“Shouldn’t be long. He can’t hold us here forever. I’d like to be on my way as soon as possible.”
“You wish to return home?”
“Gad, no. We should continue. We are much closer to Italy than we are to England, so I think it’s best we keep going.”
“Oh,” Clemmie said with surprise. The notion of Italy had been something she’d dismissed entirely.
“Besides, I’d rather have some warmth than head back to dreary spring.”
It seemed strange to continue with their previous plans when something so monumental had interfered with it. Almost as if they were pretending it hadn’t happened. But she also understood that perhaps he wanted to put it all behind him. As for herself, she’d want to return to her mother at the earliest opportunity. Venturing into the wider world had proved devastating. But she wasn’t a child anymore, who ran to her mother anytime something awful happened. In fact, this whole thing had changed her. She’d found strength in herself that she hadn’t known existed, or she’d built it out of sheer necessity. And for that reason, she would pull herself together and they would continue with their plans.
Oliver yawned.
“You are tired,” she said. “You must recuperate your strength. The constable might release us tomorrow.”
“Good point,” Oliver said. “I feel like all I did was sleep, but you’re right. It’s been very taxing. I just wish Mr. Carter would recover. To be honest, I didn’t even know his name until I was rescued. I had no recollection of him.”
“A curious man by all accounts. I think he was trying to solve what had happened to you, and must have drawn the attention of the culprit. Perhaps he even found him.”
“Yes, well, he lost that fight if so.”
“The man responsible has a habit of whacking people on the back of the head,” Clemmie said. “We both have bumps to prove it.”
“Coward.” With that, Oliver finished his port and they rose. As they walked, she could tell that he was stiff. It had been quite an ordeal for him, and maybe some warm weather in Italy would be better for his recuperation. Not that Oliver would admit he needed it.
Clemmie felt much safer walking through the corridors with Oliver beside her. Just having another person there made it feel less perilous. She couldn’t wait to be away from this place, to feel safe again. Back to the world where bad people didn’t hide in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. But then she wasn’t entirely sure she would ever feel that way again, and that was the true loss inflicted by all this.
They made it back to their room without incident, and Clemmie placed the key sideways in the lock as had become her habit.
With a sigh of relief, she leaned on the door. Oliver was back, they were both fine, and hopefully they would leave this all behind in the morning, and never return here. Equally, she hoped this wouldn’t linger for Mr. Weber. He was a nice man, a helpful man, and she wished this wouldn’t haunt him and his business. And Mr. Carter, she wished him all speed in his recovery. Poor man. None of them had deserved any of this. And this poppycock about traitors was just that—poppycock.
Oliver was growing increasingly tired now, as if all strength was leaving him, and his movements slowed. She helped him into bed after he undressed, and he was asleep before his head hit the pillow. As for herself, she didn’t feel as if she could relax yet. It had been such an eventful day, her mind wouldn’t slow. The same questions over and over. Who had done this? Was it Mr. Hubert? But how could the message appear after he’d left? It couldn’t have been Mr. Hubert.
The chair by the fire drew her and she sat down, absorbing the lulling heat. Her mind couldn’t relax, but at least her body could, and she felt much more relaxed now that Oliver was back. Looking at him, she saw the lump in the bed that was him. Lost to the world right then.
Chapter 32
SHE MOVED FAST. SHE FELT wind under her wings, the pressure and pull of the air currents. Over and along the road. Traveling fast. Her eyes as sharp as she’d ever seen. Around her were mountains and valleys. But she wasn’t alone. There were others around her, and they were seeking something, traveling in silence. The intent was heavy and serious. They were seeking.
The mist came with them, and powerful beats of her wings had her flying higher, above the road and seeing the curves ahead, the mist claiming everything around her, like a menacing force descending.
Menacing was how she felt. Fury and wrath sharpened her gaze. There was nothing she couldn’t see. Even blades of grass, streams that trickled, pine cones in the trees and the jagged edges of the mountains above them. But none of those things were the intention of this quest.
No, they followed the road and ahead, still out of the reach of the mist was a carriage. Her attention focused on it. It was black and large, and she knew that carriage. Two men sat on top and another stood to attention on the back. A fine carriage, clearly owned by someone wealthy. Another followed, a mail courier who was trying to pass.
But it was the man standing on the back that her attention was on. He was unaware of her, of them traveling so much faster than the carriage was. The horses jittered and neighed nervously. They felt her coming. Her and the men with her.
The mist enveloped them and the grass, trees and mountains disappeared. It was just the carriage now and a road that seemed to lead nowhere.
She screamed, a piercing scream that filled the misty scene. Her talons reached for him, sharp claws aiming for his face. The hate
