Kinked (Elder Races, #6)(74)

We’re perfect, he had said. And when he said it, everything inside of her pulsed in recognition of the rightness of it.

I don’t know, she said again.

For a moment she faltered. As her sense of purpose flatlined, she felt lost, even confused, and fear rose up to slash at her with black, razor-sharp teeth. Nothing felt familiar, not her physical surroundings and not the landscape within, and her future wasn’t looking very survivable. She had no business considering whether or not she was “together” with anybody. She closed her eyes as despair attacked.

“Here,” Linwe said gently, brushing her lax fingers aside. “Let me finish buckling that for you.”

As Aryal let the younger woman work the fastenings, she looked out the barracks door that they had propped open. The door faced the palace, and beyond that, the sparkling sea. At the height of the promontory, the island was more visible than ever.

A sailboat cruised the water, leaving a silvery trail in the water behind it as it approached the mainland.

Aryal’s hand shot out. She gripped Linwe’s shoulder with such force the younger woman looked up at her wide-eyed. “Which of you is the fastest runner?” she asked.

Linwe and Aralorn answered at the same time. Aralorn had been sorting out armor for Caerreth. He looked up as he said, “She is.”

“Me,” said Linwe. “Why?”

Aryal hauled her around and pointed to the boat. Linwe sucked in a breath, but before she could say anything, Aryal shoved her toward the door. “Get Caerreth out here now. Move!”

As if Aryal had shot her from bow, Linwe raced for the palace.

Aralorn joined her at the doorway. Unwilling to take any more chances of being seen, she pulled him back until she was sure they both stood in shadow. They stared out. Thus far the Elf had shown a steady demeanor, but as he wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, Aryal saw that it was shaking. He asked, “What are we going to do?”

She told him, “You and the other two are going to leave just like we planned. You’ll take this road past the barracks. It doesn’t matter where it leads, as long as it gets you out of sight of the piers. As soon as you’re out of sight, do whatever you have to do to get to the passageway as fast as you can.”

If he had looked shaky before, now he looked downright terrified. “Yes, ma’am.”

Moments dragged by. She watched the sailboat get closer. She guessed it was perhaps ten minutes out from docking. Come on Caerreth.

Then Linwe, Caerreth and Quentin exploded out of the kitchen door, racing toward them. She noted with approval that Linwe had had the presence of mind to bring one of the sacks of food.

Quentin searched the area until his gaze locked on her.

Aryal held up her flattened hand. Stop.

His hands shot out in either direction, and he grabbed the two younger Elves, dragging them to a stop. His gaze never left her.

She looked at the boat and at them, calculating angles and line of sight. If they could see the boat, theoretically, someone on the boat could see them. At their current trajectory, they would have about seventy-five feet when they might be visible from the water.

Probably the witch wasn’t looking in this direction, but she didn’t want to risk it. She gestured to Quentin, pointing to her left, their right. They needed to travel in a wide arc so that they put the bulk of the palace between them. She whispered, “Figure it out. If you can’t see the boat on the water, she can’t see you.”

He seemed to get it. He nodded at her and gestured to Caerreth and Linwe to go to their right. She said to Aralorn, “Come on. We’re going out another way.”

She helped him gather up their weapons and Caerreth’s armor. Then they walked through the long building to the armory section that had its own entrance. This time the angle was better, and she and Aralorn ran to meet the others.

“Her ETA is seven or eight minutes,” she said. She threw Quentin’s armor at him, dropped the weapons at his feet and joined Aralorn and Linwe as they worked feverishly on buckling Caerreth into his armor. As soon as the last piece was in place, she slapped him on the back and stood back. She ordered, “Go.”

Clutching their weapons, healing potion and food, all three of the Elves stared at her and Quentin as they danced backward several steps. Each one’s expression was conflicted, with things left unsaid and warring impulses. Furiously Aryal stabbed in the direction of the road with a forefinger. “Go!”

They bolted. Within moments they were out of sight.

She glanced at Quentin. He had almost finished buckling on his own armor.

She turned and made her way back through the armory and the bunkhouse to look out the doorway. Quentin followed. The sailboat had almost reached one of the piers. The witch was almost here.

Aryal had done a good job. She’d thought logically and put the others first, but in that moment, ladies and gentlemen, all sanity left the building.





EIGHTEEN


Her talons came out, and she started forward. She had someplace to be and someone to kill, and she was never late for a commitment.

Quentin grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. “What are you doing?”

“Let go!” She knocked his hand away. “I have to kill her.”

Faster than thought, he grabbed her again and shoved her back against the open door. She took a swipe at him, which he dodged. Then he slammed into her, pinning her with his body. “Stop it! You can’t go after her right now.”