feet. The ball of her foot planted on a jagged rock. She yelped, yanking her foot from the stone. It clattered into the lane. Mara’s eyes widened. She twisted around and watched the stone come to rest on the wine-stained stones in the middle of the road.
She grimaced and leaned back, her hood slowly slipping to her shoulders. She peeked into the lane.
Both soldiers glared from their posts. Their knuckles whitened on the hilts of their swords.
“You there,” one said, “why are you skulking in the shadows like some thief? Come out where we can see you.”
“She wears a burlap hood,” the other man said, his voice trembling. “You know what this means, sir? An ashwalk pilgrim! Just like they said would be crawling about tonight.”
Mara twisted into her hiding place. The silent son’s hand lanced from the black and wrapped around Mara’s wrist. The guards’ footsteps pounded on the stones, their scabbards clattering against their breastplates.
She hoisted her son against her neck and frantically searched the priest’s eyes hiding behind his mask. “What do we do? There’s nowhere to go!”
The silent son did not answer. His hand tightened on her wrist. He spun around, and the pale wedge of his other hand swept in a great arc before the wall. A hole opened in the stones, and the priest pulled them through it.
Mara stumbled after the man as the opening shrunk around her. She leapt through the hole and landed on the other side. Turning, she spotted the men barrel around the corner she had occupied seconds before.
“Halt!” one shouted, clumsily yanking the sword from his scabbard.
The second soldier bolted for the hole. Mara watched, frozen in horror as the man’s brawny frame swelled within the shrinking gap. He ripped his sword from the scabbard and screamed, thrusting the blade into the opening.
The gap sealed around the sword with a hiss. Its razor tip wriggled like an angry snake inches from Mara’s face, the stone wall keeping the steel from burying between her eyes. From the other side of the wall, guards screamed for reinforcements.
Long, pale fingers rested gently over Mara’s shoulder. She turned to the masked priest, and he motioned to follow.
“I’ve never seen magic before today,” she said. “And that’s twice now a silent son’s used it to save me. I thought your power faded from Urum?”
He brushed his knuckles over her cheek and shook his head side to side. She started to speak again, but he turned his back and floated like a phantom over another wide lane.
Mara followed the silent son in and out of narrow alleys, across lanes, and between spaces so small she feared she might crush the child in her arms. Alarm bells rang out. The rhythmic march of guards on the move echoed all around her.
The silent son and Mara slipped into an alley that turned sharply toward a familiar wall encircling Upper Sollan. The barrier towered over her, its long, cool shadow snuffing out the light like wet fingers pinching the dying flame of a candle.
“There’s nowhere to go,” she hissed as the silent son picked up speed.
“Please,” she begged, “slow down. You’re too fast. I can’t—I can’t keep up!”
The silent son disappeared within the darkness. Mara slowed in the deepest depths of the shadows and searched the black with her free hand. The wall rose not inches from her face, and yet, she found no solid surface.
Mara leaned into the darkness. “Silent son? Are you there? Will you take my hand and lead me through?”
No one answered.
Mara licked her lips. She glanced behind her. Guards’ harried voices grew ever louder. She faced the black and stepped into it.
CHAPTER TEN
A Good King's Unkind Words
Mara stumbled from the shadows. She wheeled around and searched the darkness. Instead of an opening in the wall to Lower Sollan, now only thick, solid stone remained.
She spun back around, her rough burlap cloak itching her legs. If the silent son
She grimaced and leaned back, her hood slowly slipping to her shoulders. She peeked into the lane.
Both soldiers glared from their posts. Their knuckles whitened on the hilts of their swords.
“You there,” one said, “why are you skulking in the shadows like some thief? Come out where we can see you.”
“She wears a burlap hood,” the other man said, his voice trembling. “You know what this means, sir? An ashwalk pilgrim! Just like they said would be crawling about tonight.”
Mara twisted into her hiding place. The silent son’s hand lanced from the black and wrapped around Mara’s wrist. The guards’ footsteps pounded on the stones, their scabbards clattering against their breastplates.
She hoisted her son against her neck and frantically searched the priest’s eyes hiding behind his mask. “What do we do? There’s nowhere to go!”
The silent son did not answer. His hand tightened on her wrist. He spun around, and the pale wedge of his other hand swept in a great arc before the wall. A hole opened in the stones, and the priest pulled them through it.
Mara stumbled after the man as the opening shrunk around her. She leapt through the hole and landed on the other side. Turning, she spotted the men barrel around the corner she had occupied seconds before.
“Halt!” one shouted, clumsily yanking the sword from his scabbard.
The second soldier bolted for the hole. Mara watched, frozen in horror as the man’s brawny frame swelled within the shrinking gap. He ripped his sword from the scabbard and screamed, thrusting the blade into the opening.
The gap sealed around the sword with a hiss. Its razor tip wriggled like an angry snake inches from Mara’s face, the stone wall keeping the steel from burying between her eyes. From the other side of the wall, guards screamed for reinforcements.
Long, pale fingers rested gently over Mara’s shoulder. She turned to the masked priest, and he motioned to follow.
“I’ve never seen magic before today,” she said. “And that’s twice now a silent son’s used it to save me. I thought your power faded from Urum?”
He brushed his knuckles over her cheek and shook his head side to side. She started to speak again, but he turned his back and floated like a phantom over another wide lane.
Mara followed the silent son in and out of narrow alleys, across lanes, and between spaces so small she feared she might crush the child in her arms. Alarm bells rang out. The rhythmic march of guards on the move echoed all around her.
The silent son and Mara slipped into an alley that turned sharply toward a familiar wall encircling Upper Sollan. The barrier towered over her, its long, cool shadow snuffing out the light like wet fingers pinching the dying flame of a candle.
“There’s nowhere to go,” she hissed as the silent son picked up speed.
“Please,” she begged, “slow down. You’re too fast. I can’t—I can’t keep up!”
The silent son disappeared within the darkness. Mara slowed in the deepest depths of the shadows and searched the black with her free hand. The wall rose not inches from her face, and yet, she found no solid surface.
Mara leaned into the darkness. “Silent son? Are you there? Will you take my hand and lead me through?”
No one answered.
Mara licked her lips. She glanced behind her. Guards’ harried voices grew ever louder. She faced the black and stepped into it.
CHAPTER TEN
A Good King's Unkind Words
Mara stumbled from the shadows. She wheeled around and searched the darkness. Instead of an opening in the wall to Lower Sollan, now only thick, solid stone remained.
She spun back around, her rough burlap cloak itching her legs. If the silent son
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