Page 82 of Secrets of Graves and Gold

Okay, then. I stare at Rheave and the blood splattered across his hands. The feral intensity in his stance sets off an unnervingly giddy shiver down the middle of me.

Then Stavros’s urgent tug of my arm and another groan from Borys launch me into action.

Casimir snatches something from beyond the table. “Stav, your sword!”

The former general catches the thrown belt and sheath, and we rush out the door.

As we pound down the stairs to the ground level, Alek pulls at Rheave’s cloak. “You did an incredible job protecting Ivy, but we can’t have you seen like this. Wipe off your hands on the inside of your cloak and pull it close around you to hide your shirt.”

Away from the battle, the daimon-man looks as disconcerted as I feel, but he follows Alek’s orders. We barge out into the chilly air of the street.

I don’t spot any other Order members close by, but a faint shout brings my head jerking around. I don’t see any reason for concern farther down the street, though, and none of my men react.

“I think it’s time we get some distance from Pima,” Stavros says under his breath. “Let’s grab the horses.”

Sticking close together, we hustle along the street toward the public stable where Hanie arranged for us to keep our steeds. We veer sharply left at the first cross-road—and nearly bump into Julita’s old maidservant herself.

Hanie jumps back where she was poised by the building on the corner. She gapes at us, her face blanching. “You’re still— They didn’t?—”

My thoughts settle enough for one clear revelation to shine through the whirlwind. “She’s the one who turned us in!”

We never told Emor and Voleska’s group where we were staying. Hanie looked upset seeing the rioting start this morning, and she knew we were involved.

And she’s clearly surprised that we haven’t been arrested.

What? Julita cries. Hanie gave us up?

The maidservant backs up another step. “You’re as dangerous as the Order of the Wild,” she hisses, and raises her voice to a yell. “Help! Someone! There are traitors to the Order here!”

Stavros growls and moves to catch her arm, but Hanie bolts in the opposite direction. She dives through the nearest shop doorway.

Footsteps drum against the cobblestones from around the corner.

Alek waves us on. “We’ve got bigger problems than her!”

I spot a narrow alley a few buildings down and race toward it with a jab of my hand to direct the others. We dash into it and sprint past several buildings, emerge onto an unfamiliar street, and duck down another alley.

Near a stinking waste bin behind a tenement building, I pause to regain my wind. No sounds of pursuit have followed us this far.

Rheave glances over his shoulder, his brow knit. “All those angry people in the square made her afraid.” He pauses, and his voice drops lower with a sorrowful note. “And so did I. So she blamed us.”

I reach out to squeeze his arm through his cloak. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything to her. We were trying to help her and everyone else in this city.”

Casimir peers farther down the alley. “Do you think it’s safe to go for the horses? Hanie knew where they were too. If Julita’s brother has even half his wits, he’ll have cut off our easiest means of escape.”

I suck in a breath. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “You’re right. Curse it all.”

Stavros frowns and squares his shoulders. “We should get within view of the stable and take stock. She might not have mentioned that part.”

And if the Order of the Wild has confiscated our steeds, we could always steal others. Although I’m not sure how the former general would feel about that kind of criminal activity.

We continue through the city, taking alleys and the quietest roads we can, until we can spot the front of the stable building from a couple of blocks away.

Alek tenses beside me. “They have it staked out.”

They do. The scourge sorcerers are trying to be subtle about it, but you wouldn’t normally see three figures with swords in hand just hanging around outside a stable.

The men and woman stroll a little this way and that, pretending to have a casual conversation, but their gazes dart furtively over the street at regular intervals.

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