Angel Arias by Marianne de Pierres Page B

exchanged blood with had saved them. Her friend would have been proud of Liam, and would have scolded Naif and Markes for being so cowardly about using the dead cart.
    And now Markes and she were separated.
    The wardens would guard the gate and search all night for them now that they knew they were inside the wall.
    Almost as she had that thought, the whistles started up again. Joel had told her that the wardens had their own code. At the moment the whistling was three shrill, short sounds to signal that a search was on. But that would change if she or Markes was found.
    Naif got to her feet and scanned the dark skyline. A dim and unhappy moon had risen above the arch, silhouetting it against the night. She must get there quickly before the hounds found her.
    Drawing Toola’s coat tighter, she hurried onward, only slowing her pace when a charabanc rolled by. No one hurried through Grave streets at night, especially during prayers and when the whistles were blowing.
    Every step she took was filled with fear. Had the hounds scented her? Where was Markes?
    One street she took turned into a blind alley and she had to retrace her route. As she reached the entrance again, hounds ran past along the opposite side of the street, the stiff, upright shapes of the wardens following on foot.
    She shrank back against a garden wall. She even thought for a moment to jump it and hide among the bushes in the sparse garden, but she feared being trapped there.
    Instead she slipped out of Toola’s coat and waited until a small charabanc pulled by a pair of grey horses rolled past. She darted out and hitched Toola’s coat to the back tray and then ran back to her hiding spot. If the hounds had her scent then hopefully that might confuse them.
    When the carriage had passed out of sight, she hurried on.
    As she got closer to the north section of the wall, the large residences with neat gardens slowly became narrow shopfronts sandwiched against each other like parcels wrapped in brown paper.
    It struck Naif as she hurried past them that uniformity was part of Grave. On Ixion the churches were as different as the clothes the Ripers gave them to wear. Here it was as though the Grave Elders feared diversity, not just in thought, but in appearance as well.
    They can’t control my thoughts, Ret. Nor can they control yours. Make your own decisions. Make you own choices. Joel had said that .
    But look where her own thoughts and choices had brought her. What am I doing back here, Joel?
    She pictured her brother with his sword. And Charlonge, helping Ruzalia. And Rollo and Suki. What would happen to them all if she didn’t find out the truth?
    And what will happen to us all if I do? Will I be able to do anything with what I learn? Or will I still be as I am now? Running. Scared.
    She stopped, dizzy, and leaned against a shopfront. Taking deep breaths made it worse so she slowed her breathing and swallowed to wet her dry throat. This was not the time for doubt. The arch loomed close, only a few streets away now. She must get there before the hounds came back.
    The whistles sounded again; much closer this time. She straightened and began to run. There was barely anyone on the streets here as the shops were all closed. Exhaustion made her legs and chest heavy. But she wouldn’t let it claim her yet.
    She turned into an alley, looking for a shortcut.
    A blind end again.
    She turned and ran back. The whistles were only a street or two away at most.
    Panicked memories flooded her mind. The obedience strip. The warden watching her; his sneer, his morbid interest, the way he probed the skin of her thigh with his instruments.
    Those thoughts gave her strength. She would not be caught.
    She burst into the empty prayer space just ahead of the wardens. Across the square she could see a Barbour’s shop. The Clockmaker’s was next door; a sign swinging outside, and behind it another building, long, narrow and high, with lights in the windows.
    Straight across the