Conscious of the passing time and encroaching dawn, she moved on to his office. Within minutes she realized she would not find the information she needed. She did not have enough time. She’d have to find Creed some other way.
She went to the kitchen to raid the icebox and cupboards. Bread and cheese went into a burlap sack, along with some cold, leftover meat. Then, slinging the sack over her shoulder to rest alongside the bow and the quiver, she returned to her bedroom and departed the house the same way she had entered.
…
On a small, uneven hill above the Godseeker’s house, Blade shifted position in his hiding place and watched as the condemned woman eased open a window and slipped inside.
He had been here for hours, and satisfaction coursed through him that he’d read her boldness correctly. Common sense had dictated that she would be back. Regardless of whether she headed into the desert or the mountains, she’d need food and protective clothing, something more than the thin dress she wore, in order to survive.
Her name was Raven, and the Godseeker, as it turned out, was not her father but her stepfather. While there was little love for the man in Goldrush he was both respected and feared, and that she had stood fast against him intrigued Blade. He was not without sympathy for her situation. He understood feelings of impotence all too well. It gave him an instinctive dislike of people who abused their authority.
He wondered what she planned to do next. Morbid curiosity kept him from leaving Goldrush before he found out. His search for the goddess boundary could wait a while longer.
He glanced at the dark, colorless sky, its thin edges showing traces of approaching dawn. The search party would soon be returning after a long and fruitless night. They would be tired and not in good humor. Her escape had been spectacular, and it would be a shame for her to be recaptured because of carelessness on her part. Once she had what she needed he would make certain she was not seen or followed. Then he would be on his own way and forget about her.
Blade waited for her to finish her errand, ignoring the crick in his neck. Within a short period of time she reemerged, her short, glossy black ringlets bobbing. She bent her head to keep an eye on the ground as she dropped from the low window ledge. Pausing barely long enough to see if she had been observed, she lifted her chin and brushed the unruly curls off her face with impatient fingers.
The shackles were gone, he had already noticed, and although the day had not yet fully commenced, he could now distinguish a few more things about her appearance in the expanding light. Her feet were still bare, and she had not retrieved a coat and practical clothing more suited for travel. A single sack hung from one slender shoulder, a bow and quiver of arrows from the other.
Then rather than heading away from town as she should, she took off at a slow run in the same direction the search parties had gone in the wee hours of the night.
Not much puzzled Blade, but this woman was a mystery to him. He could not begin to imagine what logic provoked her. She’d had an opportunity to gather her belongings and thumb her nose at the Godseeker by making good her escape—for the second time in one night. Instead, she was walking straight back into danger.
He shook his head as she disappeared from sight. Twice now, he had gone out of his way to try to help her, and it had proven pointless. He would not do so a third time. He started to rise from his hiding place, to slip away and distance himself from this entire situation, when he stopped. Pieces of the puzzle continued to torment him.
Why had she not changed her clothes or packed more belongings?
Again, his curiosity and draw to this woman’s audacity won out. He shot a glance at the slate-gray horizon, then at the deserted house. He only had a few moments to learn more.
He jumped from his hiding place and skidded on his heels down the slope until he reached level ground, then dashed the last few feet to the house. He peered in the window she had not bothered to close.
The light was gloomy but adequate. The muscle in his jaw worked as he surveyed the devastation of the room and the torn clothing. Not much wonder she had not changed her dress—she had nothing left to wear. His face hardened as he reconsidered her earlier body language. She had been angrier coming out of the house than going in, her movements jerky, quick and impatient. More puzzle pieces clicked into place, along with a growing certainty. She intended to kill the Godseeker.
It was what he would do in her situation.
Part of him cheered her on while another part continued to question her sanity. A third part, and the one he found most difficult to ignore, wondered what exactly the man had done to her before he accused her of being demon spawn and had her arrested. How far had he been tempted, and what had he taken from her?
Blade’s lip curled in disgust. The man called himself her father. She should have been able to rely on him for protection, yet it was obvious she had no one to rely on but herself in this town. His own morals were far from high, but as a child he, too, had been in a similar situation, beaten and abused by an uncle. No one had come to his aid either. He could not help but feel for her. Neither could he forget how he’d felt when her eyes had settled on him outside the jailhouse.
Blade was normally much better than this at suppressing useless feelings.
Lost in thought he moved away from the window, following the path she had taken. She needed someone to help her, whether she wanted it or not. This was not a woman’s world. No matter how deserved her stepfather’s death might be, if she killed a Godseeker, the next search for her would not be as halfhearted as it was now. He knew that from personal experience. And dying by fire would no doubt be as terrible as being eaten alive by a demon. He knew that firsthand, as well.
He made up his mind. He had been foolish to think he could return to this land and remain unaffected by his past. His own quest could wait. The passage through the goddess boundary might not even exist. If it did not, he would continue on to unknown parts. But first, he would try to help her a third and final time.
He followed the woman’s trail with greater purpose. One more foolish act before he left would do him no real harm.
And maybe someone else some good.
…
From a ledge halfway up the winding path that led to the top of the mesa above the single road into Goldrush, Raven crouched behind a stand of stunted yellow pine. She did not have long to wait before a cloud of dust in the distance warned her of the returning search party’s approach.
She bit her lip. She had chosen this vantage point because it provided her ample opportunity for escape, but she was out of practice with her bow and arrow. She worried her lip some more and considered stepping out of hiding at the last moment in the hope that Justice would see her and stop, giving her a better target. She would also have the satisfaction of seeing his face when he discovered that she had bested him. But if she lost the element of surprise, then missed the shot, she risked recapture. The early morning sun warmed the ledge, the radiant heat soaking into her bones welcome after the long, cold night. A yawn shook through her, and she blinked rapidly, forcing herself to concentrate as she steadied her bow and nocked an arrow.
The dust cloud came closer. She could not yet make out the individual riders. She squinted against the sunlight. Anyone who’d ridden in search of her after what happened last night deserved what he got, but she did not want to hit a hross, one of their long-legged, large-hoofed desert mounts, by mistake.
She decided if she missed, there would be other chances to kill Justice. If Creed could convince the assassins to train her, she would make it her life’s mission.