There’s a knock at the door to the hut, and I wonder if Leonidas is getting impatient…but no, that’s not the side I came in on…
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I turn my head toward the noise and see a few chinks of light at the back of the structure. Another door. One the dressmaker knows about—and Leonidas doesnot.
I hurry over to it, finding the handle and letting the light spill in. The woman’s waiting there, her shrewd eyes locked on me.
“He kidnapped me from my home,” I blurt, going for the simplest explanation—and hopefully the one that’ll get me the most sympathy. “He’s holding me against my will.”
She cuts me off before I can say more, shushing me.
“This way, quickly. Before he comes looking for you.”
She ushers me out the back of the hut, pushing me into the maze of stalls and people.
“He’s very strong—and he’s violent,” I tell her breathlessly as we weave between the chaos of shoppers. “For your own sake, he can’t know that you helped me.”
I’m not sure it’s safe to tell her he’s fae. The more she knows, the more danger she could be in, but I have to warn her about the seriousness of the situation.
“Don’t worry about that,” she says. “I told him I was going back to my stall. When he realizes you’re gone, he’ll assume you left on your own. Here.”
We’re out behind a row of stalls, and she guides me over to a covered wagon. It’s stocked full of furniture and household goods—chairs and dressers and curtain rods.
“Climb in there and hide.”
“Wait,” I say. “I can’t stay here. He’ll find me.”
“I know,” the dressmaker says, and I see her shrewd eyes scanning my features again. “Trust me, dear. Just hide, and give me two minutes.”
“Alright.” I scramble up into the wagon, tucking myself underneath a table.
The woman walks out of sight, and I wait, my nerves fraying more with every passing second. I feel so close to freedom, and yet it could just as easily be ripped away from me.
Murmuring male voices approach, and my muscles stiffen. I imagine the Nightmare Prince yanking back the wagon cover at any moment, sword in hand. Maybe he’ll decide I’ve caused too much trouble and finish me off right now. But the voices don’t sound like him, and I hear the dressmaker speak too. There’s some movement outside the wagon, and she appears again.
“These are my friends,” she whispers as a man shuts up the end of the wagon, bolting the wooden flap and beginning to tie down the cover. “They’ll take you to safety.”
I can only nod, wondering if she sees it from where I’m tucked up in my hiding place before the cover comes down. “Thank you,” I whisper as the wagon jolts into motion. I hear us rattle past the noises of the trading post, just feet from the sellers and travelers, before the sounds drift away, and we pull onto the road leading out of the valley.
I thought I’d feel relieved once I’d gotten away, but that weight of fear still fills my chest. The wagon trundles on, taking me further and further away from the dangerous fae, and yet I still feel strangely trapped.
I pull myself out from under the table. Toward the front of the wagon there’s a split in the cover, leading up to where the driver sits. I clamber over to it and poke my head out.
There’s two men seated on the bench behind the horses. One in his fifties, maybe, with a thick beard speckled with gray, and a younger man with sandy hair. He turns to me when I appear, his blue eyes alert.
“What are you doing?” he asks, more abruptly than I expect. “You need to stay inside the wagon.” His blue eyes scan my face before dropping to linger on my body. I shift uncomfortably.
“I wanted to warn you. They’ll realize I’m gone soon. We need to hurry. Those men kidnapped me, and they’re very dangerous.”
“Sure,” the bearded man grunts, and I get the distinct impression he doesn’t believe me in the slightest. I see him slide a look to his younger companion. “It’ll all be fine. You just climb back inside, and we’ll make sure you’re safe.”
Safe. I’ve had people promise safety to me before, and it’s almost always been a lie. Dizziness threatens to overwhelm me. I’m not sure if it’s from anxiety or my reduced dose of potion—but the reason doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m increasingly helpless…and far from sure these men can be trusted.
“Get back in the wagon,” the young man says more sharply, and I obey, feeling like I might be sick. I’m not safe with these people. I have no idea what they want with me, but they’re not benevolent saviors. I was so desperate to get away from the fae that I took whatever chance I had. And now I’m out in the middle of nowhere with new strangers.
Should I tell them who I am—promise them gold and knighthoods for rescuing me? From their attitudes so far, it doesn’t seem like they’d believe me. It’s not like I have any proof.
That sickness is still with me, my stomach lurching back and forth with every rattle of the wagon wheels. But I’ve had to fight my body before—force myself not to give in to it sabotaging me whenever I take my potion—so I can push past the nausea and dizziness now to find a way to help myself.
