Mine to Tarnish by Janeal Falor Page B

without being sure no one was waiting in hiding to catch him, thoughts of warlocks hexing him still abound. Perhaps they’re taking him right now after casting a silencing spell. They’ll subdue him, then come for me. I’ll either be caught or stuck in these horrid tunnels forever. As much as I hate the tunnels, I take a step back.
    A shadow crosses the sky and I get ready to run. Then I realize it’s Charles. Of course it is. He motions me to follow. I climb, the rope and my skirts twisting beneath my steps, slowing me down. I kick my skirts and focus on each rung instead of frantically trying to get away from this closed up place. If only women were allowed breeches like the men.
    The ladder continues to wobble beneath me. Two more rungs, and I finally reach the top. Charles takes my hand and helps me from the hole before closing the hatch and concealing it with a bush.
    The sun is warm, friendlier than I remember. The sky bright blue puffed with clouds. But there's not time to savor the joy coursing through me. We have to move. Now.
    There’s a little of the mountain we have to climb down. Then we’re in the trees. He grabs on to my hand again and moves left to where the river should be. His gaze darts back to me often, checking on my progress. The river must not be far. The sound of its rushing power fills the forest, but I don’t see it yet. The sound means freedom and hope.
    Yet its noise also makes it difficult to hear anything else. Anyone creeping up on us. At least that means it will be harder for them to hear us trying to escape as well. Though with their spells, does it matter if they can hear us?
    Charles takes the time to place his feet carefully yet somehow managing to keep a quick pace. I attempt to do the same, but the shuffle of my steps can still be heard even above the noise of the river. As we make our way through the forest, I can’t help but look behind us, fearing a warlock will appear any moment, my noisy steps or attachment to my spelled ribbon drawing them in. Listening and watching for pursuit takes almost as much energy as trying to get away quietly.
    So far no warlocks appear. Perhaps Mary was mistaken. Perhaps the scouts did see some warlocks in the area, but they were out for a walk, not searching for me. Perhaps there’s not someone coming to capture me. There’s been no spell, no men, no chase. All the commotion was for something, or someone, else.
    Charles cocks his head to the side. His lips thin as he pulls us along faster. Did he hear something? Does he know they’re coming for us? No matter how much I want to know his thoughts I don’t dare speak, even with the river to cover it.
    My legs grow weary of the rapid pace. I push on, but they feel week, almost numb. As I struggle to stay with him, my footsteps grow careless. Branches crack beneath my feet. Charles doesn’t shush me or even turn around. Instead his gait lengthens, pulling us along even faster. Exchanging stealth for speed.
    This is bad. Very bad. I glance behind, but there are no warlocks in sight. The way Charles is silently urging me on, they must be close. Either that or something else is coming that’s just as bad.
    When we leave the tree cover for a clearing, the river is within sight, though it’s not close enough for me to feel as if we’re going to be safe. Don’t know if my legs can take me all the way there, even though it’s not much farther.
    There’s no boat in sight, though he said it was hidden. If I could see the end goal, perhaps this would be easier. We make our way out of the trees onto a sandy beach littered with big bushes. The river is wider than I expected and flowing by so fast I doubt I could cross it on my own. The white, peaking waves look as if they’d knock me over.
    He releases my hand and heads straight for a group of bushes like he knows exactly where the boat is going to be. We’re almost to the river. We are going to make it. They aren’t going to get us. We're going to