Page 125 of Wings of Ebony
If he doesn’t yet, he will.
I yank my wrists, but the metal clamped around them won’t give. The dorm quad and courtyard on my left is teeming with students.
Ninety steps.
Ninety before they tuck me away and the truth dies with me. With us.
I force down the anxiety swelling in my gut. The crowd glances from the General’s bashed face and singed, shredded clothes to me, covered in rips and cuts. They whisper, pointing at the golden cuffs seared into my wrists.
One watcher, a taller fellow with golden hair, almost like a mane, stops tinkering over a cart of baubles and meets my eyes. I don’t know him, but something in his stare makes my insides slosh.
Eighty steps.
Time’s running out.
The General jerks me harder and Tasha bumps into me. She’s still a bit woozy and her lip’s busted.
“Can you reach my hands?” I whisper.
“I’ll try,” she says. Our fingers clumsily try to unlatch each other’s restraints. I feel the latch for one and try to open it.That’s it, come on, T. Pry it open.A Patrolman catches us and snatches us apart, putting himself between us. And just like that our two seconds of progress is gone.
Sixty steps.
We keep moving down Main Street and Golden Mane workshis way through the onlookers, his eyes dead set on me.Maybe I do know him?I squint. Nope, I don’t. The grease stains on his shirt say he must be Zruki. But the baubles he’s peddling look fine, like gold.
Gold.
The detainment area looms ahead and more Patrol, armed with shields, wait. Fear bubbles up my throat.
The crowd packed in around us parts. Golden Mane keeps pace with us, walking along the outside, around and between people, when a commotion breaks out. He pushes one person into another and they start arguing, shoving.What’s he doing?Golden Mane instigates and their disagreement grows louder. The crowd’s fighting spills into our path and Patrol pushes them off, yelling and swatting.
I shove my hands back to Tasha’s. “Again, try to get it off. Twist the latch.”
Her clammy hands work feverishly, and I feel my cuffs loosening.
“That’s it, T. Almost.”
I pull. Hard. And metal digs into my skin. My entire hand’s gonna rip off with the handcuffs. A Patrolman catches me from the corner of his eye. “What the—” He swats at me with the brunt of his gun. I duck and his gun slams into another Patrolman, throwing him off balance. I hook my bound hands around his neck and squeeze. He sputters and I hold him there, his back to me, like a personal shield.
“Behind me, Tasha, now.”
She scoots, pressing against my back.
The General whips around pointing a weapon at us and the crowd screams. “Rue, be smart. You’re outnumbered, powerless. Let him go.”
I stand firm, putting Patrolman in front of me and Tasha. He’snot taking us in that prison building, magic or not. Golden Mane catches my eye again, pointing up. Up high. His physique is familiar, tall with lean muscle. Golden rings hug his knuckles and he’s done up in some sort of robed costume—costume.
OMG, it’s Jhamal.
In disguise!
If Jhamal’s here in something from a costume merchant, Bri must be close by too. But the recorder, I don’t have it. He doesn’t know. I try to mouth the words and Jhamal-in-disguise gets closer, squinting.Ugh. He’ll never be able to read my lips from this far.
“I’ll ask one more time, Ms. Akintola,” the General’s weapon is aimed at my personal shield. “Lethim go.”
I pull the Patrol shielding us tighter to me. He’s clawing at his throat, gasping for air. I hold on with every ounce of strength I have.
Jhamal waves at me, pointing to his wrist. He wants me to press play on the recorder. I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes. I don’t have it. He and Bri have everything set up to play the damn transmission and I don’t have the recorder, the proof.
