White Roses a.b

chapter 47

'So you came back to finish it?' Peter growled, his lips curled back to show yellowing teeth. Ash recoiled at the smell of rotting pumpkin on his breath, but he held her firm against the cottage's side.

'I – I came for Mary Ann,' she stammered, wishing she could have sounded courageous, but her words came out a squeaking rush. 'P-please let us go. We don't wish you any harm . . . We just . .'

'Where is it?' Peter said, ignoring her pleas as he thumped his big hands down Ash's hips, pressing down the voluminous fabric, searching. 'Where's the sword?'

Ash squirmed against the wall. 'I don't have it, I swear. I just want to get Mary Ann and leave, and you'll never see either of us again, I promise!'

'Give it to me!' Peter yelled, spittle flicking against Ashley's cheeks.

A black shape appeared in the corner of her eyes, then a roar as Andy flung himself towards them and locked his sceptre beneath Peter's chin. 'Let her go!'

Whether it was the command or the sceptre or mere surprise, Peter did release her. Ash slid down the wall, grasping at her bruised shoulder.

No. No, Andy couldn't be here.

The charcoal drawings flashed through her thoughts.

Peter was a head taller and twice the girth of Andy, and with a snarl he had grabbed the sceptre with his free hand and tossed Andy over his shoulder.

But Andy – blithe, magical Andy – turned the movement into a cartwheel, landing easily on his feet.

Hope fluttered through Ash's rib cage, but then her eye caught on another shadowy figure. Someone large and unfamiliar, each step built upon a threat. It was a man, tall and lean and wearing a black hood that hung low, concealing his face. A leather belt was strapped over his black tunic, and tucked into it was a massive, curve-bladed axe.

The inked drawing. The hooded figure. The axe brandished over Andy's headless form.

Ash screamed. 'Andy! Look out!'

Peter loped forward, preparing to swing his axe.

Andy ducked away. He glanced at the hooded figure stalking towards them. 'It's all right, Ash,' he panted, tumbling away from Peter again. 'It's only Raven.'

Her heart sputtered, and this did nothing to alleviate her panic. Murderer, martyr . . .

Andy snatched his sceptre off the ground where Peter had thrown it and danced out of reach. It occurred to Ash that he was leading Peter away from her. Protecting her.

'He won't hurt you,' Andy yelled again, his eyes glued to Peter. 'He just looks threatening because, well . . .' He ducked. Spun. 'He used to be an executioner for the White Queen.'

She looked back at the hooded man. Watched as he set his enormous hand, cloaked in a leather glove, atop his axe's handle.

It was not her fate she was worried about.

She forced her feet to move away from the cottage wall and stumbled towards Raven, intercepting him before he could get too near to Jest, before he could interfere. Jest was quick and agile and clever. Peter was crazed and slow.

She had to believe that Andy would be OK. But if the Sisters' prophecy came true . . .

'Raven!' she cried, clutching his arm. She caught a glimpse of ink-black eyes glinting in the shadows of his hood. Otherwise, she could see nothing of his face or form. Just an empty hood, dark eyes peering out of dark nothingness.

'Raven,' she said again. 'Please – you have to help Mary Ann.'

The hood shifted, and she felt, rather than saw, his attention latching on to her.