"They've come for me." Certain of my suspicions, a rushing sound filled my ears. "You can't fight them all. Give me a weapon."
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"No chance." The way Trina sliced through the cords on my wrists showed her confidence. She wanted this fight.
"We're not fighting anyone." Simon was digging into his satchel. "Wait, don't--" He sighed. "You cut the ropes?"
Trina gathered the pieces from off the floor while I tried to regain some balance on my numb legs. "You said to get her out!"
"The rope could've gotten us out the window to escape."
"The window is sealed shut. I checked it earlier."
I started toward the window, but Simon pulled me back. "Don't let them see you."
"They obviously know I'm here." Though I wasn't sure how. Did everyone in the kingdom know where I was?
Without knocking, the innkeeper opened the door and shut it behind him. In any other circumstances, this would've been inexcusable, so his invasion signaled how serious the situation was. His focus went directly to me. "My lady, you must hide. Hurry."
He crossed past me and pressed on a panel of the bedroom wall, which swung open like a thin door when he released it. A small window was high above us, opened to allow air inside and a beam of moonlight by which to see. "This is why the Dallisor family chooses my inn," he whispered. "You are not the first to need it."
Was he joking? That tiny window couldn't possibly bring in enough air. Everything was stale in this hidden cupboard, and far too narrow. After he shut the door, the space would close in on me, my personal oubliette. I shook my head. "Find something else. I can't go in there."
"My lady ..."
"I won't ..." The panic began with numbing in the tips of my fingers, and moved into my heart, which was already racing wildly. My thoughts flew apart. All I knew was that I could not go into that tiny space. "I don't like--"
Simon pushed me inside, then motioned for Trina to join me. It would fit two people if we pressed close enough together, but not all three of us. Someone would have to remain in the room.
"Delay them," Simon said to the innkeeper. Once he had gone, Simon turned to Trina. "If they get this far, I'll stop them."
"You can't." Trina took a step back. "Kestra's trunk has women's clothes. When those men come, they'll expect to find a girl in this room. Besides, if she's missing, they'll expect her guard to be missing too, not her handmaiden."
"All right, but don't resist their search," Simon said as Trina returned his knife, something a handmaiden would never be expected to carry. Also his satchel, the only other item we had brought in from the carriage. "You can do this."
"Whatever happens, it's better than being stuffed in that wall with her," Trina said.
I didn't want to hide in here with Trina either. More accurately, I didn't want to hide inside this wall at all. I couldn't.
I started to push my way out, but Simon forced me back in, then flashed the knife at me. Did he think that would help? That he'd solve my growing panic with a threat? He seemed to recognize that and put his knife away. That didn't help either, because the knife was never the problem.
My shallow breathing got worse when the panel closed behind us. Simon faced me, our bodies now pressed together in a sort of harmony. He clasped my right hand in his, holding it between us. Even through my panic, I felt the strength of his grip.
With a grim smile, he whispered, "Do you remember when I was nine and got stuck in your chimney? It was smaller than this. The butler threatened to burn me out, but you tied a rope to my foot and pulled me down."
I didn't remember that. I didn't care. I barely heard him over the beat of my heart. How could it pound so loudly without him hearing it too?
"Look at me," Simon whispered. "Kestra, keep your eyes on me. I won't let those people take you again, I promise."
He couldn't make such a promise, nor did I need it. What I needed was to escape this thimble-sized space. And once I did, I needed a weapon of my own, such as that knife, sheathed again at his waist, opposite his sword. With my free hand, I felt for the knife's handle, but he moved before I could take it.
The Banished burst into my room with loud, angry voices. I didn't know how many there were but the bedroom seemed to shake under their combined weight. I must've dug my nails into Simon's hand, because he flinched until I loosened my grip.
"We've come for Kestra Dallisor," one of the men said. "Where is she?"
I knew that voice. His name was Tor, Torn ... or Thorne. Thorne. When I was taken from Woodcourt three years ago, he was the one who had grabbed me. I still remembered his rough hand over my mouth. The small box where he'd hidden me. The fear.
Simon's hand shifted to my back, and I realized I was shaking. His fingers were confident, each tip sending a pulse up my spine, trying to communicate that if I remained still, everything would be all right.