Page 5 of The Assassin's Bride

He graced her with a glower before he slid the mask over his face, its surface smeared with blood. “If I'm seen well enough that my face makes it onto a poster, it'll be that much harder to escape. Move.”

The thought of her own countenance posted on boards for wanted criminals made her sick. “But—”

“Move!” he snarled through clenched teeth. He grasped her elbow and twirled her in a new direction as the sound of the dogs grew louder.

There was hardly room to run, but he still flowed through the alleys, dragging her along behind him. Thea stumbled more than once, but he never let her fall. They darted across busy streets and behind familiar buildings, winding farther from the shopping district she'd called home since her brother's death.

“Keep going,” he whispered. “Show me where.”

Taking him home was the last thing she wanted to do now, but when she stalled at the side of a busy avenue, something pressed against her back.

She stiffened, envisioning the same knife he'd used to kill the king.

This time, when he spoke, he leaned close beside her ear. The iron scent of death clung to his mask. “Don't make me ask again.”

Thea turned. Instead of crossing the road, she led him back a few paces and turned into another alleyway. The angle of the sun overhead told her where they needed to go. “We have to go back into the city. My shop is in the heart of the market district.”

He made an unhappy noise, but let her take the lead.

Heading back into the city was the most dangerous thing she could imagine, aside from refusing to aid him further. His proximity to her back made it clear hesitance would be punished. She did not dare try his patience.

By some miracle, they circumvented the dogs, though she had no doubt they would not be far behind. Even she could smell the blood that stained his mask. Her stomach turned over at the thought and she put it firmly out of mind as she opened a tiny gate off an alley. It led into a small garden, a space linked across the backs of a handful of shops. Silently, she prayed the space would be empty.

She swallowed hard and stared straight ahead, holding her breath as if it might make a difference in whether or not they were seen.

The back door to her modest shop was just ahead, and the hounds and their baying were far behind once more.

“They'll pick up our trail fast,” the assassin murmured as she retrieved her key from her pocket and unlocked the door. “We've been seen crossing streets. We'll get what you need and then we must move.”

She didn't appreciate the sentiment. “Of course.” Once again, the idea she could surrender instead of prolonging the inevitable crept through her mind as she pulled open the door and slipped into the tiny kitchen. It was idiotic at best. If she surrendered, she would surely be executed.

And if she wronged the assassin behind her, she'd die by his hand. If she cooperated and fled, she might still die trying to flee the country, but there was a tiny, glimmering possibility she could make it beyond Kentoria's border and start over.

He slid into the kitchen behind her and wasted no time in barricading the door.

Thea watched as he moved the chairs and small table. The way he stacked them made it impossible the door would even budge. “Is that really necessary?” If anything, it would slow down their escape.

“No questions. Get what you need to work your magic.” He looked toward the front room, as if contemplating barricading that door, too.

She hurried to the front before he made up his mind.

The room was dim, but she knew the placement of everything she needed by heart. She pulled a basket from underneath the counter and opened a drawer to retrieve her best shears and a packet of good needles. A box of thread went in next, then pins and her best measuring tape, alongside a jar of buttons and toggles she'd surely need.

Last of all, she stood before the racks of fabric that lined one wall. Her collection of fabrics had become a source of pride, each one selected for quality, texture, and color. The notion of leaving them behind struck her even harder than the thought of losing her books. Which she still needed to pack, assuming he gave her enough time.

“I need to go upstairs,” she said after she folded her last fabric selection into the basket. She hadn't seen him appear in the doorway, but his looming presence was unmistakable. He was silent, stealthy, as an assassin should be, but she still felt his eyes on her back. That he was being threatening on purpose was the only thing that made sense.

“Be swift. We have little time.”

She was tempted to grumble. It was easy for him to say; he didn't need to decide with only a few minutes' notice which parts of his life were important enough to pack and take with him. Thea suspected she could get away with taking a single bag, and that was assuming she could convince the assassin to carry her sewing basket part of the time.

And why shouldn't he? She hurried up the stairs and stifled the urge to snort. He was the one who wanted her to sew disguises. He should bear at least part of the burden.

The absurdity of it all hit her hard the moment she reached the top of the steps. By now, she was wanted for a crime she didn't commit, unable to clear her name and guaranteed to be wrongfully executed by a merciless crown. And here she was, standing at the top of her stairs, worrying about books and which pair of shoes would be best suited to running while she fled her homeland alongside a murderer.

She didn't even know his name.

Thea shook her head as if it might clear her madness, then stuffed her two favorite books into a satchel she'd made herself. It was shabby, one of her first sewing projects, but she was fond of it. Then she changed into a clean dress, just in case her skirt had picked up blood from the guards. Or the king's head, as her companion toted it around. She fought back a shudder as she put on her most comfortable boots, crammed extra undergarments into her bag, and returned to the stairs.

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