Page 70 of Charmless
“Mal?” I stumbled closer, recovering my breath enough to choke out his name.
He started at the sound of my voice, his grim expression dissolving into one of complete dismay. “Ella! What are you doing here?”
“We arranged to meet. Have you forgotten?”
“You came too early. I just sent Tom Piper to your house to warn you to stay home. This is a bad day for you to be here in the Bottoms.”
“I know. I was there when the riot almost broke out.”
Mal seized me by the shoulders, regarding me with concern. “Are you all right?”
“For the moment, but—” The wind tangled my hair in front of my mouth.
“Thank the fairies for that!” Mal hugged me. “Cursed Bluntvale! His brutes usually just kick in doors and haul folks away from the Bottoms in the middle of the night. Bluntvale always had enough sense not to flaunt people being exiled. The oaf is either getting stupider or bolder.”
Fighting to brush my hair back, I nodded in agreement. “But, Mal, I need to tell you?—”
“And this time it is all because some foolish girl broke the king’s petty law against swooning in front of the prince. Could things possibly get any worse in this kingdom?”
“Mal! Listen,” I cried in frustration. But I was cut off again by a loud peal of thunder. A jagged bolt of lightning cut through the clouds. The skies opened and started to pour.
“Frap!” Mal seized my arm and propelled me toward the only shelter available, the dilapidated cottage.
The door hung half off its hinges. We pushed through the opening and darted inside. I had not had time to fling up the hood of my cloak. Rainwater trickled down my cheeks from the wet ends of my hair. I brushed the moisture away, my eyes adjusting to the dim interior of the cottage. The windows hadbeen boarded over in haphazard fashion, allowing the rain to blow inward.
Mal urged me toward the fireplace in the middle of the room where it was relatively dry. The cottage reeked of decay and neglect, the hearth filled with ashes and dried leaves. Little trace remained of the former occupants— a rough-hewn wooden table, a lopsided chair, a shelf dangling half off the stone wall, some shards of broken crockery.
The family that had lived here must have fallen victim to the Border Scutcheons carrying out a royal order of exile. Huddling beneath my cloak, I stared at the rain cascading outside the half-open doorway, another peal of thunder shaking the very foundations of this abandoned cottage. My heart ached at the thought of the Hanson and Bafton families being driven out of the kingdom in the middle of this storm. I worried about Horatio, hoping he would take shelter somewhere and not try to make his way to the Hawk’s Nest, only to find me gone.
“Now what were you trying to tell me?” Mal’s voice cut into my anxious thoughts. He stood near the hearth, using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the rain from his face and head.
I had to wait for another rumble of thunder to pass before I could blurt out, “Mercato found out that I switched the orbs.”
“What! Impossible!”
I assured him that it wasn’t, giving him a somewhat disjointed account of what had occurred in Horatio’s office. “I tried not to betray you, but Horatio guessed that you had to be involved and?—”
“Ella!” Mal interrupted me with a groan. “You should have told the commander immediately that I was the one behind the whole thing and convinced him that I coerced you into helping.”
He hugged me. “Foolish woman! What did you think I would do when I heard? Hide out in my shop while Crushington locked you up?”
I rested my head against his damp shoulder. “No, I was afraid you would hatch some foolish and dangerous scheme to rescue me.”
Mal chuckled. “You know me so well.”
Did I? I drew away from him, wished the storm was not making the light in the cottage so dim. Mal smiled at me, but it seemed a mere shadow of his usual roguish grin.
When I told him about Mercato’s demand for the immediate return of the orb, I was not even sure Mal was listening to me. His brow furrowed, his mind churning with some swift calculation.
“Mal!” I said sharply. “You know what we have to do.”
He nodded. “The orb is hidden back at my shop. As soon as the storm lets up, we’ll go and get it.”
I had braced myself for a long and fierce argument to persuade him to surrender the orb. His capitulation caught me by surprise. I was so relieved, I could have wept, until Mal added, “We are going to have to flee the kingdom, Ella. I know you’ll hate leaving your family, but we have no choice. We must get that orb someplace safe.”
My jaw dropped open. “Have you not heeded a word I have been saying? That orb never belonged to your grandfather and it’s not the key to some fabulous treasure trove. That cursed thing was fashioned by the fairies. It’s imbued with some dark magic and it’s dangerous!”
“Only to Mercato and the king,” he muttered.
