Into the Deep: Chapter 12
When Home is Not the Way Back
Cassie opened her eyes to weak sunlight filtering through a hole at the gable end of the roof. A fire in the central hearth burned low, coughing up smoke instead of heat. She scrubbed both palms across her face, smearing away the crust of sleep and whatever soot had settled there overnight.
Across the room, an oil lamp burned, the uncertain light wavering as if debating which direction to take—brightness or darkness. What direction indeed. She should leave, but where to go and how to get there?
A moan caught in her throat. Oh, how she’d hoped this historical nightmare would be gone when she awoke, but here it was. As real as the awful memory of last night in that alley. She’d shoved that incident down as deep as it could possibly go, yet it would not be contained.
The flash of steel.
The wet sound.
The way the man’s last breath had huffed out of him.
Her stomach lurched and she pressed a hand over it, willing away the image. Yes, she was thankful Alarik had gotten rid of the man who’d attacked her but—she shuddered. Alarik had not hesitated. Not even a heartbeat. Just did what had to be done and snatched her out of there. Everything was just so dangerous around here. So viscerally life and death. If she dwelled on that, she’d cower in a corner and go mad from fear.
Gathering the shreds of courage she had left, she shifted on the bench-like bed and glanced around for Alarik. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Nor was anyone else.
Rising, she pulled off his cloak. His scent of smoke and leather clung to it like a memory, and she gave it a hearty shake, then folded it with care and lay it aside. Next, she smoothed the creases from her own blouse and skirt, knowing full well it made no difference but needing to do something familiar. What she wouldn’t pay for a bath right now. Or clean clothes. Even just a little toothpaste. Despair pressed down hard on her shoulders.
But she wouldn’t give in. Not fully. Not yet.
She blew out a slow breath, planning her next steps. She’d find Alarik, thank him, and figure out how to go home. Logic didn’t matter anymore, only determination.
A groan of hinges behind her made her flinch.
She whirled.
Silhouetted in what she could only assume to be a back door, a small figure stood on the threshold—thin arms, narrow shoulders, a wild tangle of hair falling to his cheeks. Enormous brown eyes stared at her, round as full moons. Recognition jolted her.
The boy! The one who’d stolen her bracelet and set off that whole chain of ugly events last night.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then she bolted.
“Thief!” she shouted, snatching for his collar.
But he was already out the door.
The boy tore off with all the nimbleness of a feral cat, darting through a crooked gate and into what could only loosely be called a yard. Mud squelched beneath her sandals, a blur of feathers exploding around her legs as she stumbled past a huffy-looking goose. The land sloped, her legs burned, and the whole place smelled like manure and sour milk.
And still the kid ran.
So did she. Teeth clenched. Determined. Humiliated.
Then—abruptly—he stopped.
She skidded to a halt as well, at the edge of a rank little stream, heels sinking into the muck. Nothing but forest lay beyond.
But beside the water hunched a small wooden building, its doors flung wide, iron tools hanging from hooks. A workshop, of sorts, with its master standing wide-legged on the threshold in a sweat-stained tunic. A drawknife dangled from his thick fingers like a threat. He was broad. Unsmiling. And when his brown eyes locked onto hers, she sucked in a breath.
Kier.
Alarik’s brother.
And clearly the boy’s father.
So. Probably not the best time to turn the kid upside-down and shake loose her bracelet.
