by Taylor Hobbs
Admiring her handiwork as the fourth guard sprawled on the ground, she plucked the dagger from his hand and clocked him over the head with the heavy hilt. Then Charlotte turned to face her savior.
It was him. The Cloaked Shadow, yet again, his timing eerily precise. Even beneath his hood, in the gray light of the alley, Charlotte could feel his eyes on her, assessing everything from her fierce posture to the dagger she held at the ready.
“Martin, Thomas!” The impatient voice of the captain reached them from across the street.
After what seemed like an eternity, the Cloaked Shadow seemed to finally make his decision. “Keep up, and follow closely.” With dancer-like grace, her rescuer vaulted up onto the roof behind them.
Considerably clumsier, the young woman followed him, clambering on top of a feed bin and then hoisting a leg up onto the thatched surface. From her vantage point above the streets, Charlotte saw the people emerging from their houses to start their day. The sun was almost above the horizon, and the black cloak that blended in so well at night was all-too-obvious against a bright sky. Charlotte prayed that no one would look up as they crouched down to scurry over the rooftops.
The Cloaked Shadow jumped the distance between the roofs with relative ease as he led Charlotte toward the outskirts of the village. Every time Charlotte hesitated before taking a leap of faith between buildings, she looked over at the duke’s castle in the distance, a sharp reminder that she had no choice. Don’t think about the height, she warned herself, and chose instead to focus all of her attention on the black figure leaping ahead of her.
She got into a rhythm of sorts, until her thoughts flashed to her mother’s last moments and the image of the captain’s smirk. Fear gripped her mind, and her foot slipped. For a sick moment, the roof she stood on sagged with a groan as Charlotte’s body leaned back over the edge. Time slowed, and as Charlotte waved her arms in circles to regain her balance, she somehow managed to turn her heel around so she fell backward against the incline of the roof instead of pitching into thin air.
Adrenaline surged through her bloodstream as she cursed her carelessness. I could have broken my neck, she thought. It was sheer, dumb luck that saved her. She knew her innate instincts and quick reflexes were good, but they weren’t that good.
Charlotte crawled up to her hands and knees and frantically searched the surrounding rooftops for the Cloaked Shadow. He was nowhere to be found, but the edge of the village was close. I might actually make it, she thought, hope spurring her on to navigate the roofs on her own. The forest beyond the last building beckoned her with promises of safety in its depths, and she slid off the edge of the final roof and sprinted for the trees.
Profound silence greeted her as she slowed to walk among the mossy giants. No animals made their presence known as they silently watched the intruder, judging their unwelcome guest.
This wasn’t Charlotte’s first time in the forest. The lure of the Cursed Forest was just too strong for young, imaginative children to ignore. As a rite of passage, childhood friends egged each other on to see who was brave enough to walk the furthest into the forest, but no one had ever gone so far as to disappear out of sight of the village. Once the thrill of the dare had worn off, everyone always came running back to the safety of the open sky.
Charlotte hadn’t been inside the forest since she was fifteen, after Henry had taunted her with bets that she wouldn’t go further in than he did. Of course, she proved him wrong, but never told him about the nightmares she experienced for weeks afterward.
As she progressed farther into the shadows, the forest looked the same as it had four years ago, and the same goosebumps pricked her arms. “Hello?” Charlotte whispered, and it sounded like a shout. Still, as creepy as the forest was, it was infinitely better than the chaos she left behind.
And in that chaos lay her mother. How could she have left her mother like that? Overcome with guilt, Charlotte stopped walking and sank to the ground. She wanted to turn around, to sneak back into the village to lay her mother to rest properly, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. Laying her hands on the earth and trying not to cry, vibrations through the dirt caught her attention.
The vibrations grew stronger, turning into the sound of a thunderous gallop as a black horse shot through the trees. It bore down on Charlotte, forcing her to her feet. The Cloaked Shadow reached down from his seat, scooping her up before Charlotte remembered to be afraid. Hanging onto the mane in front of her for dear life, Charlotte closed her eyes as the forest became a dark green blur.
By the time the heaving horse finally came to a stop, Charlotte’s legs were numb. They had ridden deeper and deeper into the forest for hours, far off of any path and miles from any sort of civilization. As a small comfort, there was no way that even the duke’s best trackers would be able to follow them this distance into the wild.
She felt the Cloaked Shadow slide to the ground behind her, landing noiselessly on the spongy earth. Hoping her legs wouldn’t fail her, Charlotte followed. After steadying herself on their faithful steed, she turned to look at her rescuer. An involuntary gasp escaped her throat when she saw that his hood had been blown back.
Of all the ways Charlotte had imagined her dark stranger looking, this was never one of the possibilities. Charlotte had known that the Cloaked Shadow was tall and broad—his disguise couldn’t hide that—but the rest of him didn’t match any of the aristocratic, graceful variations she had constructed in her mind.
His hair was trimmed short and unevenly around his head, golden tufts of it sticking up wildly in the back as if he had cut it himself. A tanned face with the beginnings of crow’s feet encircled intense blue eyes that stared back at her as she appraised him. The square jawline she had caught a glimpse of during their first meeting was the same, but the thick scar that ran from his temple down to his neck and disappeared under the cloak looked even angrier up close. It was at least the width of her thumb, a puckered pink that hadn’t faded to white. To round out his hardened appearance was a nose that must have been long and straight at one point, but had been broken at least once.
Charlotte spoke first. “Hello again.”
“Hello, Charlotte.” His face remained impassive, letting her set the tone of their meeting. Serious eyes stared her down until she needed to say something to break the silence.
“Who are you?” she blurted out, then immediately regretted it. It dawned on Charlotte that she was alone with him, and she had no idea what he was capable of, especially now that she had seen his face. How far would he go to keep the identity of the Cloaked Shadow hidden? She reached for her braid, only to realize the pin she kept hidden there was long gone, thanks to her horrific morning. Charlotte settled for taking a few cautious steps away from him.
Her emotions must have been written all over her face, because he said, “None of that. I am still deciding what to do with you.” Sighing, he combed his fingers through his hair, forcing Charlotte to reassess her assumption of his age. She originally guessed he was in his late twenties, but seeing the tired mask drop over his face as he regarded her, she realized he was probably in his mid-thirties.
“Well, you wouldn’t have come back for me if you were just going to kill me,” Charlotte said, with more certainty than she felt. She swore she saw his mouth twitch upward in the semblance of a smile before settling back down into a ponderous line. “And that makes twice you’ve saved my life,” she pointed out.
“You just…remind me of someone,” he said quietly. He continued to think out loud. “I could take you over the border. You will be safe from Duke Belaq there, and the rest of the Algonian forces. You will never be able to return here, of course.”
“How do you know I won’t go telling everyone who you are?” Charlotte asked, genuinely curious after hearing that he wanted to help her escape. He narrowed his gaze at her, and Charlotte realized that her question could be misconstrued as a blackmail threat. She tried to back up. “Not that I’m not grateful for everything. I j
ust don’t understand why you’ve gone through all the trouble.”
“You risked your life to save your brother, and you kept my cloak safe,” he said, as if that was all that was needed to show Charlotte’s true character.
“And so you’ll trust me with your name?” she pressed. “If we will be together for some time, I need to call you something other than the Cloaked Shadow.”
He waited a beat, deciding whether or not to reveal another part of himself. “You may call me Fawkes.”
Chapter Four
With the sound of his name hanging heavy in the air between them, Fawkes turned his back to Charlotte and walked over to a nearby tree. After crouching down between the exposed roots, he stood back up with a bulging burlap bag. He offered no explanation for the surprise, so Charlotte assumed he had stashed his possessions there before going into the village. How he brought them back to the exact spot within the maze-like Cursed Forest remained a mystery, but Charlotte wasn’t going to complain with the promise of food and fire in her future.
In the small clearing, he began to set up camp with the seemingly endless supplies he pulled from the sack. With practiced, methodical movements, Fawkes remained engrossed in his task until Charlotte interrupted. “How can I help?” she asked, and saw his hands falter. He isn’t used to anyone else being here, she realized.
“Gather some firewood,” he said, “but take care not to stray too far.”
Charlotte did as requested, thankful for the distraction to keep her thoughts from wandering to her mother. And her brother. And the fact that she could never go home again. Tears pricked her eyes as she swallowed her emotions. There would be time to mourn later, when she wasn’t running for her life. After getting herself under control, Charlotte returned to find a sparse campsite already set up, with a bedroll and basic foodstuffs set out.
Fawkes took the wood from her without a word, setting up the pile but leaving it unlit. “Stay here,” he ordered. From the sheath on his hip, he pulled out a deadly-looking dagger and melted into the trees.
Under the oppressive canopy, while wrapped in dim light and shadows, Charlotte began to drift off. Exhaustion almost claimed her but released its hold abruptly when Fawkes returned carrying two rabbits.
He made quick work skinning his kills, then skewered them onto a thin branch. By the time twilight whispered into their campsite, a merry fire crackled and browned the rabbit meat.
Charlotte nibbled on a piece of hardtack while she watched Fawkes prepare their dinner. At least, she hoped he was going to share. She had pried only a few sentences from him all day, but she got the distinct impression he was a man with a deeply ingrained sense of fairness. He seemed to have a moral code all his own, but his actions so far indicated that Charlotte fell on the right side of his internal justice system.
A roasted rabbit was unceremoniously dumped onto a tin plate and shoved into her lap. “Thank you,” she said, and got a grunt in response. She tried again. “Won’t the duke’s men see the fire?”
He gave what almost sounded like a laugh. “Duke Belaq’s men, in the Cursed Forest, at night?” With that, Fawkes seemed to be done talking for the night, but spoke once more when he ordered her to take the bedroll once their meal was finished.
“But where will you sleep?”
He gestured to the cloak that wrapped around his large frame. Leaving more than enough space between them, he lay down with his back to Charlotte, hood snug over his head.
****
When she woke the next morning, Charlotte sat up in her bedroll. She wondered if she had overslept for her scullery duties and tried to remember if she had given her mother her nightly sedatives. As she frantically looked around for the elderly woman, a bewildered Charlotte remembered where she was, and events that had transpired the day before came back in a flood.
Fawkes was already up and saddling the horse. The rest of the campsite was already packed and free of any human evidence, minus Charlotte in her bedroll, still on the ground.
“Was about to wake you,” Fawkes said, walking over to shove a piece of jerky into her hand. He ignored the sadness that lingered from her memories and got straight to the point. “The border remains a week’s ride from here, slower with two. Duke Belaq doesn’t take kindly to insults. He will have all the men he can spare out looking for us today.”
Charlotte put on a brave face as she processed his words. She still wasn’t safe, and Fawkes was taking a considerable risk by continuing to aid her. She remembered what he said in the dungeons, about getting in the way of his contract. Any mishaps on her part could cause him to abandon her, and right now, the Cloaked Shadow was the only friend she had in the world. She gritted her teeth and met his gaze. “I’m ready.”
With the long trek to the border ahead of them, the pair switched off riding and walking to give the black horse, whom Fawkes called Ghost, respite. The farther away they got from Charlotte’s village, the more relaxed Fawkes appeared. The tension in his shoulders lessened until Charlotte thought he was almost enjoying his stroll through the Cursed Forest.
But as their first full day of travel got underway, Charlotte could not escape her worried thoughts. She had nothing and no one, so how was she supposed to start her life in a foreign country? Granted, the neighboring country of Croantis was similar to Algonia, even speaking a dialect of the same language, but would her life be filled with more of the same? The thought of finding work as a scullery maid depressed her. A future where I trudge through my days, an orphan far from home…but maybe I’ll meet a man and—no! Charlotte thought, panicked.
One glance at her traveling companion, so free and dangerous and wild, struck a chord within Charlotte that yearned for more. Maybe something good could come out of all the tragedy. Everything that tied her to Algonia and her village was gone. There were other ways to start a new life, and to live it on her terms. There was just the small matter of convincing the tall renegade who walked beside her.
It took miles more before Charlotte plucked up the courage to talk to him. “Do you have business at the border?” she asked, trying to discern how much time she had left with Fawkes.
“In a trading village a bit before the border,” he said, seeming surprised that she asked. “Lands owned by Earl Hawthorne.”
So it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart that he offered to escort me, Charlotte realized, a bit dismayed. He was heading there anyway.
“How long will you be there for?”
“As long as I need to be,” he answered.
“And then where?”
“Yet to be determined.”
He was capable of deflecting her questions all day, so she’d better get to the heart of the matter. Charlotte took a deep breath. “Take me with you, wherever you go next,” she said, feeling like she had nothing left to lose.
“No.”
That was it. No excuses, no reasons, just ‘no.’
“Just for a little while,” Charlotte begged. “I can be useful. Don’t make me go back to my old life, not after everything.”
“I have no need of an apprentice,” he said, voice tinged with annoyance.
“I can get information for you, talk to people in the villages,” Charlotte said, scrambling. “I can take care of your horse. I can follow your directions while you…conduct business,” she put delicately.
That stopped him short. “What is it, exactly, that you think I do?” He faced her with such seriousness that Charlotte flinched.
“From what I gather, you…help people who are imprisoned? For profit? You talked about contracts back at the dungeon.” He said nothing, and his blue eyes bored into her soul, as if seeking her true intentions. Finally, he looked away, but Charlotte couldn’t let the conversation drop.
“I’m already a fugitive, and I have nothing left to lose.” Her plea was approaching a level of desperation she wasn’t comfortable with, but she needed some sort of an answer.
“You could not endure my way of living.”
“I rescued my brother from Duke Belaq’s dungeon! He’s alive because of me!”
“No, he is alive because of me. To stay alive, you would do well away from me. I will not be held responsible for you.”
It was like talking to a stone wall. I still have a week to convince him though, that he’s wrong about me. Her skills could come in handy in his line of work; she just had to prove it to him.
****
Charlotte began to regret begging Fawkes to become her mentor, as the request had widened the distance between the two of them. He pulled away from her, avoiding speaking to her unless asked a direct question that he felt like answering. Whatever burgeoning friendship, or at least a mutual appreciation, that existed after they eluded the duke’s men disappeared.
By the time they reached the edge of the Cursed Forest, Charlotte was so frustrated she couldn’t even enjoy the feeling of unobstructed sunshine on her face for the first time in days. Begrudgingly, she marveled at Fawkes’ navigational skills, but also chastised herself for believing that the Cursed Forest was actually cursed. They hadn’t come across anything remotely dangerous, not even a large predator. When Charlotte commented on this, Fawkes just shook his head and said there were great dangers lurking, but they were protected. Whatever that meant.
It was Charlotte’s turn to ride Ghost, so she was the first to spot the thatched roofs and smoke in the distance. “There!” She pointed. “Is that where we need to go?”
“Yes. We will be there by nightfall. I have some business to sort out, and then I will take you to the border.”
Charlotte’s stomach clenched, but she pretended to be unperturbed by his general disregard for her. She dismounted, and the three of them trudged toward civilization.
Just before the village, Fawkes shrugged off his cloak and carefully folded it into a saddlebag. Since the night she had given it back to him, Charlotte hadn’t seen him take off the cloak again. To see it stripped from him now felt like seeing him naked. She blushed and averted her eyes, though he was fully clothed underneath. Without it, he looked vulnerable, exposed. Ordinary. The man who was the Cloaked Shadow seemed to lose a piece of himself that was larger than life whenever he took it off. Again, Charlotte wondered why he had loaned it to her the night of Henry’s escape.