Rise (The Order of the Krigers #1)(7)

Sliding off the jacket, I tossed it on the ground. These men didn’t appear to be adversaries—but that didn’t mean I had to stand there and listen to them insult me. Crossing my arms, I asked, “Who are you, and why did you bring me here?”

The three men looked to the assassin. “I’ll explain everything later,” he said. “For now, we need to get to a safe location. Morlet is searching for you.”

“Am I a Kriger?” It didn’t seem possible—I was a girl and only sixteen. Krigers were men who didn’t come into their powers until the age of eighteen. Yet, when the word was whispered in my head, something inside of me had responded.

No one spoke. I didn’t have time for this. “I need to get to the apothecary’s. He has my father’s medicine.” When I turned to leave, the assassin blocked my path. “Get out of my way.”

“You have to come with me,” he insisted.

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“You don’t understand the enormity of your situation,” he whispered. “Morlet knows you’re the twelfth Kriger.”

Cold fear gushed through me. If the king believed I was a Kriger, he’d stop at nothing to capture me. My hands tingled, and I curled my fingers, making two fists. “My father needs me.”

A scratching noise came from a narrow door I hadn’t noticed before. One of the men went over, opened it a crack, and briefly spoke to someone on the other side. After he closed it, he turned and gravely said, “The soldats are already here.”

“Where is your father now?” The assassin clutched my arm.

“He’s at home.” How was I supposed to make my way to the apothecary’s and then to the apartment when not only was curfew going into effect at any minute, but the army was now after me? I turned and kicked the wall. This was an impossible situation.

Grabbing my hair, I twisted it over my right shoulder, trying to think of how to accomplish everything. There had to be a way. My hands started shaking, and my stomach churned. The horror of today’s events took its toll on me.

“The apothecary you made the delivery for, does he have your father’s medicine?” the assassin asked. He pulled my hands from my hair, forcing me to focus on him.

“Yes.”

“I know the apothecary you speak of,” one of the men said. “I will go and get the medicine for your father.”

Another one added, “And I’ll fetch your father. He’ll be safe at my home. He can stay with us for the time being, and my wife will tend to him.”

Why were these strangers willing to help me? Could I entrust them with Papa?

“Excellent,” the assassin said. “Let’s go.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me to the door.

“Not until you tell me where we’re going and why you’re helping me.” I tried yanking free.

The assassin cursed. “I need to get you out of the capital and physically away from Morlet. Once you’re safe, we can talk.”

“But my father—”

“These are good men.” The assassin’s face hardened. “They will see to his safety.” There was a sharp edge to his voice, his patience wearing thin. “We must leave before you’re discovered.” He threw open the door and hauled me out into a dark hallway. At the end of the corridor, he opened another door and shoved me inside. Clothes littered the ground, and the bed was unmade.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“What’s yours?” I countered. Why had he brought me to this bedchamber?

He sighed, staring at the ceiling. “Anders,” he replied, not looking at me.

The door flew open, causing me to jump. A well-endowed woman entered. “There are half a dozen soldats downstairs rifling through the place,” she informed us. “They’re searching for a girl with long, brown hair who is wearing pants.” She looked pointedly at me.

Anders’s eyes raked over my body, making me feel uncomfortable. I took a step back, hitting the bed. “Can you cut her hair?” he asked. “And put her in a dress?”

“It won’t be pretty since we’re rushing, but I can do it.”

“I don’t care whether she looks pretty or not,” he said. “Just make her look different.” He turned and left.

The woman, whose breasts were barely contained in her dress, opened a drawer and pulled out a short knife. “Don’t move,” she said.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, dashing to the other side of the bed.

“Chopping off your hair,” she replied, exasperated. A loud bang came from below. “We need to hurry.”

Reluctantly, I scurried over to the woman, and she began sawing off my long strands. Hair dropped to the floor, scattering around my feet while I bit my thumbnail, wishing she would move faster.

“There,” she said, examining her work. “Not bad.” She went to the large armoire in the corner of the room. “Now for your clothing.” She rummaged around inside. “Here we go.” The woman pulled out a dark green dress made of lamb’s wool and threw it to me.

After quickly changing, I glanced at the only mirror in the room, praying the disguise would work. My choppy, shorn hair hit my shoulders, making me look even younger than before. The dress was laughably large since I didn’t have a chest to fill it out. When was the last time I’d worn something so … feminine?