The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Prayer

"This would be more productive if you criticized my argument instead of me," Able tried for a warm, open tone. Given relativity to the other participants in this discussion, he might have succeeded for a first.

"Certainly." She rolled her eyes. "I will criticize your argument to stand by and do nothing."

"To clarify, I was arguing to try something else, something that might yield a different outcome than the one the—the prince here is objecting to."

"Oh, that's quite a difference, isn't it?"

"Enough." Lark pushed him back. It didn't look like Red had moved. How high was Lark's level of duress?

"It's fine," Able tried to sooth him. "We can talk to them—"

"God's eyes, Able," Lark hissed, his frustration the first clear emotion to touch his face since he'd opened the door. "Of all times to not be keen on your avoidance strategy!"

This might have stung if Lark's hand were not trembling against Able's chest. He'd promised to protect Able only hours ago, hadn't he? And his other hand, the one aiming the pistol, was not shaking, and his eyes had not strayed from the sisters. So since it seemed all Able was accomplishing was disrupting that resolve, he backed down and let Lark handle this.

"This is where we are: You're not taking me to Stalach. I'm out. I'm done."

"That's your demand?" Driver glanced at Red then shook her head. "You want to stay here and die? Sure. Fine." She tossed her free hand in the air. "Enjoy this mess you've made."

"Nice, let's take a moment to laugh at that bullshit," Lark said, both his tone and expression humorless. "All have a good guffaw, 'cause you know, it's damn funny how I was willing to risk my father sending more Black Swords after me when that was never going to be an issue anyway. Hilarious. So what runaround are you liars about to give me now? Come on, guessing games are fun!"

Driver did pause long enough to glance Able's way before huffing, "Typical. You don't even know what it is that you want. You're just feeling all powerful and rebellious because Houser told you something, is that it? Well, go on, hold us hostage so you can rant your little heart out."

...did she really think this was emotional venting? Able glanced at Red but could not guess what she thought. But Lark slowly lowered the wheellock, and Able made the mistake of exhaling just before the shot shattered the frigid air. Or maybe that was serendipitous as he hadn't the breath to scream.

Lark was the first to react—no, continue to act—turning his attention to Red while switching his grip on the pistol so the butt end of it was poised to club someone. Driver was second, losing her balance while she pressed her hands to the gushing wound to the left of her navel area. The ground crunched beneath her tense form, and the lantern clanked as it was knocked over. It sputtered out, halving the light. As Driver grunted incoherently and grasped at herself and writhed, it occurred to Able he was watching the wrong sister.

Red was frozen, staring at Lark, who motionlessly stared back. On some unspoken cue, she slowly set her lantern down while Lark took Able's arm. Then she dashed to Driver's side while he yanked Able out the door.

Able couldn't see what Red did next as Lark deliberately placed himself between him and the assassin as they raced into the woods. Instead, Able looked to the shed with the butchered deer in it. Someone, hopefully Chessie, had taken the pony. He pressed the coats to his chest in case that might help keep his frantic heart where it belonged and shifted his focus to the dark ground in front of him. He couldn't really see it, so it was a miracle he didn't stumble.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness enough that when Lark stopped, he could make out the shapes of two steppe coursers in front of them. Lark glanced back once more before he knelt at the horses' hooves. Was he checking—oh, they'd been hobbled.

"You any better about staying aboard?" Lark asked, his voice still strangely empty of emotion.

"Safer to assume not." Able unwrapped Lark's coat and draped it over his shoulders.

"Thanks," Lark mumbled and slid his arms in while he looked back again. He began removing a rein from one horse and tying it to the saddle of the other.

Able turned to watch Red while he pulled his hat on over his ears and tied the arms of his overcoat around his waist as it wouldn't fit over the platelet one. She was dragging Driver into the house, her usual demeanor intact despite her sister's moans and trail of blood over the threshold.

"What are her chances?" Lark whispered behind him.

"Terrible!" Able turned to look into the hollow gaze. Lark'd been lowering the gun...maybe he'd meant to hit her leg? "Sh-should I go back and try to—"

With a sharp head shake, Lark pushed Able towards the horse. Right, best escape while they could. Okay. Stirrup was right there. The moment he got his foot into it, Lark heaved him up from behind. Startling as that was, probably a good thing given he was awkward enough without the seventeen pounds of steel and leather stifling his shoulders.

Lark hopped up in front of Able, set their mount to a walk with a gentle heel tap, then started adjusting the stirrup straps. "Only wanted an idea of how long we have before she gives up and comes after us." That went down Able's throat like a shard of ice and froze his innards. He'd...had he acted intentionally?

But Lark didn't see Able's reaction as he finished situating them. "Hold on." He kicked the horse up to a quicker pace.

Able numbly slid his arms around Lark's waist so he would not fall. Lark whistled repeatedly as the courser settled into a collected lope through the trees. Calling for Wander. He paused for several minutes before trying again. And again. And then he shook his head and swore.

"Could he be lost?" Able suggested.

"More likely Red tied him before they came to confront us." Lark blew an agitated exhale, then calmed himself with an inhale. "This is good, though." He reached out and caught a snowflake. "Better if it picks up. I beseech the Whale, please give us a long breath before you dive again at dawn." He touched the backs of his first two fingers to his forehead, then let the reins out.

The horse cooperatively increased its speed, and they flew along through swirling ice dust. Whether the prayer had any influence or not, the flakes multiplied to the point that the trees vanished in the clouds of them. Able buried his face in the hair at the back of Lark's neck when the stinging became too much. The scent of Lark's sweat was also too much. But Able had to breathe to survive, so he did.