She must leave. Now. Tonight.
Before the buyers arrived to view her design. Before Saul locked her behind closed doors. Before she lost all hope of escape and—
Floorboards creaked in the hallway.
Nairobi flinched, then forced herself to settle down. ’Twas all right. She needed the guard to show up. Her plan hinged on her catch and release. All knew she loved to work late, when the night grew quiet and the other weavers slept. Even though Saul forbade it, Nairobi still slipped out of bed to sneak into the weaving room after hours. The guards had caught her often enough to know ’twas a running theme with her.
All part of her plan. Familiarity, after all, lessened vigilance.
Pretending absorption in her work, Nairobi bent over the threads. Any moment now, Adam would—
Footfalls thudded to a stop on the threshold. “For the love of God, Nairobi.”
She jerked, feigning surprise as she looked his way. Dark eyes met hers. She blinked like an astonished owl. He sighed, the heavy sound full of exasperation. The urge to laugh bubbled up, tightening her chest. Nairobi quelled the inclination. Finding his expression amusing was all fine and good. Showing it, however, was not.
“Oh, good eve, Adam.”
“Good eve,” he grumbled, throwing her a look of extreme irritation. “’Tis the middle of the night, Nairobi. All are abed, and well you know it. You are not to be here at this hour.”
Uh-oh. Grumpier than usual. Not a good sign, but . . . no help for it. Time to play the innocent card. She bit down on her bottom lip and shrugged. “I know, but—”
“But naught.” His eyes narrowed on her. “Go on with ye. Back to bed.”
“Just a bit longer?”
He scowled at her.
“An hour . . . not a moment more, I promise.”
“Nairobi, you cannot continue—”
“Please?” Placing her hands in a prayer position, she pleaded with her eyes. His expression softened a second before he huffed. Thank God. Both were excellent signs. Adam might be a stickler for the rules, but he wasn’t heartless. A good thing too. A soft heart would give her the added leverage she needed to get him to agree. “I won’t cause trouble. You know I won’t. ’Tis just . . . I’m almost done, so very close to finishing and . . .”
As she trailed off, Adam shook his head. She made another pleading sound. He treated her to another sigh, then held up a finger. “One more round. I’ll walk one more, Nairobi. When I get back, I want you gone. Back in bed . . . understood?”
“Aye.” Relief made her smile at him. His lips twitched in response and . . . oh bother. Just what she didn’t need: her conscience rearing its ugly head. Lord love her, it wasn’t fair. She didn’t want to get Adam in trouble, but that was exactly what would happen the instant Saul realized she was missing. Awful in every way. Especially since Adam had always been, well . . . all right. Not kind to her. That was stretching it a bit. The guard, after all, worked for the silk house. One of his duties included ensuring she stayed put. But that didn’t change the facts. Adam, for all his gruffness, had always been halfway decent to her. “Thank you, Adam.”
He made a rough sound, gave her another stern look, then turned into the corridor. A second before he disappeared from view, he glanced over his shoulder and wagged his finger at her. “One more round.”
“Right. Got it.”
And she did. Had gotten precisely what she needed—what she’d waited beside her loom in the hopes of acquiring: time. A whole quarter of an hour’s worth if Adam stuck to his usual route and his pace stayed true. Which meant . . .
Time to go.
Senses keen, Nairobi listened hard, tracking Adam as he walked away. The second he reached the end of the corridor, she grabbed the cloth rope and spun off her stool. The work of seconds, she unearthed her satchel from beneath the yarn pile. Leather strap in her hand, she dipped her chin, and with a quick toss, looped the bag over her shoulder. As it settled, she turned toward the closest window. Heart beating triple time, she glanced at the door one last time, then forced herself to move.
One guard distracted. A not-so-easy fifty-foot drop left to accomplish.
’Twas now or never. Do or die. Two options that offered no comfort and little choice. But as she wove the cloth rope through the ironwork next to the window and pushed the coiled bundle off the ledge, Nairobi refused to turn back. Or remain frozen in fear. No matter the risk, she must break free and leave the silk house behind. Opportunity knocked. Providence provided the key, gifting her with a narrow slice of time. Now all she needed to do was stick to the plan and stay alive long enough to disappear for good.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was official. The whole being carried thing stunk . . . in serious ways.
Still slung over Henrik’s shoulder, Cosmina lifted her head and cracked her eyes open. Dense shadow expanded, then contracted, leaving naught but shades of grey. She squinted, trying to force her eyes into focus. Henrik dodged right, then pivoted around a corner. The visual grey-out lengthened into a blur. She bit back a groan. Terrific. Just her luck. Little to no improvement. So much for believing her vision was returning. Or that self-reliance rested a blink away. Goddess, she couldn’t stand it—the weakness along with the vulnerability that fostered it. Such inadequacy. So much insecurity. Way too much guilt. If she were as strong as she thought, she wouldn’t be here.
Again. Like always. Prey to circumstance and her stupid gift.
The realization pushed tears into her eyes. Cosmina blinked them away. No way. Not happening. No matter how deficient, she refused to give in and tumble into the death trap of self-pity. Feeing sorry for herself wouldn’t help. It never did, which meant she needed to buck up and hold on hard. Cosmina huffed. Such a lovely thought. An even tougher sell to her battered senses. Blind as a bat. Sick to her stomach. Hurting like the devil and—oh right, let’s not forget bottom up and head down over Henrik’s shoulder while he navigated what felt like a steep slope, feet moving at a fast clip.
The word undignified came to mind.
She could hardly argue the point. Thank God pragmatism saved her from it, dragging pride into the rescue effort and sending folly spinning into the background. It could be so much worse. The Druinguari could’ve killed her—aimed well and shot true, putting the arrow through her heart instead of her arm. She could’ve failed in her mission, disappointing the goddess, but had succeeded instead. Henrik could’ve left her to die—cold and alone in the place of her birth. He hadn’t, and despite everything, she was grateful. So, complain about her position? Not on her life. Whining about the rough hold and rapid pace wouldn’t change anything. Neither would throwing up, but . . .
Blast and damn, that didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking about it.
Henrik swung around a tight bend. Rock crunched beneath his feet. Her stomach sloshed, throwing bile up her throat as her hips bounced on his shoulder. His grip on her legs slipped. She lurched sideways a second before he caught her, big hand settling on the curve of her bottom. Modesty murmured, but Cosmina ignored it. She didn’t care where his hands wandered. Touch her. Don’t touch her. It didn’t matter anymore. He could do whatever he wanted—strip her bare, lay her down, kiss her with as much heat as before. She wouldn’t complain, just as long as her head stopped spinning.
Wishful thinking?
Absolutely.
From their pace, she surmised the Druinguari were down, but not out. Which meant Henrik couldn’t stop. Not until he knew for certain. Not until he received the all clear from Tareek. Knowing it, however, brought little solace and no relief. Desperate now, trying to hang on, Cosmina sent a prayer heavenward, asking for deliverance. From everything: chilly wind gusts, the mind-torque of fatigue, and . . . ah hell. Who was she kidding? She was beyond asking. Now she begged in silence, pleading to whatever god wanted to listen. But as the litany of please make it stop lit off inside her head, she didn’t hold out much hope.