirty paces away. Twenty. I let rage hammer my heart, and I wrap my response of fear so tight around myself I can’t move. He rakes his eyes over my body, and I feel as though I stand in nothing but my shift. He grins at me. Closer, and closer he comes. When Breck is ten paces away I dart behind the man beside me and push back through the crowd.

What the hell was I thinking? The crowd will part around a guard like water around a rock. I lower my head and weave around people as fast as I can. If I reach the end of the throng of people, Breck will have nothing but a clear line of sight and ample space to catch me. I raise my head to get my bearings. A side street is just a few yards away. I elbow past a clump of women and dash down it.

I look over my shoulder. Breck is striding toward me.

So is Ward.

What is he doing? I spin around and walk faster. He’s going to intervene and expose himself, and I’ll not have harm to Ward laid upon my head along with everything else I’ve done. And I know Breck can’t have me. My words will keep him away more than Ward’s sword.

At least I hope so. I never know how the truth of my words will manifest itself, and perhaps Ward intervening is it. But no. If I can keep Ward away, it’ll push someone else into play.

I’m almost to the end of the street when I glance behind me. Breck is close. I break into a full-blown run.

He can’t have you. He can’t have you.

I touch the bottle of medicine where it’s safely tucked in my dress then scan the street in front of me. Two men talk outside a store. A woman stands in her doorway, shaking out a rug. A vendor sells spiced peanuts from his cart, and has two customers waiting in line.

It’s not crowded enough to get lost. I need to create chaos. No. I need to be chaos. We’re close to Low Street – the poorest section of town. Close enough to those hurt most by the King that they likely hate him. I’ll have to bank on that.

I point over the peanut vendor’s shoulder. “Stop him!”

Everyone turns first to me then to the direction where I point.

“That man!” I yell. “He took my tax money!”

Everyone turns and looks for the invisible man, I shove into the vendor’s cart, peanuts flying over the cobblestone street. Commotion erupts. My basket rolls down the street and someone steps on my cloak, ripping it from my neck. The vendor is no doubt yelling at me, but I turn to the woman standing in her doorway, her rug now limp in her hands.

“He’s up there!” I scream, and point to her upstairs window. The woman furrows her brows, then widens her eyes and yells. People trickle out of their homes and businesses as a streak of blue enters my field of vision. I scan the signs above the doorways. Tailor. Baker. Tavern.

Perfect.

I rush inside, the vendor now screaming obscenities. I burst through the doors of the tavern. “There are guards outside throwing coins!”

The room goes silent in an instant. A dozen men stare back at me. Wide eyes, furrowed brows. Mugs of ale frozen in their hands.

I paste a look of joy and eagerness on my face. “Hurry!” I tell them.

The first man nearly collides into me as he races out. Others rush after him. Even the barmaid runs out the door. I dip behind the bar as soon as she’s out of the way and head through the doorway to the kitchen. A cook stands over a stove, but I dash straight through to the door in the back. It empties into an alley. I sprint left, away from the castle and back the way I came.

My lungs heave and my muscles quiver. Keep going, legs. The end of the alley looms ahead. I collapse against the wall and peer around the corner. No one. Frenzied voices bounce down the street from where I was. I shove off the wall and go right, farther away from the chaos. From the castle. My legs shake, and all I can hear in my head is my own jagged heart and my lungs, desperate for air. One minute passes.

Two. Three.

I turn onto a different street and walk, swallowing great mouthfuls of air into my lungs. My steps are normal, my face calm. No one looks at me. I turn back the direction I came, walking backwards, as I wait.

Breck doesn’t turn the corner.

No one does.

Great skies, it worked. He doesn’t have me. I’ve never pushed the limits of my words’ power so much.

I take a step backward, my heart sagging and my shoulders slumping as relief floods my body.

A strong hand grips my shoulder. One movement from that hand, and I spin around before fear can find a toehold inside me.

Ward.

I open my mouth, but before I can speak, he digs his fingers deeper into my shoulder and drags me down the street. We round the corner and turn down another one. No one gives us a second look. A guard has a girl, and every eye is averted. Ward’s moving so fast it takes me two or three steps to match his every one. I nearly trip but he doesn’t stop, dragging me with him.

When we pop out on another street, the castle looms close in front of us. Too close. Ward dips into an alley. The back door of a tavern stands open. Empty beer barrels are lined up along the wall. Ward pushes me down between two of them.

“Don’t you dare move.” His words are clipped through his clenched teeth, and without another word, he spins and leaves me there.