Page 74 of Blackthorn

“We’re not leaving her behind,” Charlotte said, crawling back under the table. She wasn’t being irrational, but she would be stubborn about it. Only luck—poor luck on Jane’s part—had spared Charlotte. She could easily have been the one on the floor with an arrow in her thigh.

A grim look of determination settled over Orianne’s face. She shuffled under the table on her hands and knees. The tight space was positively suffocating with all three of them.

“Can you walk?” Orianne asked Jane.

Jane nodded, then shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe, if I lean on you.”

Between the two of them, they got Jane to her feet. Quick progress through the crowd was impossible. They maneuvered around the fallen. Smoke hung in the air, stinging her eyes. Rebels clashed against those loyal to Draven, even though both factions wore the same uniform. She couldn’t tell who was who.

Her foot slipped in…something. A fluid. From a person. She didn’t want to think about it.

“Watch your step. Stay focused,” Orianne barked.

Charlotte snapped her attention back to the space directly in front of her. Her world narrowed, ignoring the shouts and the smoke. It felt like a fever dream, unreal and nauseating. One step. Then another.

They reached a door. Orianne pushed against it, but it did not budge. She shoved against it with her shoulder. No joy.

“Barred from the outside,” she said.

Dread sank heavily in Charlotte’s stomach like lead. Barred doors meant no escape. No survivors. A hall filled with people drinking and dancing and celebrating, unarmed and inebriated. This was a slaughter.

“Is there another way out?” Charlotte scanned the assembly hall. She hadn’t paid much attention to the layout when she arrived earlier in the evening. That felt like forever ago. “The minstrel’s balcony? There must be a way up there.”

“Let’s go.” Orianne draped Jane’s arm around her shoulders and started moving again. They skirted along the walls, heading toward a wooden staircase.

Halfway up the stairs, a large figure with a sword blocked their progress. Red in the face from exertion, sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. This man had been fighting and had the strength to continue.

Charlotte’s heart was firmly lodged in her throat. This was Captain Stringer, someone who had been friendly and helpful toward her, but the scowl on his face made her question his loyalties.

“Lady Charlotte, Lord Draven is searching for you. Follow me.”

“Draven. Where is he?” Charlotte asked.

Stringer did not answer. He motioned for them to hurry up the stairs and through a door. When she did not follow quickly enough, he grabbed her by the arm. “Leave them. There is no time.”

“Then help me,” Charlotte snapped.

He looked ready to argue but nodded. He helped carry Jane up the remainder of the steps.

Once through the door, Stringer slammed it shut. The corridor was dark with the lights out, but the air was cool and free of smoke. The noise of the conflict was muffled by the stone walls.

He pointed to Jane. “Take her to the infirmary. I’ll stay with Lady Charlotte.”

“Why can’t you?” Orianne asked. Stringer’s face clouded with rage. She hastily added, “Sir.”

This seemed to mollify him. “Because you are injured and not thinking clearly. The infirmary. Both of you.”

Orianne shifted her weight from foot to foot, still not following orders. “Lord Draven told me that Lady Charlotte is my priority.”

“And I’m ordering you now to go. You’re in no fit state to guard anything. What happens if you’re attacked again? You’re no use to Lady Charlotte as you are.” His tone was harsh and unforgiving.

Orianne blanched and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

She and Jane had barely left when Stringer grabbed Charlotte roughly by the arm. “Hurry. Lord Draven is expecting you.”

Charlotte followed, but Stringer walked faster and occasionally jerked her arm, causing her to stumble. They traveled through the twisting maze of corridors, one looking much like another. With the lighting off, Charlotte soon became lost. Soon the air grew cold and damp. The only sounds were dripping water and her own pounding heart.

“Where’s Lord Draven?” she asked.

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