Maren Goldweaver's Arc

Chapter 25 of 42

Two days south, the woods thinned into hill country. Maren walked at the front with Gisela, who counted paces under her breath and watched the ridge line. Kato kept close to Gisela's shoulder. His hand brushed hers on a low branch and stayed there a beat too long. Gisela did not pull away. Miller walked behind them with his eyes on Topper, and Topper walked with his eyes on the back of Maren's neck. No one spoke of the bounty hunter. No one had to. The cub rode inside Maren's coat, warm against her ribs. "An hour out," Gisela said. "Maybe less." "And when we get there," Maren said, "what do we hand them?" Gisela did not answer. Maren had turned the question over for two days. The rebels would want proof. A ledger. A name. Coin. She had none of it. She had a stolen sister, a wanted face, and a cub she would not trade. She touched the lining of her coat where the file used to be. "We tell them what we know," Miller said behind her. "Registry routes. Transfer days. Guard rotations." "Words," Topper said. "They'll want something they can hold." The snap came from under Maren's boot. The ground fell away. Rope bit her waist and her arms and yanked her upward. She heard Gisela scream, then Kato, then her own breath punched out of her chest. The forest tilted. She was ten feet up, then fifteen, folded into a net that stank of pitch. The cub thrashed against her ribs and went still. "Kato!" Gisela's voice, close and high. "Kato, answer me!" Maren twisted. Kato hung in a net across the clearing, head slumped, blood on his temple where a branch had caught him. He did not move. Gisela's net swung ten feet below his. Miller was higher, off to Maren's left, already sawing at rope with his belt buckle. Topper dangled lowest, cursing. "He's breathing," Maren called. "Gisela. He's breathing. I can see his chest." Gisela stopped screaming and started climbing the inside of her net toward him. Boots crunched below. Four of them, then six. Men in mismatched leather stepped out of the ferns with crossbows raised. Not gray coats. Not Council. Rebels. A woman with a scarred jaw looked up at Maren. "State your business," she said. "And what you brought us." Maren's mouth went dry. She had rehearsed a dozen answers. None of them were true enough. Below her, Gisela was still climbing toward Kato. Miller had stopped sawing. Maren pulled her coat open. The cub lifted its head, wings folding tight, eyes bright in the green light. "I brought her," Maren said. "And what she can do. That's the offer." The scarred woman lowered her crossbow one degree. She did not lower it further. "Cut them down," she said. "The man with the head wound first."