CHAPTER 15
ime crawls.
From the grove of trees, I keep checking the fields, looking forT silhouettes on horseback. I glance at my pocketwatch to check the time. Not even midnight yet. The temperature has plummeted, and I wish I could start a fire. But that’s out of the question. I hug myself, my breath steaming in the cool air.
My stomach rumbles. Nearby, Dickinson blinks at me, his eyes as black as his hair. Exhausted, I slide onto the mossy earth. The ground smells rich, a loamy scent that wraps around me. The moonlight streams through tree branches to dapple the earth with silver. The sound of chirping crickets is like a lullaby.
Reaching into my leather pack, I pull out some bread and cheese. I shove a chunk of cheese into the bread, and I bite into it. As I eat, I glimpse a firefly trailing through the air.
The rumble of incoming horses’ hooves startles me. I shove my food back in the bag and cross to the edge of the grove. Fear spirals through me when I see who’s thundering closer to me. It’s not the other agents. It’s the horny Fey sergeant, and he’s aiming right for me.
I slink back into the shadows, but I can hear him galloping up the hill.
I run back to Dickinson, but just as I’m mounting, a deep voice stops me in my tracks. “You! You waited for me, didn’t you, little minx?”
I freeze and turn slowly to face him. His coppery eyes gleam in the shadows, bright as a wolf’s. He smiles at me, his canines flashing. “All alone
now? I thought I smelled a lady’s scent in the grove as I patrolled again.”
I blink demurely. “My brother and the rest were chasing a large red stag. I was slowing them down. They should be back soon.”
His smile is predatory and chilling.
“Not too soon, I hope.” He dismounts from his horse and prowls close to me, the wind catching in his dark hair. “You are familiar, of course, with the rights of a Fey knight.”
My mouth goes dry. No, I’m not familiar with the rights of a Fey knight, but I can guess it’s something about taking whatever women they want.
In the hollows of my mind, my thoughts are screeching at me to run or to fight. I think of my knives, one in the boot, one on my belt, and a sharpened hair pin tucked in my locks. He won’t expect me to attack him. I’m fast and — I can almost hear Viviane. You’ll never be strong enough or fast enough to stab a large, trained man. Never. Then what should I do?
Fight him with everything you have, Imaginary Viviane shouts at me.
And what do I have? I’m good at understanding what people want. What they need. Raphael pointed that out to me. I show people the version of me they want to see, but I need to work on making it convincing. Already, I’ve intuited that he likes innocence. Raphael told the sergeant my father wanted to keep me safe, and that sparked something in his eyes. He wants a pure, untouched woman. A shrinking violet.
In that case, I’ll give him the opposite of what he wants.
“Of course I know the rights of a Fey knight.” I smile at him. “I’ve been
with many. And some squires.”
He frowns. “What?”
“At least, I think they were knights and squires. It’s not like I asked for the official paperwork.” I shrug. “A man is a man.” I move closer to him and touch my lips. “But I really should be more careful. One of them had something…I think it’s called trench mouth?”
His nose wrinkles. “I see.”
“I learned all sorts of tricks from a brothel in Ys.” I touch the side of his face, grinning maniacally.
Triggered by my anxiety, the voice in my head start clamoring. You’re dirt, a disgrace. Diseased. Get back. Get back!
I try to ignore the hallucinations, keeping my face still and the smile on my lips. The sergeant’s face twists in disgust as I gently run the tips of my
fingers down his cheek.
The voice keeps screeching. You’re disgusting. Just like that whore in Allevur. I slit her throat.
I blink, the sentence disconcerting me, but it goes on. Allevur will be a bloodbath again tonight after the ambush, if that traitor Varris can be believed.
The sergeant’s lip curls. “You’re disgusting. Just like that whore in Allevur.”
I yank my hand away, startled. He’d just said the words out loud that I’d heard in my mind.
Cold anger etches his face. He looks furious. Violent. My instincts are telling me to get the hell away from him as fast as possible—especially since he apparently slit the last “whore’s” throat.
“Well, I suppose that’s too bad,” I blurt. “I’ll have to find another man to satisfy my needs.”
Panic tightens my chest as I take a quick step back and rush to mount Dickinson. I spur him on, and he lurches to a gallop through the grove. I cling to his reins as we race between the trees. I’m not exactly sure where I’m going, only that I need to get away from the sergeant. A low branch thrashes at my face as Dickinson thunders toward the road. His hooves pound on the dirt, kicking up dust around me. I focus on the earthen road as we gallop, the wind shrieking in my ears. I’ve never ridden a horse so fast, but I’m charging along the road that Raphael took earlier.
I glance back to where we came from, the border with unoccupied France. In the distance, the veil shimmers with pearly light. I can’t return to the meeting point. Raphael told me I should get back through the veil and wait on the other side, but something stops me.
Allevur will be a bloodbath again tonight after the ambush if that traitor Varris can be believed.
I don’t know anyone called Varris, and it’s strange for my mind to conjure unknown names. But Allevur is where Raphael and the rest of the group are headed.
What if I’m not just hearing random voices?
An idea takes root in the hollows of my mind—I heard his words before he said them out loud. The exact phrase. You’re disgusting. Just like that whore in Allevur.
The voice in my thoughts, then out of his mouth.
In the past, things the voices told me sometimes turned out to be true.
Once, a voice whispered to me that the bookshop manager was having an affair with one of the other employees. Then I accidentally walked in on them in the office, his pants pulled down to his ankles, his pale butt thrusting back and forth. Another time, my mind conjured a voice about a customer in the shop, something about stealing books—two very expensive books, special editions signed by the author. Then I caught him stealing them, trying to run straight out the front door.
So what if what I’ve heard wasn’t just nonsense conjured by a stressed mind?
What if it was magic that I shouldn’t dismiss?
Because if my voices can predict the future, there might be a bloodbath scheduled tonight in Allevur.
It’s a small Fey village, built on the ruins of a town after the invasion.
Allevur is centered around a train station, some shops and farms, and the tavern where Raphael is supposed to meet the contact. But it’s not a big city.
Most of the French abandoned it during the war.
The ambush—was that planned for Raphael and the MI-13 agents?
I’m not sure how to get a message to Raphael. Even if I race after them on horseback the entire way, I’m hours behind. They’ll get to Allevur within the hour, maybe less. There’s no way I can catch up with them. All I can do
is— The train of Gobannos.
It goes through Allevur. That’s the second stop in the occupied zone, arriving from the south. The Seneschal made us memorize the maps of this region, and also commit the whole train schedule to memory. There’s a train leaving the border station at midnight, reaching Allevur at one in the morning.
I steer Dickinson west, heading for the train. As I ride, I pull out my pocket watch, and my pulse roars. I’ve got ten minutes to get there.
I spur on my horse, shouting words of encouragement as he gallops.
Apparently, he’s relieved to find that his timid rider has grown more daring, and he seems to relish the fast run across the road. Now his hooves hardly touch the ground. One thing is clear: the riding lessons at Avalon are paying off.
The wind tears at my hair, and I lean over Dickinson’s neck, urging him to run faster. The dirt road carves through corn fields, and I race through a
derelict village. Wooden shutters bang in the breeze, but in the distance, I see the flickering warmth of gas lamps. Balconies hang over the street, and the windows are barred to the night. A clocktower rises high above the town, and
when I glance at it, my breath catches.
The bells chime twelve times. Midnight.
In the distance, I hear chugging and groaning along tracks. Steam billows,
and my heart sinks.
I’ve missed it.
I’m gasping, trying to catch my breath. My chest tightens, but I urge Dickinson on, and we race to the station. The building is stone, painted white.
Someone shouts at me from the platform, but my eyes are on the train. An open field runs alongside it. Gripping Dickinson’s reins, we race to catch up.
The train of Gobannos is enormous, with a black and crimson engine.
Billows of steam burst into the air above it, and the mist snakes around the train. I’ve never seen a train like this, one with shimmering cars that gleam with silver and gold, others so dark they seem to suck in all the light around them. How many train cars? Thirty? Forty? Impossible to count.
Dickinson gallops faster, and my chest thuds at the sight of a boulder in our way. But the horse is already leaping high above it, and for a second, it almost seems like we’re flying—and then we drop. I bite my tongue as we hit the ground and taste blood.
But we’ve reached the train, and I’m about five carriages from the rear.
It’s accelerating now, so I can’t waste another moment.
All of this seems mad, an impossible feat the old Nia would never even dream of doing.
My heart is in my throat as I lean toward the rungs on the side of the train. I try to clutch at a ladder jutting out of a carriage, my fingers brushing it, but it’s already gone.
The carriage moves ahead. I’ve got four more cars before I’ve lost it.
I manage to grip the next one, but my feet catch in the stirrups. I lurch free and nearly fall off the horse. I’ve almost lost my chance now, and Dickinson is spooked. He veers sideways, distancing us from the train.
“No, no, no, come on, Dickinson,” I yell, pulling him toward the train again.
Two more carriages. But I don’t reach out. I let the penultimate carriage go ahead as I free my right foot from the stirrup. Then the left. I’m gripping the saddle with one hand, wondering if I’m about to die.
Last carriage. I swing my hand and grab a rung. The force of the train yanks me off my mount.
My breath stops as for a few seconds, I dangle above the ground. Then I manage to grab the rung with my free hand and put my feet on the bottom rung. Clinging, shaking, I look back. Adrenaline courses through me.
Dickinson is already dozens of yards away, staring after me.
And I’m on the train of Gobannos, hurtling deep into Fey France.
Exactly as Raphael told me not to do.
