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Joss didn’t hear the lever click into place or the way the hatch sounded when it opened. All she saw was the man in front of her drop, her hand on the handle of her ax as she bolted forward. Just as the rope tightened, she swung hard, the sharp blade slicing the rope clean. Something flew right past her then, hitting the railing behind. She caught a glimpse of the tail end of an arrow as she clambered down the hatch, landing on her feet and avoiding the prisoner who had rolled to the side, straw clinging to his hair and clothes as he coughed. Henrik was taking the gag off and loosening the rope, pulling it from around the prisoner’s neck.
“Guards!” Lord Wolburn was screaming as the hissing sound of gravel rose, the two guards running towards them.
“We have to go!” she yelled above the sound, pulling the small pistol from her boot. At the closest guard, she fired a warning shot at the gravel, the action causing him to divert to the side.
The other guard held back, and both unsheathed their swords, not having any firearms to help. “Coward!” one yelled, more upset that he didn’t have the better weapon.
“Shoot them!” the prisoner coughed, being helped to his feet by Henrik who had started untying his hands. They all heard Lord Wolburn in the background, screaming for more guards. His voice grew fainter, evident by how he was running to get help.
“No,” Joss told him, putting the pistol back in her boot and feeling the warmth of the chamber against her leg.
“What are you doing?” the prisoner gawked, rubbing his wrists as he staggered over to her.
“Someone fired an arrow up there,” she told him, gripping her ax harder. “We need cover.”
By how she looked, the prisoner began to understand, eyeing the guards who were creeping in. Shooting them would leave the bodies yards away. If someone was attacking from a higher advantage point, they’d need something to shield themselves with.
“There’s no need for this,” the other guard called out, trying to calm the situation. “I’m sure this can be worked out—”
“I’ve heard that Prince Callan Ronen is a very good swordsman,” Joss commented, backing up as the two guards slowly closed in, the prisoner and Henrik following her lead.
“Master Brevyn, is it?” the prisoner asked, his voice quiet.
Joss glanced at him, surprised that he remembered her name. “Joss Brevyn,” she corrected.
“Well, Joss Brevyn, I’m not a very good swordsman.” The man smirked. “I’m excellent.”
The closest guard had reached the edge of the platform, ducking his head as he passed under. “Come out, come out,” he sang, having fun as his companion continued to inch around the side.
“And for the time being, just call me Callan. Give me your ax,” the prince requested, but before Joss could give it up, an arm had slipped around the guard in front, someone kicking his leg out and causing him to lose his balance. When the guard’s body dropped, it was Quinn who held him in the choke hold.
The sound of gravel heightened from behind, and Joss caught the other guard as he bolted into a run. Pushing Henrik out of the way, she blocked his attack with her ax, the two metals clashing as they collided. Both backed up, and as the guard swung again, Joss blocked, twisting the blade so it hooked against the sword. With a quick jerk, she pulled on the handle, yanking the sword forward and its wielder with it. Causing him to become unsteady, Joss used the moment to shove the ax blade into the man’s throat. There was a shudder, the man’s eyes bulging, and as she pulled back, he fell backwards onto the gravel.
Joss turned to find Quinn still battling the other guard, Henrik’s knife now in Callan’s hand as he moved forward.
“Stubborn bastard,” Quinn was seething, being jerked around as the guard fought him. As if seeing his opening, the prince slipped the knife in between the armor underneath the guard’s armpit. Blood began to pool out, and in slow motion the guard’s movements became awkward until finally Quinn let him fall to the ground.
Out of breath, Quinn tried to usher the group to the exit. “We don’t have much time,” he said before Joss stopped him.
“There’s an archer on the balcony. He’s already shot at us.”
“Are you serious?” Quinn gawked. “That would have been nice to know before I got here!”
“I’ll go first. He’s here for me, anyway,” Callan remarked, handing the knife back to Henrik. Before he could be stopped, he started pulling the dead guard into a sitting position. “Here, help me get him up so I can carry him.”
Quinn and Henrik worked to lift the armored guard as Joss checked the gates and balcony, though her gaze pulled often to the guard she had killed, his body bleeding out over the gravel. While a part of her knew he would have done the same to her without hesitation, the other part felt guilty, knowing she had officially crossed a line in her profession.
Once in place, Callan instructed, “That archer will need time to reload, so wait for the shot and then run like hell.” Without hesitation, he groaned as he picked up the armored man and started moving forward.
The three watched as he moved, each holding their breath as he made his way across the courtyard, the slow crunching of gravel marking his pace.
The shot came as suddenly as before, but this time the arrow didn’t come from the balcony. It came from the gate in front, missing Callan’s foot but slicing his ankle. He stumbled from the surprise, the weight of the dead guard causing him to fall to the ground, pinning him underneath as he landed sideways and then onto his back.
Knowing the assassin would need time to reload, Joss handed her ax over to Quinn. “Make sure the passage is still safe,” she directed, eyeing both men before sprinting towards Callan. She heard the other two men running to the other gate as she approached the fallen prince. Hurriedly, she grabbed the dead guard by the arm and began dragging him off, Callan groaning and seething underneath. There was the crunching of gravel as either Quinn or Henrik came to help. She had enough of the body off of him when the sound of gravel stopped, and Callan told her to run.
Startled, she turned to find someone coming out of the shadows of the entrance in front of them. The figure kept a meandering pace, his crossbow hanging from his grip next to him. What made her eyes widen was the fact that at first, she thought it was her father: the tall stature, the worn black shirt, the long cloak with the hood that shadowed his face. She knew those clothes, and she remembered them so well because she had just seen them, fitted on a different man.
“No,” she whispered, taking in Aric’s face as he approached. She thought he had heard her, a slight twitch of remorse in his eyes before he hid it away, presenting an emotionless persona.
“Step aside,” he instructed, his voice calm and collected, not matching the pounding in her chest. He took a slight inventory of those around, but his gaze came back to hers.
Still stunned, Joss could only shake her head, the confusion making her speechless.
Aric kept his demeanor composed as he raised the crossbow, aiming it at her. “Please,” he whispered through clenched teeth, sounding more like begging than a command.
Her vision blurred, tears coming forward as she began to understand that the person who had made her the happiest earlier was a lie. “No,” she whispered again, standing her ground, the betrayal beginning to flicker in her own gaze.
Aric pursed his lips, the shadows of the hood unable to hide the conflict that was there on his face.
He didn’t have a chance to pull the trigger, though; the crossbow was unexpectedly knocked from his grip, landing on the ground. A knife stuck out of its side, the force of the throw causing the momentum that thwarted his attack. Aric didn’t hear the gravel until the man was already nearby, and pulling the kitchen knife out of his boot, he stepped into attack position. His gaze immediately found Henrik approaching, the one who had thrown the knife.
“That was a great shot.” Aric couldn’t hold back from saying it, admiring the accuracy of the throw. Despite their current situation, he had to compliment the lad, impressed by the tactic.
“So is this one,” Henrik answered, throwing gravel and dirt into Aric’s face that he hadn’t seen him pick up with his other gloved hand. The dirt got into his eyes, blinding him just enough to allow Henrik to ram him, punching his injured shoulder on purpose. With a yell, Aric fell to the ground, growling into the gravel as Henrik quickly retrieved his knife from the crossbow.
Callan scooted the rest of the way out from under the dead guard, getting to his feet as Henrik approached. “Come on!” he hissed, starting to make a run towards the other gate where Quinn was, watching the scene.
Joss didn’t know Henrik had come to her side, tugging at her arm. “We have to go,” he was saying, waking her up from her trance.
While her feet felt heavy, she moved as fast as she could after Henrik, entering the dark passageway that would lead to the jailhouse. She didn’t look back even when she wanted to, even when she heard Quinn slam the gate shut, locking them in. Even when a small part of her hoped that what she saw wasn’t true.
