Her Last Protector

She was poison.

Mirie could imagine the funeral procession in the wake of her escape, people frantic and screaming for their lives as they raced down the road for the gate, some whose steps would have been slowed by age or infirmity.

Had they stood any chance of reaching safety?

“Your Royal Highness.” Drei stretched out the syllables, a stern warning. “The general knows his duty. And the potential risks. He brought only his best men. They will secure the situation. Trust that much, at least.”

He knew her so well. She forgot that most of the time.

“I do.” But the cost of even one life was one that could never be calculated.

There were no answers in the passage that curved tightly in upon itself. The footing was treacherous. Drei moved along awkwardly, using the wall to brace himself. He kept her locked against him, steadied her as the floor descended sharply.

Mirie had known of the passage, but had never traveled it. The exit was far from the village, a place one might be able to escape through gorges that sliced a path toward the northern border. The secret of the passage was held tightly by only a few on the elder council, passed down through generations to those trusted with the villagers’ safety.

“You knew of this passage but not the altar?” she asked.

“I’ve spent a lot of years formulating escape routes in case we needed them. I’m sure Geta wanted you to have escape options even from me.”

He was right. Bunică had witnessed the effects of trusting the wrong people. But Mirie had to trust Drei. Otherwise, how could she function?

“Then it’s good we work together,” she said calmly, when she felt anything but. “You know where this passage leads?”

“The general vicinity.”

“Think we’ll be able to escape?”

“Yes.”

“Would you tell me if the answer was no?” She felt the motion as he slanted his head, as though peering down at her.

“No.” He gave a short laugh.

Under normal circumstances, his answer would have annoyed her, but the sound of that one humorless laugh stuck, a thought to divert the other sounds in her head.

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.

He seemed not to feel the brutal cold while her adrenaline seeped away in slow degrees. She couldn’t be sure how long they walked, but not much time had passed since she’d said her farewell to Bunică. Forcing herself to focus, Mirie put one foot in front of the other despite her quaking knees and chattering teeth.

Drei must have noticed her struggle because he brought them to another stop. Handing her the light, he opened his coat to forage through his inner pockets.

He withdrew a thick square wrapped in crackling plastic. With a few quick gestures, he shook out a weather poncho made of thin waterproof canvas.

“Wear this.” His voice was gentle as he drew the white outerwear around her and pulled a hood up over her head, hat and all. “It’ll help with the cold.”

“You travel prepared.”

“That’s what you pay me to do.”

Such a simple reply, yet not so simple. He had known there might be danger because she had left her secured palace, a glittering shell that housed the golden egg.

“Any better?” he asked.

She nodded, appreciating his precautions and his concern.

The tunnel began an ascent. Gravity and ice conspired to make each step more difficult. There were no handholds, and she was finally forced to cling to Drei, who anchored himself against the rough wall, a bulwark always, shifting his balance to secure her, his arm locked tight, his grip strong yet gentle.

And when they finally reached the end of the passage, they found a half-rotted wooden portal shaped like a manhole cover. The exit had long ago been concealed beneath snow and forest debris, making an icy, dirty blotch that didn’t budge when Drei put his weight to it.

He shut off the light. “I need you to step back, Your Royal Highness. This mess may collapse. I don’t want you far, though.”

“I can hold the light.”

“I have to see what’s out there, and this wood is disintegrating. I start loosening this ice, and the mountain might fall in.”

Mirie retreated just far enough to watch Drei work.

He tested the wood, used a knife to coax away debris so he might see outside.

Mirie gasped when the crack of ice startled the quiet. Suddenly thin light penetrated the darkness. He slipped some sort of slim instrument through the hole—a mirror?—and must have been satisfied with what he had seen because he pulled out another weather poncho like her own, camouflage to blend in with the snow-covered terrain.

This man was such a blessing in her life. Had she ever even told him how grateful she was for all his careful attention?

Probably not. She barely noticed him at all. Took his presence for granted. An oversight she would have to change immediately.

“I’ll stay within earshot, but if you hear gunfire, you head back the way we came,” he said, businesslike. “Just stay inside the passage until the general makes contact.”

He withdrew his audio transmitter, then with calloused fingertips, he tilted her head to the side. She could feel the warmth of his skin as he slipped his hand beneath her hat and brushed aside her hair. He wedged the tiny device in her ear, his touch soft, warm, so alive.

For the moment, anyway. They both knew if she heard gunfire, he was dead. That would be the only reason Drei wouldn’t return to her, and without him, her chances of making it out of this passage alive weren’t good.

“We’re out of range now. But if you make it back into the church, you’ll be in contact with the general. Got it?”

She nodded.

“Stay hidden.”

Then he crawled through the opening and vanished.

Mirie could hear the rustling of branches and tree limbs, his boots crunching through the snow. Then all sounds faded, leaving only silence to drown out the noise of her thoughts, solitude to distract her from the memory of the attackers in the helicopter, a fat-bellied fly skimming pristine white treetops and old Vlas running from automatic gunfire on creaky legs.

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.

When she could no longer resist the lure of the light, she eased toward the exit, listening for any sound from outside, adrenaline making each breath come hard in her chest. She peered through the broken slat and took in the surroundings.

From the village these trees sloped steeply up the mountain, always covered in snow, so beautiful, like a scene in a child’s globe. One turn of the wrist and glittery snowflakes sprinkled down upon a tiny village.

Ninsoare. Her country had been named for the snowy peaks that defined the land.