OLIVIA
The rhythmic clop of horse hooves against the dirt road was a lullaby, one I wished could soothe away the tangled complexities of my life. Inside the carriage, I cradled Luna to my chest, adjusting the light blanket over her as she nursed. The warmth of her small body grounded me, but it was a stark contrast to the chilling truth that our journey was no serene family outing—it was a perilous quest to unravel the mysteries hidden within the dagger’s hilt.
“Another kilometer or so, and we’ll stop,” Roman called back from his mount. His sharp eyes scanned the horizon, his vigilance an ever-present reminder of the dangers that stalked us. Malik rode beside him; his brow furrowed in concentration as his mind likely churned with strategies to keep us ahead of any unseen threat.
The carriage creaked with each dip in the uneven road, its wooden wheels spinning tirelessly. Roman had insisted on bringing it along, reasoning that its speed outmatched a wagon’s plodding pace.
“You need to rest, love,” he’d said gently when I’d protested. His hands, firm yet tender, had settled on my shoulders, grounding me in his unyielding determination. “And Luna needs you well.”
He had been right. The carriage offered me the privacy to nurse and the rare chance to stretch out my aching, weary body. Our belongings, bundled in modest packs, were tied securely to the top of the carriage—a testament to our effort to travel lightly and inconspicuously.
“We don’t want to draw attention,” Roman had explained as he fastened his pack to his saddle. “We’ll stop at taverns, but we can’t linger. We’re in a time crunch. Mathias and Alina could already be hunting us. We don’t know. We have to be swift, and wemustfind Pasha Hassan.”
His words echoed in my mind with every passing kilometer. Swiftness was our ally, secrecy our shield. Yet, as Luna’s tiny hand wrapped around my finger, a bittersweet ache settled in my chest. I longed for the life we’d been torn away from—a life filled with simple joys, untouched by the specter of danger that now shadowed every mile, every whisper of tomorrow.
Yet, here we were—Roman, Malik, Reyna, Rosie, baby Luna, and me—together in flight, bound by a cause greater than any individual desire. My body had regained its strength, but the lingering exhaustion remained, every jolt of the carriage a stark reminder of the trials I had endured. Yet my heart hammered with determination, an unyielding resolve to protect this makeshift family we’d become.
“Rest now,” Roman said, his voice soft but firm. His eyes found mine in brief, tender glances that carried promises unspoken. “I’ve got you.”
And in those fleeting moments, beneath the canopy of the vast sky, I believed him.
The weeks dragged on, each day blending into the next as we pressed forward. The weight of our shared purpose tempered the monotony of the journey. I reached out to Reyna, trying to offer solace in her grief. Since losing Osman, she had withdrawn into herself, her pain an impenetrable barrier. Malik, too, sought to console her with gentle words and protective gestures. Yet, I could sense something deeper within him—a simmering desire to be closer to her, to use his strength to shield her from further heartache.
The carriage jostled over the uneven road, its wheels groaning in protest as Roman urged the horses to maintain their grueling pace. I shifted in my seat, trying to ease the persistent ache in my back. Strapped against my spine, the sun and moon daggers pressed into me, their jeweled hilts catching the light like fragments of captured twilight. Below them, the familiar weight of my time-traveling dagger and Glock hugged my thighs—a dual reassurance of my ability to defend and protect should the need arise.
Luna lay nestled against my chest, her tiny breaths warm and steady. At only six weeks old, she already bore the weight of a fugitive’s life, her innocence a stark contrast to the dangers that surrounded us.
My thoughts drifted to Mathias—my grandfather turned evil adversary—and my mother, whose relentless desire to kill me twisted like a knife in my heart. Yet, what perplexed me most was the newfound absence of fear toward Balthazar. Where dread once loomed, a peculiar sense of tranquility had taken place. In the swirling chaos of our lives, perhaps the only clarity I could grasp was the singular focus of finding the scripture to awaken the blades.
As we emerged from the dense woods of France, the landscape unfolded into a breathtaking panorama. Vast farmlands stretched endlessly, their golden grains swaying in the gentle breeze. Lush vineyards and vegetable gardens scattered across the countryside, vibrant-green and deep-red bursts contrasting the blue horizon. Sheep, cattle, and goats grazed contentedly while diligent farmers toiled under the warm sun, their hands shaping the land with tireless devotion.
Along the road, groups of travelers trudged steadily, all heading in the same direction as us. Roman, as fluent in French as I was, approached one of the groups to inquire.
“Where are you headed?” he asked.
“We are making our way to Vézelay,” a man replied, his weathered face alight with purpose. “It is a major stop on the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela. We will pay homage to the Basilica of Saint Mary Magdalene. See it there?”
Following his outstretched arm, I caught sight of it—a majestic town perched on a hill, crowned by the towering silhouette of the Basilica. Its grandeur beckoned us closer, an unspoken invitation laced with the promise of discovery.
“Merci,” Roman said, tipping his head before urging his horse onward.
As we crested the hill, the scene before me stole my breath. The Basilica of Saint Mary Magdalene stood resplendent against the azure sky, its weathered stone walls radiating strength and faith. Sunlight spilled across the clay-tiled roof, painting the structure in warm, golden hues. The murmur of pilgrims and travelers drifted toward us on the breeze, their voices mingling with the rustle of leaves, creating a harmony that seemed to belong to another world entirely.
Beyond the Basilica, the dimly lit sign of a tavern swung in the evening breeze. The soles of my feet ached with every jostle of the carriage, and my back protested with sharp twinges. Every muscle in my body cried out for relief, for the sweet reprieve of a soft mattress and a warm blanket. Heavy with exhaustion, my eyes threatened to close, their weight greater than my resolve to push forward. The promise of rest became my only thought, far more enticing than any prayer or forgiveness the holy sanctuary could offer.
The tavern was tucked between two timber-framed houses, its creaking wooden sign illuminated by the glow of lantern light from its windows. The warm, golden light promised comfort and respite from the biting chill of the evening air.
When we dismounted, my arms instinctively tightened around Luna, her small weight grounding me amidst the weariness. Roman led the way, his shoulders squared and strong, carrying the silent burden of protecting us all. Behind him, Malik dismounted, his gaze lingering on Reyna with a tenderness he tried and failed to hide.
Pushing open the heavy door, we were greeted by a wave of heat and the mingling aromas of roasting meat, ale, and burning pine. The sound of lively chatter and the strumming of a bard’s lute filled the air, a sharp contrast to the somber silence of the road. My stomach growled audibly, reminding me how long it had been since we’d eaten anything more substantial than dried bread and cheese. The tavern’s low ceiling and exposed wooden beams gave it a cozy, intimate feel, and the flickering candles on the tables added to the inviting atmosphere. It felt like a sanctuary where the world’s weight might be momentarily set aside.
“We need three rooms,” Roman said to the tavern keeper, a plump woman with shrewd eyes squinted at us over her ledger.
“Three rooms?” she repeated, a smirk tugging at her lips. “What kind of place do you think this is? Pilgrims are everywhere, seeking refuge for the night. I only have two rooms, and you’ll have to share.Comprenez-vous?”
“Oui,” Roman replied with a curt nod. “I understand.”
Malik shifted uncomfortably beside me, his eyes darting toward Reyna. The infatuation he felt for her was clear in every glance, every lingering moment where his attention strayed to her. She, however, met his gaze with wary distrust, her grief and guardedness forming an invisible barrier between them.
