where the thorns grow

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE,

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE | WHERE THE THORNS GROW

IT WAS DEAD quiet within the carriage. There were three passengers with her, each sat separately on different sides of the carriage. She sat with her back to a wall, so that she could keep an eye on both windows and the door.

  Just in case.

  The carriage stinked, in all honesty, and Rhys clenched the sack in her hands unnaturally tightly. But if any of the other three passengers—a grey haired old woman with a scar on her neck, a scholar dressed in shabby clothing and a middle aged woman half-asleep—noticed, none of them said anything. Too tired, probably. It was quite late.

  Rhys couldn't rest, though. One lapse in attention and Diego would get his hands on her. And after defying him so many times, she had no doubt his patience was starting to get thin. He might, he might just opt to kill her rather than anything else.

  Once upon a time she'd been Yang Guiheng, distant relative to the Marquess of Huyang, daughter of Yang Ge and Bai Lizhi. Saian diplomats dispatched to one of the most dangerous places in the world. Anrim. Except there'd been peace then, so they hadn't thought too much of it. When war broke out, they'd quietly awaited instructions from Sai that came too late. One day Rhys was using her powers in her backyard and the Meliquean spies who'd been keeping tabs on the consulate noticed. A week later the house was bombed—alongside half of Anrim, that sleepy little town—and she'd been in the building when it fell apart. But when the rubble fell on her her powers had instinctively formed a shield that had kept her safe until the Meliqueans came digging.

  She wished she hadn't made that shield, somedays. She knew it meant she would have died,  but wouldn't that have been... simpler? Without all the burdens, all the consequences. She'd never truly lived then, she'd have gone with little regrets.

  Now she had people and a cause to fight for, and the only thing she could feel in her stomach was guilt. Painful, painful guilt that flipped in her stomach again and again and again. She wanted to hurl but she knew she couldn't.

  Too many questions would be asked, along with it being a major inconvenience, and this bunch looked fairly old fashioned. She didn't want them making the wrong assumption.

  The only sound was the quiet snoring of the woman, the rustling of the leaves outside and the sound of wheel and horse racketing along the ground. It made a rhythmic sound.

  Rhys fought back a shudder and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. It wasn't cold. But she was feeling a fear she hadn't for many years, and it terrified her.

  But she had to believe that everything would be alright, that she'll somehow get out of this. Because if she didn't believe it herself, did she have a chance at all? In situations like this she chose to be optimistic rather than realistic, which was rare enough indeed, but tonight she decided to make an exception.

  Many things were an exception today. She hadn't planned half of this. Everything had gone so horribly wrong. She'd highly underestimated Diego. She let him corner her alone. She failed to assassinate him. And now she was on the run.

  She'd never fucked up a mission this bad. This was why she always stuck to Zhang daren's instructions. Because he actually knew what he was talking about, what he needed to achieve. She never did. It was painfully clear now. She was a soldier, someone who followed instead of lead.

  She clenched her fists. All these years and she still lacked a mind of her own.

  Two hours. Two hours and she'd be at the docks. Ships to Gira came and went quite frequently, she'd probably be able to get on one within the night. Once she did she should be more or less safe. There were few chances of anyone catching up once she got on the boat, unless they ambushed her at Gira.