COMMAND THE TIDES - Wren Handman Page 0,34

you. I knew you wouldn’t turn away from me! It was Ryan. He caught her eye, nodded, and disappeared back into the alley. They were coming.

“How remiss of me,” the man said. “My name is Lord Colin Mendaci.”

“Are you really the ambassador?”

“The ambassador was recalled on urgent business. He’ll be gone for a month, and I am here to take his place.”

Ryan reappeared and took two steps away down the street. Then David appeared, one step behind, and grabbed his arm. They seemed to be arguing—so Ryan wasn’t mute after all. David gestured at her and Ryan made a cutting motion with his arm. The message was clear: David wanted to try to rescue her, but Ryan felt it was too dangerous. They were leaving.

She had to do something. Fast.

She took her cup of milk and deliberately dropped it out of the window. It smashed on the cobblestones below. David and Ryan both looked her way. As she pointed deliberately at herself and then at it, she gasped, “Oh, no! I’m so sorry.”

She turned back to face the room. Lord Mendaci had barely glanced her way, but Grayson looked suspicious. She sat down on the windowsill, one hand braced on either side, trying to look contrite but, from Grayson’s expression, failing.

“If you’re testing to see if you can survive a fall out of the window, hopefully that experiment proved you can’t. How many pieces did it break into?” Lord Mendaci asked without looking up from his figures. But Grayson was taking a step toward her—she had no time to wait, no time to see if they had understood, if they were coming.

“You’re assuming I’ll hit the ground,” she said, and let herself fall.

Grayson screamed and made a run for her, but he didn’t even come close; the air hit her as she fell, and she couldn’t help but laugh. She had never felt more free, and if David didn’t catch her in his arms, Ashua would.

She hit him hard enough to knock them both to the ground. Ashua, but it hurt! Her foot slammed hard against the pavement and her elbow was scraped raw, but her head hit David’s chest and Ryan caught his head seconds before it connected with the ground. Grayson was shouting but all three of them were already on their feet, and she was laughing with the thrill of it as they took off running.

Her leg almost gave out with the first step but she gritted her teeth and made it through the pain, and the trio had disappeared around the corner before any from the house even made it to the ground floor. They were away.

Chapter Seven

“SO, WHERE TO?” she asked.

They had run for five or six blocks, through back alleys and then onto the busiest streets they could find, and Ryan had finally allowed them to slow to a walk. It was early morning now, and the streets were choked with people on their way to and from their business. Ryan had stolen a dress for her from a clothesline, and David had made her quickly clean her face and change into it before they moved out again, so she stood out less in the crowd. They were in the Scholar’s District, where every corner had a street crier and the grounds were aimless as well as directed—a perfect place to lose anyone who might still have been on their tail.

“We have to take a circuitous route,” David explained. “It’ll be at least an hour.” He linked his arm through hers and took up a strolling pace, playing at being a couple out for a promenade.

Ryan disappeared into the crowd ahead of her, and though she lost sight of him after half a minute, she still had the feeling that he was there, keeping an eye out.

She was struck at the curiosity of these two men who had attached themselves to this cause. She wondered what their stories were. David was so clearly an educated man, maybe even a nobleman, and yet here he was, a rebel to the throne? Obviously this was no band of dangerous knife-wielding savages, but she still couldn’t quite shake the image of a ragtag band of idealists with more dreams than plans. Darren’s story about meeting Jeremy had seemed to fit into the idea that this was a revolution of young men past their depth. And David somewhat fit the bill. He couldn’t have been over thirty, and his attempts to pass himself off as a common sailor