“We need to keep moving,” Sebastian said, pulling himself up to join her. “They won’t be fooled for long. If they’re fooled at all. I doubt the Jaixante employs stupid men in their guard.”
“We’ll have to stay low. The best outcome would be to stall them until nightfall, when we can move more freely under cover of dark.”
“That’s at least seven hours away. You think we can stay ahead of them that long?”
“I think—”
To the north, farther down the hill, a dark-clad figure came into view, then another. Fiona dropped to lie flat on the sheltering ledge and cursed. “They went both ways.”
“Definitely not stupid men,” Sebastian said, going to his knees beside her. “Let’s hope they don’t know where we really are.”
They lay, listening to the guards’ approach. Fiona’s heart pounded painfully fast. She and Sebastian had gotten high enough, fast enough, that the second set of guards hadn’t seen them, or they’d be moving more rapidly. Instead, the men were moving through the barley fields at a comfortable speed, crushing the tender plants underfoot and sending up a fresh green scent. They were like a couple of housecats, certain of their prey and choosing their ground. If the wind shifted, if the guards were truly alert, she and Sebastian might be betrayed by the smell of the river Fiona was sure still lingered on both of them.
She couldn’t see the guards, only hear them, but Sebastian, who was closer to the edge, tensed, then grabbed her hand and squeezed. The crashing grew louder until it felt as if the men were right below them, close enough for Fiona to leap out and tackle them, if she’d been idiot enough to do that. Then it began to fade. Sebastian’s grip grew tighter. Fiona heard one of the guards say something in Veriboldan that was carried away by the growing wind. Then the crashing vanished, and Sebastian released Fiona’s hand. “Sorry,” he said.
Fiona shrugged it off. “Can you see the farmhouse?”
“Yes. There’s quite a lot of activity. The guards—the ones who just passed us—are out of the fields and running now. We need to move.”
They went over the summit and down the back side of the hill, moving as quickly as they could over the steep terrain. There was no terracing on that side, and Fiona sometimes found herself slipping, sliding downward for several feet before catching herself. It would have been fun if she hadn’t been so tense. It wasn’t a large farmhouse, and as soon as the guards finished searching it, they’d spread out over the hills. She and Sebastian had to stay ahead of them.
They reached the valley between the hills and began running down another of those dirt roads that led between farmhouses. It was wide open, offering nothing like concealment, but they didn’t have time for that, or for winding their way over the hills. Fiona’s feet ached, there was a stitch in her side, and her lungs had started reminding her that they’d been nearly drowned scant hours before. She kept moving, trailing Sebastian by a little. There was a trace of blood on the sole of his foot, and he was limping.
“Are you all right?” she said. “Should you bind that up?”
“No time. We need to put as much distance between them and us as possible.”
“Yes, but you’ll move faster if it’s tended.”
Sebastian jogged to a halt and stood bent over, with his hands on his knees. “I hope we won’t regret this,” he said. He lifted his injured foot, rubbed it clean of dirt as best he could, then tore a strip from the hem of his brown shirt and wrapped his foot.
Fiona watched the road behind them. It was reassuringly empty of Jaixante guards, though there were a few people dressed in Veriboldan commoners’ clothing. No doubt traffic would pick up the closer they got to Haizea. That could be a problem. Fiona had no idea how distinctive their clothing was, whether it would be identified as Irantzen Temple garb, but they definitely looked like they’d been for a swim. Maybe they could pass for beggars—though, Tremontanan beggars in the capital of Veribold? That wouldn’t be much of a disguise. On the other hand, it didn’t need to be; it only had to get them to the stable, and then they could change into their own clothes and hurry out of Haizea as fast as Mittens and the others could run.
In the distance, dark, fluttering figures appeared.
“We have to move,” she told Sebastian, who dropped his foot and looked past her at the approaching guards. Without a word, he broke into a run.
17
Fiona didn’t dare look behind her to see how quickly the guards were approaching. She just ran. Sebastian stumbled, then resumed his pace. They passed a man and a woman wearing packs who looked at them in astonishment. Wait until they meet those guards, and learn what real astonishment feels like. It was probably too much to hope for the guards to stop to interrogate those two, but it was a nice fantasy that gave Fiona a boost of much-needed energy.
The closer they drew to Haizea, the more crowded the road became, until Fiona and Sebastian had to leave the road and run beside it, which slowed them further. They could no longer see the guards, just the masses of people entering the city. “I think we did it,” Sebastian said.
“Let’s not celebrate just yet,” said Fiona.
Sharp pain lanced through her foot, and she cried out, stumbling and falling to one knee. Sebastian was beside her in an instant. “Show me,” he said, and Fiona lifted a foot dripping with blood.
“Glass, I think. A broken bottle,” she said, gritting her teeth against the throbbing pain. “It’s just a cut.”
“Good heaven, that looks terrible,” said a voice, and a woman stopped and knelt beside Sebastian. She was young, barely out of her teens, and she unslung a backpack and rummaged in it. “Damned fools, tossing their garbage anywhere—though going barefoot around here probably isn’t the best idea.”
“I’ll be fine,” Fiona managed, then had to bite back a cry as the woman prodded her foot.
“What’s she doing? What are you doing?” Sebastian said.
“Really, I don’t need help,” Fiona said.
The woman came out with a thick scarf and used the end of it to wipe blood away. “You need to bind this up,” she said, “and then you shouldn’t walk on it. Maybe we can get someone to help carry you. Where were you going?”
“Thanks, but I’m fine,” Fiona said. “Sebastian, help me up.”
“How bad is that?” Sebastian said.
“Not bad,” Fiona lied. “Just bloody.”
The woman bound Fiona’s foot with the scarf and tied it in a neat bow. “You’re Tremontanan, aren’t you,” she said. “I’ve never met a Tremontanan before. My sister trades with your people all the time, but always across the border. Let’s find help, all right?”
“No, my friend can help me. You’ve already done more than—”
The woman had already turned away. Fiona cursed. “Help me up, Sebastian.”
“How can you run on that?”
“I don’t know, exactly, but we—”
“Sir, can you help this woman? She’s going to the city. Sir?”
Fiona flung her arm over Sebastian’s shoulders. “Let’s go.”
“But you—here, I’ll help.” The woman shouldered her pack, then grabbed Fiona’s arm and slung it around her neck. Fiona tried to remove it, but the woman had tight hold of her wrist. “Just hop along and we’ll support you.”
Fiona closed her eyes and cursed inwardly. There was no way the guards wouldn’t catch them now, and this innocently helpful woman was going to get herself arrested with them. “My friend is enough support,” she tried one last time.
“Well, if you’re sure,” the woman said, releasing Fiona. She turned and walked away down the road away from Haizea. The abruptness of it left Fiona taken aback. So solicitous, and then she just walked away? It was downright suspicious…
Then she realized what had just happened, and patted herself down. The bag of mystery tokens was missing. Fiona cursed again, this time aloud.
“Does it hurt badly? Damn, I wish there were something I could do.”
�
�She stole the bag. I should have known no one would be that helpful to a stranger.”
Sebastian helped her limp along the road. Pain shot through her foot with every step. She ought to be sitting down. “It’s not like we were using them,” Sebastian said. “We don’t even know what they were for.”
“It’s the principle. I let down my guard and she took advantage of that.”
“You can hardly expect to get the better of every thief that crosses your path, Fiona.” Sebastian sounded amused.
Someone grabbed Fiona’s shoulder and pulled her around. The young woman said, “Don’t kill me. I didn’t know. I swear I’ll never steal again. Just—take them, and leave me alone.” She shoved the little sack of tokens into Fiona’s hand, then disappeared into the crowd.
Fiona and Sebastian exchanged looks. “‘Don’t kill me,’ she said,” Fiona told Sebastian. “She was terrified. Now I’m concerned that these things could get us into trouble.”
“They’re not money. They don’t look like anything important.”
“And yet they were stowed with all the rest of the blackmail material.” Fiona tucked the pouch into her waistband again. “Let’s go. We need to move faster.”
They couldn’t move faster. It was getting on toward late afternoon, and horses and wagons vied for space on the road with the many pedestrians. The gray overcast grew darker, promising rain, and it looked like everyone was trying to outrace it. Between the crowding and the need to lean on Sebastian, Fiona felt she was crawling, her one foot scraping across the paving stones that had replaced dirt about a mile back, her other foot throbbing and soaking the thief’s scarf with her blood. The air was rich with the smell of bodies scented with a profusion of odors, jasmine and musk and patchouli, that forced their way into her nose and mouth and made her want to gag. She made herself keep moving, though she was exhausted and almost ready to give herself up to the guards. They might let her sit down for a while.
Haizea had no city wall. Instead, its buildings of yellow brick or brightly-hued ceramic started appearing more frequently and closer together until Fiona and Sebastian found themselves in the city rather than the country. Most of those houses and shops were three or four stories tall, with wide arched windows and doorways and flat roofs. Fiona remembered those storms and cast her eye on the clouds. It wouldn’t be a downpour, but they would very likely get wet.
She shifted her grip on Sebastian’s shoulders. “Do you know where we’re going?”
“No. My plan was to head north and west toward the river, then find my way backward from there. If we can get to the main roads, I’m sure I can find the stable.”
Someone shoved past them, jarring Fiona’s foot and sending a twinge of pain up her leg. A twinge, not a throb, thank heaven, which meant it wasn’t as bad a wound as she’d thought. She tried putting her full weight on it, but had to pull back immediately. Maybe she was wrong.
They passed through an outdoor fruit and vegetable market that was being dismantled for the evening, with stall holders packing up what remained of their wares. The golden smell of oranges reached Fiona’s nose, awakening her hunger. She hadn’t eaten since supper the previous day and now she was starving. “Do you have money?” she asked.
“I don’t think we have time for shopping.”
“I was thinking more of what we’d do if we can’t find Holt right away. If he got stuck on the island.”
“Ah. No, I left everything in my bags in the Irantzen Temple. Though right now I’m wishing I’d been more foresighted. I’m hungry.”
A shout behind them of “Stop there!” in Veriboldan made Fiona jerk. “What?” Sebastian said.
“Keep going. They probably don’t mean us.”
“You! Fugitives from the Jaixante! Stop!”
Fiona cursed. “They mean us. We have to find a place to hide.”
“Can you run?”
Fiona put her weight on her foot again. It still hurt, but not as much. “Yes.”
Sebastian grabbed her hand. “Then let’s go.”
Fiona limped rapidly in Sebastian’s wake as he tugged her between stalls, ducking and turning at random while the shouts followed them, terrifyingly near. Men and women cursed them as they pushed past, knocking one man off balance so he fell on his capacious rear end. Fiona hopped around a corner and down a short alley filled with smelly refuse and a dark trickle down its center she tried to avoid. Brick walls gleamed a sickly yellow in the uncanny light of the oncoming storm, which would certainly wash away the trickle. Well, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been soaked once already.
Sebastian dragged her around a corner into a dead-end nook and pressed her up against the wall, breathing heavily. “Do you hear them? I think we outran them.”
“I can’t hear—no.”
Running footsteps were approaching down the alley, at least three men, and someone said, “Be careful. They may be armed.”
She looked up at Sebastian, who was looking away toward the alley as if he could see through the walls. He glanced down at her, his lips tight with frustration. They were so close, if they’d known Haizea at all they probably would have made it. She wasn’t sure what the punishment was for stealing from the Jaixante, but she knew what Veriboldans did to thieves in general and it wasn’t pretty. It could only be worse for them.
She gripped Sebastian’s arm, afraid to speak—there might still be a chance, mightn’t there?—but no, they were caught, there was nowhere else to go. Not that she intended to go out there and make a present of herself to the guards. They were going to have to take her by force.
Sebastian’s expression had gone neutral, and his eyes were asking a question of her, though she had no idea what. Then he slid one hand behind her neck and kissed her, firmly, his lips hard and passionate on hers.
She let out a startled sound. Sebastian kissed her again, then released her, his expression still perfectly neutral, as if his kiss had come from some well-buried need that didn’t show on his face. Then hands grabbed them both, dragged them out of their nook, and shoved them against the rough brick wall. Fiona’s cheek felt raw, scraped by the brick, and she threw up her hands to catch herself. She felt the bag shift in her waistband, threatening to slide down her trouser leg, and instinctively she reached down to grab it. Another hand grasped her wrist and pulled it behind her, bringing the bag with it.
“What’s this?” said the same voice she’d heard before, and her captor took the bag from her. She stood with her face mashed against the wall and listened to the sound of the bag opening, its contents rustling like chips of tile. Then the man sucked in a breath. The bag fell to the ground, spilling at her feet.
“What are you doing with that?” The man sounded terrified and outraged at the same time. Fiona turned around. All she could see of his face were his eyes, but they were wide and panicked. His three companions had backed away down the alley, and as she watched, one of them turned and bolted, his dark robes fluttering like tattered flags in the rising wind.
Fiona fixed him with a sharp-eyed gaze. “I don’t think that’s any of your business,” she said, bending to gather the contents of the bag. They clinked when she swished them together. “Why do you think we have them?”
“No one should,” the man said, switching languages. “You should not know of them.”
Fiona shook the bag in his face, making another of the guards turn and run and the remaining two take a few steps back. “Why did you pursue us?”
“Because you were in the Jaixante illegally. No outsiders are allowed.”
“Are you sure?” She shook the bag again. “No Tremontanan should have this, either. Maybe you should think about why you might be sent to pursue the holder of this bag.” No fear. Never back down. Play your hand as if it’s a royal flush and not a pair of twos, which this might well be.
The man looked confused, what little she could see of him. Then his eyes widened. He glanced over his shoulder at his remaining companion, then back at Fiona. “No. Let it be
on your head. I refuse to be…” His voice trailed off. He backed away, slowly, keeping his eyes focused on the bag. When he and his companion reached the mouth of the alley, they turned and ran.
Fiona heard Sebastian push off from the wall and approach her, but she couldn’t stop staring at the place where the guards had been. She’d never done anything that risky in her life. That wasn’t a low pair; it was a handful of cards she’d never seen. She shoved the bag back into her waistband. Whatever it was, Gizane had been right to keep it concealed.
“That…was incredible,” Sebastian said.
“It was lucky,” Fiona said. “Let’s go before we run out of luck.”
They watched carefully as they emerged from the alley, but no fluttering guards hovered to snatch them. Sebastian led the way through the growing crowds of the evening, eventually taking Fiona’s hand so they wouldn’t be separated. Fiona watched his profile as they went, how intent he was, and that reminded her of something else.
“You kissed me,” she said.
He smiled. “I hoped you hadn’t forgotten that.”
“Why did you kiss me?”
“Well, the guards were closing in to take us to prison, and I didn’t think I’d get another chance.”
“Yes, but…why kiss me at all?”
They’d come to an intersection heavily trafficked by ox carts moving ponderously along the street, and Sebastian stopped to wait for them to go pass. “Because you’re amazing, and beautiful,” he said, “and I’ve felt like doing that ever since our first night in the temple. I think that’s more than enough reason.”
Fiona opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Sebastian put his free hand on her shoulder. “Look. I know it’s only been a week, and this…heist…has consumed most of that time, but I’m not going to tell you I don’t look forward to seeing you and talking to you, no matter what it’s about. That I’m not constantly thankful you switched rooms with Lucille, and not just because of your knowledge. I should have asked first, and I’m sorry I startled you, but I’m never going to be sorry for kissing you.”
Ally of the Crown Page 14