Illyria stupidly thought she could swing her hand against a rcenary, as if he were the footman of her mansion, expecting him to bow to her authority.
Slash.
Steel bit through flesh. Illyria crumpled to the floor.
Lorraine winced. Barking orders at rcenaries? Ugh. What did she expect?
But that was not the only foolish thing she did.
"Boys! Get to her! Lorraine—protect them!" Illyria cried, her voice raw with desperation as she bled out.
The rcenaries halted for a beat, eyes narrowing. They exchanged glances, blades tightening in their grip, realizing there was another presence in the library.
One of them turned his head, gaze cutting through the gap in the shelves until it landed squarely on Lorraine.
Damn. Lorraine swore under her breath, jaw tightening. Trust that stupid mistress to drag her na into this at the worst possible mont!
"I see her," the man growled to the others. "You get them. I’ll handle her."
The rcenaries lunged, seizing the boys by their collars. Their shrieks tore through the vaulted silence of the library. "Help! Sobody—help!" Their small fists flailed uselessly, their cries swallowed by the towering shelves and high stone walls.
Lorraine’s jaw clenched. With a swift flick of her hand, her eyes turning sharp and decisive, she gave the signal. Protect the boys.
In an instant, her own shadows burst into motion. Cloaked in black, her n dropped from the upper shelves like predators from the branches of so dark forest, blades gleaming in the dim light. The clash of steel erupted, sharp and jarring, a violent counterpoint to the boys’ cries. She only saw four of her n. They were still enough to sow havoc.
Is Aldric not here? The thought cut through her, unwelco, gnawing. He should have been here. She needed him here.
But she didn’t linger. She could not.
Slipping deeper into the library’s rows, she wove between polished tables and looming tos, her skirts whispering across the marble floor. Her breath ca quicker now, but her mind remained razor-sharp. She had walked this place earlier, studied its turns, its hidden nooks. Lorraine never stayed anywhere without knowing her exits. Years of abuse had carved that rule into her bones.
She slid into a narrow alcove between a towering shelf and the cold sweep of the wall. Pressing her back against the stone, she sank low into the shadows, every nerve straining, every muscle alive.
Bootsteps echoed: slow, heavy, deliberate. The rcenary wasn’t searching blindly. He was hunting, his tread a asured drumbeat of death that reverberated through the silence.
Her heartbeat answered, quick and hard, pounding against her ribs. For all her composure, for all her calculated calm, a primal truth burned through her blood: she was prey.
But she curled her fingers around that truth, crushed it in her fist, and smothered it. I am no one’s prey. Not anymore.
Her hand drifted to her belly. She was no longer one. Another life stirred within her, fragile and unknowing, depending on her for its survival. She needed to be safe, not for herself, but for the child. Slowly, deliberately, she slid her fingers into her pocket and closed them around the small vial of poison she had hidden there.
From the distance ca the clash of steel on steel, shouts tangled with the high, terrified cries of the boys. Chaos raged where equals fought, and chaos never ended quickly.
Lorraine pressed the vial into her palm, clutched it until her knuckles whitened, and held her breath. The rcenary’s boots drew nearer, and it sounded careless, unhurried, each step heavy with confidence, as if her efforts didn’t matter, as if he had already caught her. Then they stopped. Only a couple of feet separated him from her shadowed alcove.
Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. Does he know I’m here? Is he pausing... or listening? She couldn’t see him. She could only guess, only count the silence between heartbeats.
Then ca the faint shuffle of leather, the rustle of cloth.
Suddenly—BAM!
The man dropped low, palms flat on the ground, his body coiled like a predator in a push-up stance. His face angled up through the shadows, inches from hers. His grin stretched unnaturally wide, teeth bared in a jagged smile that reeked of madness. His eyes glead with that eerie, psychotic glee of a hunter who had cornered his prey.
Lorraine almost flinched back, but forced herself still. Her instincts scread, but her mind whispered: Be level-headed now, or you’re dead.
This would have been the perfect mont for that clever crossbow contraption Damian had once shown her. If only Leroy’s jealousy hadn’t kept her from buying it. That small weapon could have saved her now.
But she didn’t have it. It was unfortunate but she could do nothing about it. Crying and wishing for the things she never had, never had helped her. Only actions had helped her. Lorraine never relied on what she lacked. She relied on herself. And she was not giving up. Not yet.
"Ah... here you are," the rcenary crooned, his grin splitting wider, half-broken teeth glinting. "Kitty... kitty... co on out. I won’t hurt you..." His voice slithered with mockery, every syllable a sneer.
Lorraine slowly lifted her hand, feigning obedience.
"Uh-uh," he leaned closer, eyes gleaming, fingers twitching for her wrist. "Do not try anything funny... I’d be disappointed." His tone dripped with conceit, a predator amused by its prey.
Her pulse raced, but her mind sharpened. Prudence was survival. If he thought she resisted, he’d cut her down without hesitation. So, she played along, scooting forward, her eyes downcast, like a little scared damsel in distress.
"Good kitty," he chuckled, stepping back slightly to give her room. "You know, maybe I’ll—"
But he never finished.
Lorraine snapped her hand up and blew the vial’s powder straight into his face. A fine cloud burst into the air, catching the light like dust motes. The rcenary inhaled before he could stop himself.
He staggered, eyes instantly watering, breath hitching as his lungs and chest burned. Yet even reeling, he was no fool. His hand shot out, catching a fistful of her dress. Lorraine yelped as she was yanked forward, dragged into his collapsing weight.
She struck at his wrist, nails clawing, fists hamring, but his grip was iron. The man coughed, snarling through the poison tearing at his throat, and swung blindly with his free hand. His blade whistled past, close enough that she felt the air shift.
Lorraine buried her face into her sleeve, shielding her mouth and nose. She had no intention of breathing in the sa venom she’d unleashed. Her heart thundered.
How do I free myself? Maybe I should have asked one to stand as my guard! Why did I send them all to protect Elyse’s sons?
Ugh! I’m stupid!
They were just so young and she... Was it her pregnancy? Was that making her feel that odd empathy in her heart? She hated herself for it.
*Slash*
The gleaming sword, this ti, ca for her neck.
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