I crossed my arms over my chest and quickened my step. Just a few more bends in the road and I would be able to see the torches from my uncle’s gate, beckoning me home.
But I did not make it to the second bend before the highwaymen were upon me.
They came out of the mist like beasts of prey—two of them, garbed in long, dark cloaks and masks obscuring all but their eyes. The first caught me by my hood and slid his other hand around my mouth, smothering the scream that escaped my lips. The second drew a dagger with a pale ivory hilt off his belt and held the tip to my chest.
“Stay quiet and I will not use this,” he said, his voice deep. “Understand?”
I said nothing, choking on fear. I’d walked these woods half my life. Not so much as a dog had given me pause—certainly not highwaymen, not this close to my uncle’s estate. They were either brazen or desperate.
I reached into the darkness of my mind, grasping for the Nightmare. He slithered forward with a hiss, stirred by my fear, awake and present behind my eyes.
I nodded to the highwayman, careful not to stir his dagger.
He took a step back. “What’s your name?”
Lie, the Nightmare whispered.
I drew a hitching breath, my hair still imprisoned in the first highwayman’s clutch. “J-J-Jayne. Jayne Yarrow.”
“Where are you going, Jayne?”
Tell him you have nothing of value.
So they might take their gain in flesh? I don’t think so.
Rage began to boil behind my fear, the Nightmare’s wrath a metallic taste on my tongue. “I—I work in the service of Sir Hawthorn,” I managed, praying the weight of my uncle’s name would frighten them.
But when the highwayman behind me gave a curt laugh, I knew I’d said the wrong thing.
“Then you know about his Cards,” he said. “Tell us where he keeps them, and we’ll let you go.”
My spine straightened and my fingers curled into fists. The punishment for stealing Providence Cards was a slow, grisly, and public death.
Which meant these were no ordinary cutpurse highwaymen.
“I’m just a maid,” I lied. “I don’t know anything.”
“Sure you do,” he said, pulling my hood until the clasp was pressed against my throat. “Tell us.”
Let me out, the Nightmare said again, his voice slithering out from behind his jagged teeth.
Shut up and let me think, I snapped, my eyes still on the dagger.
“Hello?” said the highwayman at my back, tugging my hood again. “Can you hear me? Are you daft?”
“Wait,” cautioned the one with the dagger. I could not see his face behind the mask, but his gaze held me pinned. When he stepped closer I flinched, the scent of cedar smoke and cloves clinging to his cloak.
“Search her pockets,” he said.
Trespassing fingers roved down my sides, across my waist and down my skirt. I clenched my jaw and held my nose high. The Nightmare remained quiet, his claws tapping a sharp rhythm.
Click. Click. Click.
“Nothing,” said the highwayman.
But the other was not convinced. Whatever he saw in my eyes—whatever he suspected—was enough to keep his dagger stilled just above my heart. “Check her sleeves,” he said.
Help me, I shouted into my mind. Now!
The Nightmare laughed—a cruel, snakelike hiss.
White-hot heat cut through my arms. I hunched over, my veins burning, and muffled a cry as the Nightmare’s strength coursed through my blood.
The man behind me took a step back. “What’s wrong with her?”
The highwayman with the dagger watched me with wide eyes and lowered his blade. He lowered it only a moment—but a moment was all the time I needed.
My muscles burned with the Nightmare’s strength. I struck the highwayman’s chest with brutal force, knocking the dagger out of his hand and propelling him backward onto the road. His head slammed heavily onto soil just as the highwayman behind me reached for his sword.
But the Nightmare’s reflexes were faster. Before the highwayman could free his blade from its sheath, I caught him by the wrist, my grip so tight my nails dug into his skin. “Don’t come here again,” I said, my voice not entirely my own.
Then, with the full force of the Nightmare’s strength, I pushed him off the road into the mist.
Branches snapped as he struck the forest floor, a curse echoing through the moist summer air. I did not wait to see him get back up. I was already running—running full speed for my uncle’s house.
Faster, I called over the drumming of my own heart.