Eadlyn Selects

Chances

Hale waits for me at the top of the stone steps. I wince with each footfall but I finally make it to his side. Instead of going right down the short hallway to the door leading out, as we did when we went to the fields, he veers left. I am relieved that we are not going back to the fields. And then my spirits rise slightly. He's going that way. The door is the other way. What if I—

I have a split second to decide whether or not to make a break for it.

I sprint to the right, hoping by some miracle I will make it out the door to freedom. I have to try. I owe it to myself to ignore the pain. And fear. I reach the door and throw my weight against it, while rattling the knob. It is locked from the outside.

A firm grip on my elbow tells me Hale could have stopped me before the lock.

"No more spoiled princess crap," he says in a tired voice. "I want to sleep."

I stare at the ground and let him drag me down the hall into the church building. I stumble even though he keeps a steady, slow pace. I try to look around but most of my effort is focused on not keeling over.

We go up a rickety spiral set of stairs, almost like we're going to the belfry. It's not a normal stairway. But then we duck through a small door into a loft of sorts. It's a small room with three walls and an opening looking out onto the sanctuary.

I am struck by the sad, silent sanctuary of this old dilapidated church with its empty, scratched pews and cracked, stained glass windows. The floor is littered with torn pages, glass, dark spills, and tattered cloth. Yet, I still feel a reverence in the surroundings. The destroyed beauty before me is compelling. I drift to the edge of the loft, noting the sharp drop off and the distance to the floor: not jumpable. Maybe fifty feet. I get a bit of vertigo and take a tiny step back.

The windows are boarded up, the pulpit is overturned, and torn hymnals are in piles. Dust and cobwebs coat the ornate wood and glass chandelier, which manages somehow to still be elegant. I guess no one could get high enough to take it down. The pews are stripped of cushions, the walls have no fixtures, and the rugs have been pulled up by scavengers.

Even from this height I can see rodent droppings and smell the foul odor of long neglect. I have to breathe through my mouth and fight my lurching throat to keep from vomiting. The smell sifts with the layer of salve still coating my skin and becomes something even worse.

I turn back to find Hale lounging on a makeshift bed. It is many mattresses piled up to waist level with several blankets and pillows thrown over it. It seems luxurious by my current standards. The floor is bare wood but recently swept. No droppings or cobwebs are anywhere in this small loft. There is a metal box near the door and a wooden crate near the bed like a side table. On it is a candle and a gun. Hale sees me eyeing the gun.

"Not loaded," he says. "But I have a knife on me at all times and easy access to the bullets. Don't make me confirm the rumors that the future queen is dead."

I glare at him.

"What?" he says innocently. "There's been no sight or sound from you in a week. Even your dad can't spin that into a spontaneous engagement trip with Ean. People suspect the worst. Assassination, illness, heart trouble, so many rumors. I won't tell you which is my favorite...or which I started." He watches for my reaction so I keep my face blank. It's not hard because it hurts to move any muscle, even my cheeks and eyebrows.

He continues. "But you know what? There's hope in people's eyes as they see Kadan on the broadcasts next to your dad. Who looks a wreck, by the way. Completely defeated. I guess you were Daddy's girl?" He sneers.