Page 56 of Ruthless Scoundrel
I stick one leg through the window and it’s instantly drenched. I shift my weight and grab onto the ledge, letting my other leg slide out beside my arm. Rain slaps against the side of my face and I look down. Somehow, it’s a lot farther now than when I was in the room. I try to pull myself up but only get a few inches before my arms shake and refuse to haul up any more of my weight.
There’s a heavy bang at the door, and without another thought, I let go. I suck in a gasp as weightlessness takes me, then grunt as my feet—quickly followed by my ass—hit the cobblestone alley.
I stand and unwrap the sheet, then pull it over my head like a cloak. I hold the sheet together with one hand and grip the pistolin the other as I take off down the narrow passage. There are organized heaps of trash bleeding brown mucky water into the gutter all around me, and the smell is on the level of the pirate hold, but I keep my empty stomach in check.
It’s harder to navigate from behind the buildings, but I find my way to the back of the blacksmith. There’s a window on the top half of the back door, and I peer through it.
Jasper is standing by the front door with his arms crossed, looking out into the storm. There’s a man at the forge who’s heating the billows up to a high glow. The warmth coming from under the crack of the door fights off the chill of the rain, but I shiver anyway.
So close to freedom. I just have to wait for Jasper to leave.
Or I could kill him.
My thumb skates over the trigger lock and my fingers drum on the grip of his pistol, but shame is the only thing speaking back to me from the idea. He says he can track me, andwilltrack me, to the ends of Gaien. Killing him may be my only real means of escape. But if I kill him here, where he’s told everyone that I’m something I’m not, they might just execute me.
Or worse.
And I don’t want to kill him. For all he’s done to me, Jasper’s also done a lotforme. He might be a decent man. I can’t kill a decent man.
I grip the pistol tighter and duck out of sight. The rain sheds off the roof of the blacksmith in great sheets, blocking the rest of the village from my view. I steal a look in the window every few minutes, waiting for him to leave.
“Aye! Que estas haciendo!” someone shouts behind me.
I start and look toward the voice. A man with a loaded dolly and a wide umbrella covering it all is stopped twenty feet away in the middle of the alley.
“Eres la ladrona! Thief!”
Great.
I run from the blacksmith building, clutching my pilfered sheet and pistol with all my might. The man continues to make a racket and I pray to the gods that the blacksmith’s hammering and the roar of the forge is loud enough to drown out his voice. There must be somewhere else in town I can get the tools to undo these binds.
And I bet the miners would have them.
I don’t want to go up there without my magic, but it’s all that’s left for me. Maybe they won’t kill a terrified princess on the run—or maybe I’ll meet my death.
Either way, I’m getting out of here.
My bare feet slip on the wet cobblestones as I round the first alley and I fall into the street. Pain spears through my shoulder when I hit the ground, and I cry out. Passersby with wide umbrellas gasp and ask kind words in kind voices, until shouts ofthiefcome from the alley behind me.
My makeshift cloak parts just enough for someone to see the pistol clutched in my hand. They scream, “Un arma!” and suddenly there are hands on me. I roll and kick, screaming in both pain and desperation.
I must get away from him.
Imustget back to the rebellion.
One of my kicks lands solidly and the man trying to detain me grunts and falls to the ground. I scramble back to my feet and run for the road that leads into the mountain. The shouting continues behind me, and whistles are blown as I charge away from the merchant village and into the one above. There are signs posted in every common language telling me to turn back, that the inhabitants of the city will kill any trespasser.
Gods, what am I thinking?
Massive bins line the pathway where the miners dump their hauls, and past that, the path becomes a treacherous, slipperyuphill climb. I look back at the city below. Though it’s hard to see through the pounding rain, I know Jasper is already hunting for me, along with the rest of the town.
I could go back. I could wait for another opportunity rather than risk near certain death at the hands of monstrous cave-dwellers.
I turn and look up the hill toward potential salvation. The black rock archways seem to stare back at me, questioning my dedication. How far am I willing to go to get back to the rebellion? How desperate am I to end the evil queen who has been a blight to my family and my people? I must be able to persuade the mountain dwellers to help me instead of kill me. I can offer them an alliance, better trade with Fynren,something.
An arm bands around my waist and I open my mouth to scream, but another clamps over my face. I bite down, my teeth sinking into something harder than flesh. Leather gloves.
“Eres mio,” the cold, amused voice says against the side of my head.
