Chasing Shadows (61 page)

Because you’re too weak to walk away yourself.
Sarah winced at her answering thought, knowing it was true. She didn’t have the resolve to end things.

Will looked so sure that she held her breath, forgetting all her doubts. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes, I do.”

“But how?” she whispered, needing to know his answer.

“Because if you want something enough, you’ll fight for it. And our differences are hardly an issue.” He grinned. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I am entirely adaptable.”

Sarah felt the weight on her chest lighten, though it did not disappear altogether. Like Will’s past, the uncertainty would always be there, hiding just under the surface. But for now, she chose to hope. “So this isn’t the end for us?”

“Of course not, love.” he touched her cheek and leaned down, his lips a breath away when he whispered, “I have a feeling this is only the beginning.”

~Epilogue~

Damien shuffled slowly down the hall, careful not to overstep the small strides allowed by the chains around his ankles. Armed guards flanked him on either side, and, should he fall behind, he knew they would not hesitate to deliver a few blows to “motivate” him to move faster. So he was careful to watch his steps as they guided him through a low doorway and into the open air.

Pain shot through his throbbing skull at the natural light, and he lifted his fettered hands to shield his eyes from the glaring sunrays. After months spent locked away in the dark dungeons far below the castle, having been moved there from the tower a few days after his imprisonment, the muted sunlight streaming through the cloud cover was blindingly painful.

Someone prodded him from behind when he hesitated, and he moved tentatively down the rough stone steps. His progress was slow and awkward as the short chain barely allowed him to place one foot on the edge of the step and his other foot on the one below. A guard shoved him forward when he moved too slowly, and Damien stumbled, barely maintaining his balance. He turned around to glare at the guard, who stared straight ahead, ignoring him.

Damien turned his eyes back to the ground to watch the last step, a prisoner shuffling behind his captors. The long chain tying together the manacles that bound his hands and ankles dragged across the cobblestone at his feet as he shuffled awkwardly toward the waiting caravan. It looked ominous and final with dark, peeling wood and a small barred window at the back. The old, weathered driver hunched atop it watched their approach, glaring at Damien and gripping the reins a little tighter when they made eye contact.

Damien swallowed hard, keeping his head high while still being mindful of his steps. Never let your adversaries see you cowed—his father had taught him that much.

A stony-faced guard broke away from the group to open the back of the caravan, holding the small door open for the prisoner.

Damien flinched at the darkness within. He was in no hurry to enter the vehicle that would transport him out of the city and to a prison where he would live out the remainder of his dismal future in solitary confinement.

But he moved toward the open door mechanically: There was no point in delaying his fate.

The two men at his side grabbed him at the same time to help him into the back of the caravan, since he was unable to lift his feet onto the high step. The ceiling was low, and Damien had to crouch as he turned around, trying not to register surprise as he stared in recognition at the guard who had gripped his hands to help him adjust.

He could feel the outline of cold steel between his palms. The man caught his eyes briefly, and Damien thought he saw a faint nod just before the guard motioned for the door to be closed.

Damien heard the
click
of the latch being secured from the outside in the quiet of the caravan, but he felt no despair over what should have been a sound of finality, marking an end to his free life. He sat down on the short bench seat and didn’t bother to glance at the object in his hand. He already knew what it was.

His ticket to freedom.

Sarah and the blacksmith had thought that by imprisoning him, they had put an end to the madness he had found himself caught in the midst of. But they had no idea what they had gotten themselves into. This was bigger than either of them could imagine, and it would not stop because he was behind bars.

In essence, Cadius was the mastermind behind the entire plot—a puppeteer controlling every piece in his debauched puzzle—but they were wrong in assuming everything set in motion years before would suddenly cease once Cadius saw the gallows. Everyone seemed to have overlooked the most vital piece, the person at the center of it all, and the wheels of this plan would continue to turn without Cadius setting them in motion.

Damien knew he was one of an elite few who were aware that everything was already in motion. The cart bumped through town. Through the bars, he caught a few curious stairs from the townsfolk, as well as some fearful glances. They were all ignorant.

His shoulders slumped in exhaustion, but not yet defeat. It would be impossible to stop what was currently happening before their very eyes, even if they didn’t yet recognize it. He knew that it was only just beginning, and if Sarah tried to stop it, she would find herself caught in the crossfire.

He stared through the bars at the hazy sky beyond, imagining that she was out there, somewhere. Had they already found her? Had his months of infuriating seclusion made him too late?

He ground his teeth in vexation, fetters jangling as he rubbed the mark over his heart—a ghastly T. The symbol had been burned into his skin the second night of his imprisonment. Months had passed and still the mark ached, recalling to mind the feel of the hot iron as it branded him as the traitor he knew himself to be.

He tightened his grip on the key, feeling the rough steel bite into his palm, feeling anger course through him. No, it was far from over.