until he looked at her, and then she felt a deep, cold evil when she met his eyes.
âTwice, she saw the big one with the scar glance toward the Herald.
âYour great-grandfather didnât seem to like the situation any more than Ella. He was known for having a sense of danger and for keeping people safe inside his inn. As soon as Ella finished eating, he came to her and spoke softly in her ear. âGo to bed and bar your door.â
âShe did, but she sneaked out of the window and went into the stables, where she talked to the restless horses to try to calm herself. She felt as nervous as the animals, with the wind whistling through every hole in every board and keeping the barn cold and uncomfortable in spite of its sturdy walls.
âEven the barn cats paced and occasionally let out sharp whines and yowls that crawled up Ellaâs neck and made her worry more. She climbed up into the rafters with the hay and the cats, trying to soothe the half-wild felines so the horses wouldnât be worried by them. The Companion was just below her, and she saw him pace and worry.
âShe thought about climbing back through her window and listening through the door, or about sneaking into the kitchen and trying to avoid her father, but the fierce rain and worry for the locked-up Companion kept her glued down in the hay, listening.
âWhen something finally happened, it came between gusts of wind and surprised her.
âThe barn door flew open.
âThe Companion screamed and kicked at the stall doors.
âEllaâs mother yelled from inside the inn, anger and fear in her voice.
â
:Let me out!:
a voice spoke in her head.
âThe Companion! Ella had never heard one in her head before, but she knew who it was like she knew her own name. She swung her legs over the edge and started down the ladder.
âThe nondescript man stood in the doorway, his face shadowed and his feet spread wide and planted. He held a bow, pulled tight with an arrow aimed at the front of the Companionâs stall. The Companion screamed in her head again, this time saying,
:Get out of the way!:
âShe clung to the ladder, watching in amazement as the Companion reared up and battered the door repeatedly with his front hooves.
âThe arrow grazed the Companionâs face, just below his ear. Blood stained the paint on his coat, and he screamed in pain and anger.
âElla swarmed back up the ladder and found a bucket. She threw it at the nondescript man. He dodged it, then glanced up and met her eyes long enough for her to feel cold and vulnerable. He reached for another arrow, and she shrank back, but his focus returned entirely to the Companion.
âAnother manâone she hadnât seen at all, even in the innârushed in through the barn door. He spoke to the nondescript man, crouching low toward the Companionâs stall, holding a knife. He was big, and looked mean and cold and angry.
âElla looked around the hayloft. There was no second handy bucket, no pitchfork. Everything useful was on the floor of the barn. The loft held nothing except a few ragged blankets, bales of hay, and cats.
âShe reached for a cat and missed, getting a quick scratch on her thumb. The others scattered.
âThe Companionâs hooves pounded again and again on the stall door. Wood splintered. Hinges creaked. The door held. As far as she could tell, the Companion didnât see the second man but was still focused on the archer and on getting free.
âShe rolled a hay bale, finding it easier than she expected, as if her fear and pounding heart were making her stronger.
âShe gave the bale a kick and it rolled a second time, now close to the edge. Stray bits of hay filled the air, and she almost lost her footing.
âA gust of wind blew the big barn door into the wall with a
bang!
âAn arrow hit wood somewhere below her, a
thunk
almost lost in the windâs howl.
âAnother thin
âTwice, she saw the big one with the scar glance toward the Herald.
âYour great-grandfather didnât seem to like the situation any more than Ella. He was known for having a sense of danger and for keeping people safe inside his inn. As soon as Ella finished eating, he came to her and spoke softly in her ear. âGo to bed and bar your door.â
âShe did, but she sneaked out of the window and went into the stables, where she talked to the restless horses to try to calm herself. She felt as nervous as the animals, with the wind whistling through every hole in every board and keeping the barn cold and uncomfortable in spite of its sturdy walls.
âEven the barn cats paced and occasionally let out sharp whines and yowls that crawled up Ellaâs neck and made her worry more. She climbed up into the rafters with the hay and the cats, trying to soothe the half-wild felines so the horses wouldnât be worried by them. The Companion was just below her, and she saw him pace and worry.
âShe thought about climbing back through her window and listening through the door, or about sneaking into the kitchen and trying to avoid her father, but the fierce rain and worry for the locked-up Companion kept her glued down in the hay, listening.
âWhen something finally happened, it came between gusts of wind and surprised her.
âThe barn door flew open.
âThe Companion screamed and kicked at the stall doors.
âEllaâs mother yelled from inside the inn, anger and fear in her voice.
â
:Let me out!:
a voice spoke in her head.
âThe Companion! Ella had never heard one in her head before, but she knew who it was like she knew her own name. She swung her legs over the edge and started down the ladder.
âThe nondescript man stood in the doorway, his face shadowed and his feet spread wide and planted. He held a bow, pulled tight with an arrow aimed at the front of the Companionâs stall. The Companion screamed in her head again, this time saying,
:Get out of the way!:
âShe clung to the ladder, watching in amazement as the Companion reared up and battered the door repeatedly with his front hooves.
âThe arrow grazed the Companionâs face, just below his ear. Blood stained the paint on his coat, and he screamed in pain and anger.
âElla swarmed back up the ladder and found a bucket. She threw it at the nondescript man. He dodged it, then glanced up and met her eyes long enough for her to feel cold and vulnerable. He reached for another arrow, and she shrank back, but his focus returned entirely to the Companion.
âAnother manâone she hadnât seen at all, even in the innârushed in through the barn door. He spoke to the nondescript man, crouching low toward the Companionâs stall, holding a knife. He was big, and looked mean and cold and angry.
âElla looked around the hayloft. There was no second handy bucket, no pitchfork. Everything useful was on the floor of the barn. The loft held nothing except a few ragged blankets, bales of hay, and cats.
âShe reached for a cat and missed, getting a quick scratch on her thumb. The others scattered.
âThe Companionâs hooves pounded again and again on the stall door. Wood splintered. Hinges creaked. The door held. As far as she could tell, the Companion didnât see the second man but was still focused on the archer and on getting free.
âShe rolled a hay bale, finding it easier than she expected, as if her fear and pounding heart were making her stronger.
âShe gave the bale a kick and it rolled a second time, now close to the edge. Stray bits of hay filled the air, and she almost lost her footing.
âA gust of wind blew the big barn door into the wall with a
bang!
âAn arrow hit wood somewhere below her, a
thunk
almost lost in the windâs howl.
âAnother thin
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