Keira's Fire

Chapter 22

A hand touched my shoulder in the darkness and I swung my fist reflexively, making contact with someone's face.

When Owen groaned loudly, I had to stop myself from apologizing and smiled instead. He should know better than to sneak up on me while I slept.

"It's time to go," he said, taking a minute, presumably to rub whatever I'd hit.

His words had me on alert and I swung my legs over the side of the bed to stand. I tried to see something in the darkened room, but the only light offered came from the nearly-dead fire on the hearth, leaving everything in shadows.

"Come on." He cautiously took my hand and I allowed him to lead me to the door, wondering what he planned to do since it was locked from the outside.

I was barely able to make out the gleam of the small knife he pulled from his sleeve. He placed the blade against the hinge of the door and hammered it using some other object I couldn't distinguish.

"What are you doing?" I hissed, cringing from the loud noise he made. "They'll hear you!"

"No one will hear." He hit the knife again.

"The guards!"

He ignored me and continued with his work until he freed the pin that held the top of the door in place.

"Need I remind you of the locked door?" His sarcasm was muffled as he bent down to work on the bottom hinge. "There's no one guarding us."

He was probably right, but it still seemed like an awfully big risk to take. I was glad when he stood with the second pin in hand.

"Besides, they think I'm perfectly happy with this situation. Why bother guarding me?"

I had to admit, he had a point. After our performances two nights ago, the officers believed Owen to be the naive turncoat and me, the poor, downtrodden prisoner.

A moment later, Owen swung the door inward, allowing for our escape. He poked his head outside and I waited anxiously, not fully convinced that his pounding went unheard.

"Let's go," he whispered, popping his head briefly back into the room before grabbing my hand again and pulling me along.

The glow coming from the torches along the walls made me horribly uncomfortable. I hadn't realized they stayed lit throughout the night. If anyone happened along before we were able to find a safe place to duck, we'd be spotted instantly. I'd be sure this was going to be suicide long before we had the chance to reach the king's chambers if not for the festival taking place, occupying a good portion of the soldiers.

Staying near the wall, Owen rushed down the endless stone hall, only stopping before reaching intersections of other hallways where soldiers might be patrolling. I followed closely behind, cursing my weaponless state. If we were caught, I didn't relish the prospect of Owen's small knife being our only defense.

We weaved through the castle, making turns that I couldn't hope to remember, and I nearly crashed into Owen when he stopped short in front of me. He listened, unmoving for a second before latching onto my arm and pulling me behind one of the ornate curtains that donned the wall every few feet down this particular hallway.

I peered at him curiously but before I had the chance to ask anything, I heard the approaching footsteps. My breathing hitched as the sound grew louder. When Owen pulled me into his arms, I gave him the benefit of the doubt that he was trying to keep us unnoticed by helping me lean away from the curtain.

It was an eternity before the man's footsteps grew softer and finally disappeared. During that time, I became increasingly uneasy with my proximity to Owen. There was nowhere to look but his face, and I couldn't move even an inch out of his arms. My traitorous body didn't seem to share my desire for distance from him, and I had to keep reminding myself that I couldn't trust him. For what had to be the thousandth time, I cursed my wretched feelings.