Page 142 of Prince of Masks
For now, I scoot.
My bum slides over the fountain floor, once, twice, and again and again—until I reach the edge.
Ok… Now I just have to lift a hand from the bottom…
Sounds easy enough.
But the moment I do, and all my weight shifts onto just one arm, one hand, I might collapse.
And if I do collapse, it will be onto my back—and I’ll be completely soaked.
My heart catches in my throat.
My widening eyes swerve to the trees curved around the fountain, where a shadow is drawing closer. A shadow that was hidden in the deeper, darker parts of the gardens.
I shudder a breath of hope.
It is drawing nearer. Nearer.
Maybe a saviour, someone who might help.
I don’t wait for the face to become visible, for the silhouette to step into the wash of the moonlight.
“Hey!” I call out. “Hey, over here!”
The shadow stills.
It considers me from the darkness between the trees.
It’s a struggle to keep the attitude from hitching my voice. “A little help?”
It works.
The shadow sags at the shoulders before it starts towards me. Soil turns to stone under dress shoes, and I know it’s a man just by the muffled sound of his walk.
But he is in no hurry.
His pace is slow—and I fast realise why.
Landon Barlow approaches, hands in his pockets, a mouth that is stroked over his face.
“Did Dray do this?” he asks, just cuts through all the bullshit and goes straight to it.
I sigh.
Sure, I could lie. Maybe it’s the jittering of the cold that distracts me from the mental energy of lying.
Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion.
Whatever it is, I just nod.
Landon eyes me over. “What is Dray’s number one rule?”
Don’t interfere.
He lives by that.
The only code that matters to him.
