The Nightingale

Chapter Twelve

Quietly, Natasha led John through the ruins of her town, picking her way over crumbled stone and wood, her heart thumping in her chest. More than once, John had pulled her into an abandoned building or behind sections of walls that were will standing, hearing the Guards approaching before she had. She had quickly become accustomed to feeling John's hand yank her away from the path they were on, her own mind too focused on the destruction around them.

Every ruined building was a memory, a piece of her life that had been destroyed; the school where she had gone until she turned seventeen, where her brothers and sisters had also attended, the butcher where Tomas worked, the general store that her mother had taken over when her father disappeared. The site of those ruins stirred up a mix of emotions in Natasha's heart as she remembered afternoons spent sitting behind the counter, helping her father before he disappeared and then her mother when she took over the business, her sisters running around the legs of customers while Natasha tried to watch them while she worked, her mother working behind the scenes to maintain the relationships her father had cultivated before he disappeared, necessary to keep their business running.

Natasha felt herself slow as she passed the shattered window and broken-down door. Between the jagged pieces of glass, she could see the counter she had spent countless hours sitting behind, and she moved over pieces of broken glass, closer to the shop, taking in the destruction inside.

"Natasha?" She pulled her eyes away from the wreckage towards John, who had stopped a few paces ahead of her. He looked around to ensure that the area around them was clear before he moved towards her.

"Sorry," she responded quietly, turning her body towards him as she looked back over her shoulder at the building. "This was ours, my father's. I spent a lot of time here growing up." She paused again, and then turned to face John fully. "We're close. My house is just up this way." Natasha motioned in front of them towards the center of town, clearer than usual in the narrow streets due to the buildings that had been completely demolished. She took a step away from the ruined building when John reached out and took her hand again, pulling her in the opposite direction, through the broken door of her father's shop. She stumbled after him in the debris as he pulled her down behind the counter and held a finger over his lips to quiet her.

Natasha waited quietly, holding her breath as she waited until she heard it, the unmistakable sound of boots treating across the cobbled streets. She felt John release her hand, as she realized that he had still been holding on to it, and watched as he raised his dagger in his hand, his entire body tense as he waited. Natasha clutched her own dagger tightly, her free hand curling around the hilt of her sword, as she leaned her head back against the counter and waited. The footsteps drew closer, and Natasha looked over at John as he turned his head away from her, towards the edge of the counter, as the door creaked open and boots sounded heavy against the wooden floor. She looked away from him, over towards the edge of the counter near her, holding her dagger close against her chest, waiting.

Natasha didn't even see the figure approach them, all she felt was John's sudden movement by her side. By the time she looked over at him, he was already pushing the figure against the wall. By the time she had stood, he had pinned the figure against the wall and pulled its cloak away from its head, a dagger against their throat. His other forearm crossed over the person's chest, hand tightly gripping the person's shoulder to pin them against the wall, pushing them up so their heels were off the ground.

"Are there others?" He was asking the stranger, before Natasha even had time to process what he had done. She looked between John and the stranger, taking in their appearance, a young woman, not much older than her.

"John, wait." She crossed the small space between them and put a hand on John's arm that was wielding the dagger against the woman's throat, looking between the two of them. "I know her." She looked back at the girls face. "It's Penelope, right?" She hadn't seen her in years, but she recognized her fiery red hair and hazel eyes. She was younger than Natasha by three years, the same age as her sister Sasha, and the two girls often played together, as Penelope's father had supplied hers with goods for their store. She had disappeared only a few months after her father, when she was only four years old, along with her parents. Despite her young age when she disappeared, she seemed to recognize Natasha immediately.