Starsinger

Alive

Be quiet, or quick? I don't have much time.

Aaron raced through the dark gardens, following the faint light of the stars reflecting off the polished stone path. He prayed he wouldn't trip.

His sword glinted in the darkness. It had been forever since he'd fought with a blade. This one was lighter than Aaron was used to, but longer too, and sharp.

Back to the manse, to the same side door they'd dragged Jace out of. Aaron could get through the jail and cut across the courtyard, straight to Raelyn's rooms. Faster than through the kitchens. More heavily guarded, too.

Aaron gripped the sword tighter. He was aching for a fight.

The door opened as he reached it and a thin servant stepped out. His mouth opened wide and round as he caught sight of Aaron running towards him with naked steel in his hand.

Aaron shoved him aside, yanking one arm behind the servant's back until it cracked.

"Get out of here," Aaron growled.

He dumped the servant in the shadow of the manse and slipped inside the door. Brightly lit marble spread around him. He heard a gasp and spun toward the noise.

A knot of servants at the end of the hall, staring at him in shock.

"He has a weapon," one of them shrieked. "Guards, summon the guards—"

Then a great crack split the air and the earth beneath them shuddered. The screaming servant stumbled against his fellows, causing a terrible tangle of limbs.

Aaron kept his balance. He ran.

The ground trembled again and Aaron had the sudden impression that it was trying to open and swallow him up. Not today, not yet. You can kill me later, just let me get Raelyn out of here. That's what Sapphire would have done.

He turned a corner and ran straight into a guard running the opposite direction. The guard shouted and swung his sword at Aaron's shoulder. The sound of metal on metal rang out as Aaron blocked the vicious blow, grunting with effort. So close. He wanted his bow, his distance. He dodged the guard's next strike, then jabbed his blade into the chain mail opening at the man's armpit. The guard cried out and fell, clutching one hand to the wound to slow the bleeding.

First blood. Aaron ran. The controlled panic of battle was slipping over him now. He felt alive. He felt dangerous. Hold on, Rae.

Another tremor threw Aaron off his feet for a moment, knocking him against the hallway's marble wall. Showers of dust rained down from the ceiling. His sword clattered to the ground and he snatched it up again.

If this keeps up, the whole building might come down. Earth tremors were common in the Virtue Isles, but mostly mild, little bumps in the night. This didn't feel like a tremor.

He passed the dining room and caught a glimpse of Malcolm's personal mage, crumpled against the doorframe with her lips glowing green. Delia.

Aaron could hear voices shouting in alarm. The manse was waking up. No time. He was weaving through the corridors, making for the jails. His chest squeezed tight when he saw the first wall of dark cement, the looming iron door that led to the cells.

Get it together. He grit his teeth and yanked it open. The heavy door squealed as it swung.

More guards. Three of them. Aaron's eyes darted from their incredulous faces to their drawn weapons. Here goes.

Aaron dove for the closest guard, a boxy fellow with a two-handed axe. He swiped at the man's belly and was blocked, his sword glancing off the thick iron of the axe's staff.