Whatever he’d been dreaming, it jolted him awake like he’d been hit by lightning. He jerked upright, gasping for breath, heart racing faster than it had been in the heat of the fire that had nearly killed him. Émile was not accustomed to his fear rolling over him so completely, so it took him a moment to realize where he was, and why.
And then, when he did, the fear crept back in.
Outside, the wind was howling. The wind always seemed to howl at night in Bytown, as if to remind people what kind of hell they were living in.
He suddenly had to know. To feel reassured again.
He got out of bed, creeping out into the hall, and then across to the womens’ guest room. Pressing a hand to the wood to control its motion precisely, he turned the handle and opened it gently. It was hard to see in the dark, but he could make out Béatrice’s face in what dim moonlight filtered in through the window. She was snoring soundly, but still so lovely despite it all.
And in the other bed, further in, was…
Émile’s heart started to race. He rushed into the room, feeling the second bed up and down until he was sure no one was there.
He rushed back to his room, snatched up his things, throwing on his coat as he raced down the stairs at full speed. He was halfway through fastening his boots when Ada appeared at the entrance to the parlour, wrapped in a shawl.
“She’s gone,” he said, working harder. “I don’t know when and I don’t know where, but she’s—”
“Half an hour ago,” said Ada, calmly.
“Pardon?” said Émile, still lacing.
“She left half an hour ago.”
“You saw her? And you didn’t call me? You didn’t stop her?”
“No,” said Ada. “I gave her a cloak to keep warm.”
Émile looked up in shock. “You what?”
“It’s a cold night out there,” said Ada, ignoring what he was getting at. “And it’s a long way to Perth.”
His boots ready, he got to his feet. “She’s going to Perth? Alone? On foot?”
“Of course not. Vincent will take her.” She sighed. “I only tell you this, Émile, because she wants you to stay safe. And I’ve a strong suspicion you won’t stay safe if you sense she’s in danger.”
He scowled at the words left unspoken. “If she dies, who will clear my name?”
She smiled, as if that reasoning amused her. “She asked me to keep you here. Both of you. For your own safety.”
“Who is Vincent?” asked Émile.
“Émile, she was quite adamant you not—”
“She’s in mourning,” snapped Émile. “Her mind is not her own, like this. Bad things—foolish things—make sense when you are grieving. It takes discipline to push those things away. To see the world for what it is. And right now, she cannot handle what is coming for her.”
“But you can?” asked Ada.
He hesitated. “I have to try.” He took a shaky breath. “Ada, where is she headed?”
Corkstown looked even odder, at this hour, in this light. The hearths were all petering out, letting lazy smoke into the air, muddying the sharp blue highlights of the passing clouds above. No one was out. No one was up. No one but Maggie, a quarter-mile to the east of the encampment, making a path for herself in the deep, rolling snow.
In the summer, this was a favourite spot for children to play, or young lovers to find a quiet moment alone. But in the winter, no one ventured so far from the well-worn paths. She was just by the treeline—so close she might as well have been invisible.
No one would see her tracks before the next snowfall.
No one would know she’d stood there, one last time, on the way to…
She saw the edge of a familiar house; the one across from the one she called home. She saw her roof—the one that leaked so much, it had kept her awake on that first awful night of her second widowhood.
This was the forest she’d intended to disappear into. The path she’d intended to take. And now here she was, finally getting what she wanted, and all she wanted was to go back and curl up in that bed and listen to the drip drip drip of the roof and—
The sack. The sack that held the remnants of her life. It was still there, waiting for a conclusion. And for some strange and stupid reason, she knew she had to get it.
She started forward, but her boot caught on the edge of Ada’s cloak. She stopped, looking down at herself: the intricate stitching, the colourful fabric. Ada had warned her not to look like herself, but if she went into Corkstown dressed like this, she would be spotted in an instant. It was too risky.
She unbuttoned the cloak and took it off, hanging it from a stub of a tree branch, just out of sight. A marker to return to, she hoped.
She shivered at the cold—so much colder with just one layer gone—and made her way back home.
“Slow down, Kelly!” called Adam, working hard to keep pace. Liam’s leg was in absolute agony—every step made his vision swim—but he couldn’t slow down. Corkstown was in sight, and he had to know. Had to know Maggie was alright, or that she wasn’t even there…but either way, he needed to know.
Adam caught up with him, stepping around dips in the road that might send him sprawling. It was delicate work, walking in these conditions, this late at night. But Liam seemed not to notice.
“If you’re not careful—”
“I’ll be fine,” Liam said.
“If she’s hiding, she’ll still be hiding no matter how long we take to—”
Liam stopped, bore down on his friend. “You don’t know that. You can’t know that. And if I get there and see something’s happened to her, and I could’ve been there to stop it, I’ll…” His leg throbbed with pain, which he tried so hard to ignore. “You can rest if you need to. But I have to know.”
“Aye,” sighed Adam, nodding. “Then off we go.”
Liam smiled and started back up again. He’d gotten pretty good at walking with the brace, to the point where he was moving at a good clip, even compared to an able-bodied man. He pointed up ahead, in between the houses toward Maggie’s house.
“It’s right in the middle there,” he said. “Rían and I shared it, at the start. Before they…before all that. It’s the perfect place to hide, because—ah!”
His foot stepped onto some softer snow, and slid sideways. For anyone else, it would’ve been a simple stumble; but for him, his braced leg turned at an angle, and the bindings slipped, and he felt the feeling of his bones coming apart inside him, and he blacked right out.
When he came to, Adam was crouched over him, working on the brace with an urgent, terrified look on his face. “You’re alright, Kelly. Don’t go quittin’ on me yet.”
“I’m fine,” Liam said, trying to sit up—but the pain was so intense, he nearly fainted again. He reached a hand down to his thigh, and felt warmth there. Blood. He couldn’t quite fathom it.
“It’s…your bones, they…” said Adam. “It ain’t good. You need to see—”
“No,” said Liam, grabbing hold of Adam’s coat. “We’re too close. I can’t—”
“Kelly, if you don’t—”
“No!” Liam shouted. “She needs me, Adam. She needs me. I need to get to the house. No matter what happens, I need to get to the house.”
///
A short distance away, hidden in shadow, a man in a long coat watched and listened as Liam fought to get back to his feet, out of a mess of bloodied snow. It was not a pleasant affair.
Another man scurried up in the knee-high snow, taking in the sight, too.
“Take ‘em now?” he asked, in a thick Scottish accent.
Roland shook his head no. “We’ve time for that later,” he said. “Send the others around and ahead. We’ve a bounty to claim.” He laughed to himself as he carried on through the snow. “The damn fools hid her at home.”
Maggie pressed her ear to the door, listening for someone inside. Her brain was paranoid, worried one of Aylen’s men had been left there, ready to snatch her should she come back. Her heart kept hoping she’d hear Rían stomping across the floor, musing about this or that or anything at all, and she’d gladly go in and listen to him rant.
But instead, she heard nothing.
She opened the door and stepped back inside her home—and was struck by how foreign it felt. The bed, a place of so many memories, was just a slab at the far side of the room, draped in blankets that felt rough to look at, let alone touch. The hearth was like a monstrous pit in the corner, cold and unforgiving without the flames to make it whole again.
The table, the chairs, the rack and the chest on the far wall…not a single one of them triggered a fond memory for some reason. Not a bad one, either. Just…emptiness.
She closed the door behind her, wishing something would change. That she’d feel at home there again, even if just to say good-bye.
“I’m leaving,” she said to no one at all.
She waited for him to appear. To say something. To be with her again.
“To Perth,” she said. “To set things right, if I can.”
Again she waited. Again, nothing.
“I know it’s a risk, but if I don’t do this—if I don’t try, at least—it was all for nothing. I know you want me to leave it alone, I do. But I can’t just sit back and let all these sacrifices go to waste.”
She checked over her shoulder, in case he was there.
“Tell me not to.”
No one answered.
“Alright,” she sighed.
She found the sack by the bed, and picked it up like it weighed more than anything she’d ever touched before. The contents were nothing at all, she knew, but so vital and important. She struggled to put the strap over her shoulder—her hands were shaking too much.
She sat on the bed, feeling the weight of what was to come, and shuddered. She put a hand to her belly, closed her eyes, and tried not to cry.
“Tell me what to do,” she whispered. “Please.”
The wind howled.
The roof creaked.
The door ka-click, ka-click, ka-clicked.
But no one spoke.
Maggie opened her eyes, calm and focused once more. She picked up the sack—her hands no longer trembling—and slung it over her shoulder as she stood. She looked across to the hearth, to the place where she’d first decided she had to see Rían’s body, and wished that earlier version of herself had stopped to think of what might come of it.
Would she have done it differently?
No. Just more purposefully.
“Good-bye,” she whispered, and walked to the door. She took a quick breath to brace herself for the cold again, and took the handle, and—
Émile was just outside, mid-knock; his eyes lit up at the sight of her, and she nearly cried out, just seeing his reaction, because—
He pushed her back inside, and closed the door behind them. His expression had changed in an instant…to terrified.
“I followed your tracks,” he said, shooing her away from the door. “I was so afraid I was too late.”
“You can’t come with me,” she said. “It’s too much risk, and—”
“No, not that,” he said. “They found you. They’re here.”