Chapter 24

Julian

I'm in awe. There's no other word for it.

Cricket is a wild thing, fierce and vicious.

A bright red splattering of blood paints a diagonal line across his chest. His hair has come undone from its tie, flying all over the place. He bares his teeth, nostrils flaring, lungs working overtime, and he sucks in air while we run.

The coin is hot in my hand. Not that it matters because Cricket seems to know exactly where we're going. He got in here somehow, so he must know his way out of the stone labyrinth too.

My only remaining goal is to protect him. I don't care about Rune bleeding out on the cold stone floor. I don't care about Tauren running for his life.

I care only for Cricket, my hero, who came to save me when it was the last thing I expected after abandoning him in Willowood.

I don't deserve him, but if we make it out alive, I'll spend the rest of my days trying to prove myself worthy of his affection.

If he'll have me.

"He went this way," says Cricket, breathless, his grip firm on my hand.

We race out of the building, a legion of guards on our heels, but none of them seems particularly motivated to catch us. Rather they're putting on a show of the chase. Can't imagine Tauren pays enough for them to care one way or another, greedy fae that he is.

Outside, the sky is turning gray. It's nearly sunrise. The salty air cools my face, a welcome freshness after the stale, damp ick of my prison cell.

No time to savor. Cricket is on the hunt.

Tauren runs like a coward without a mage to fight his battles for him. He sprints to the first horse he comes to and jumps astride.

Bad idea.

"Get off her," yells Cricket.

But Tauren doesn't listen. He kicks his heels hard against Slinger's sides.

The old pony squeals, rears up on her hind legs, and bucks like the sand is on fire. She jolts sideways, back legs striking out, and throws her head. Her body contorts in the air, feet slamming the ground in the scramble.

She slings Tauren from her back and prances away, snorting.

Tauren lands hard, the crunch of bone loud in the quiet of the morning.

He lies still.

Deathly still.

Cricket and I approach. The guards hang back. The gulls squawk.

Tauren's flightless wings are crushed beneath him, and his eyes are closed for the last time. His neck is bent at an unnatural, gruesome angle.

I look away, my stomach churning on itself.

"It's over," says Cricket from close to my side.

It's over. They're dead.

I breathe out. In. Out. The waves crash. Our lives will go on.

Cricket turns just long enough to snarl at the thugs. The one I recognize from the guard stand holds up both hands and steps back. The others follow suit.

"Bad accident." Cricket advances on them, covered in blood, the Gatekeeper's dagger still in his hand. "Wasn't it? And that's what you'll say, won't you?"

"Sounds about right," says the man in front. "Bad accident indeed."

"Too bad the horse got away. A big white one. Right?"

"Right." The men wander off.

The remnants of the Guild of Dark Waters will never know the truth of what happened here tonight. It's none of their business. If they have any sense at all, they'll disband.

Cricket gathers Slinger's lead, and the two of them stare at me. When I don't move, they approach.

"Jules. You can have a breakdown later. We need to get out of here before sunup. Come on."

He's right. Of course he's right. What's wrong with me? I shake myself out of my stupor enough to nod.

Cricket leads us out of town via the kind of back roads and cut-throughs only a true local would be familiar with. Best not to be seen, since we're both rather ragged and bloody.

By the time the sun has fully risen, we're out of the Irondale proper and traveling east.

I knew Cricket hailed from the farms bordering the city, not the city itself, but I didn't realize how different the terrain would look.

The lands are faded green, not sandy. Pine trees shade the edges of field after field, dormant now that the growing season has passed. Even the smell is better: clean air, a fresh breeze, the earthy scent of farm animals, which I don't mind after spending so much time with Slinger.

We don't talk much. I'm lost in my thoughts, as I'm sure he is as well. My mission is over, and it wasn't me who completed it.

I owe Cricket my life, my thanks, about a thousand apologies. How does one begin to settle such debts? Nothing I can do or say could come close to what he deserves.

Probably the best thing I could do for Cricket would be to leave him to a better fate than one with me, but I'm a selfish man at heart, and I want him for myself.

"See the little brown farmhouse up ahead?" Cricket sounds like himself. Like he's unaffected by recent events. I know it's not true. He can't be. He's rallied for me. For Slinger. For the upcoming reunion with his village folks.

"I see it." Not far off sits a small house surrounded by large oaks.

"Roslyn lives there with her granddaughters. She'll help us tidy up before we go farther."

"We won't scare her, looking as we do?"

"Nothing scares Roslyn. Don't worry. She can handle a little blood."

I'm dragging as we approach. Exhausted. Sore. Hungry. I hate to make a new acquaintance in this state, but Cricket seems sure of our welcome. I trust his instincts better than my own.

A couple of black-and-white herding dogs spot us and sound the alarm, barking loudly. They run toward us, hackles raised, but their posturing quickly turns to wagging tails and wiggling hind ends when they recognize Cricket.

He kneels to greet them while Slinger casually hides behind me, her one good eye focused squarely on the boundless canine energy in front of us.

"Hey Farah! Hey Snuffie!" Cricket scratches them all over while they cover him in slobbery kisses.

They ignore me and Slinger in favor of smothering him in adoration.

"I missed you. How've you been? How's old Roslyn?"

A gray-haired woman steps out onto the front porch. "Excuse me, Jumping Bean. Did I just hear you call me old?"

Cricket laughs. "Well, you're not young."

"Get over here and give me a hug before I make you pick a switch to swat your bottom with."

He runs to her. Positively sprints up the three stairs, hair flying, dogs following, and throws himself into her arms like a man drowning.

They embrace, rocking back and forth. She pats his hair and coos at him. He tucks his face against her bird-boned shoulder.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, feeling out of place. Dirty, foreign, probably smelly too. Definitely not at my best.

She gazes over his shoulder at me and smiles. "Who's your friend, and why are you both so bloody?"

Her inquiry is casual enough to make me question how often Cricket has come home bloody.

He waves me over. "This is Julian. We could use some help."

"Clearly." She steps around Cricket and waits at the top of the stairs. "Well, come on up, Julian, or I'll threaten to swat you too. Don't think I won't do it."

"She will," Cricket adds totally unnecessarily because I absolutely believe this woman would swat my bottom with a switch if she thought I deserved it.

Roslyn has gray eyes—kind eyes—to match her hair, with a healthy smattering of crow's feet in the corners and smile lines on her dimpled cheeks.

She hones in on my neck and frowns. "You're injured." She flicks Cricket in the same way he sometimes flicks me when I've annoyed him. "You should have told me he was injured. You're not hurt too, are you?"

"I'm fine. But Julian could use stitches."

I flinch and cover the wound on my neck. It stopped bleeding ages ago. "No stitches."

"We'll see about that. Inside with you both." She shoos us in and hollers toward the second floor. "Girls!"

Her home smells of cooked apples, reminding me my stomach is empty and Cricket's must be too.

Footsteps shuffle down the stairs, and two young women appear. "Cricket!" they greet him excitedly.

Roslyn puts a quick stop to it. "There'll be time for that later. Flora, there's a half-blind pony outside that could looking after, please."

"Yes, Grandma." She hurries outside.

"Hatty, I could use your eyes. Cricket's brought a friend, and someone has confused his neck for a cutting board."

"Really, just a wash is all I need. No stitches." I'm afraid of needles.

The glare she sends my way has me shutting up quickly. "Sit."

I sit and wonder, has Cricket ever gotten away with anything with this hawk of a woman looking after him?

I doubt it.