“I want you to survive.”
Footsteps sounded behind them, and they turned to find Countess Quine coming down the hallway, lips freshly stained with powder, dressed in an ornate snow-white gown as though to flaunt the fact that capturing them would be so easy that she could do it in formalwear.
“I can handle it from here,” she purred. “Petra, go and tell the prince they’ve been captured. He’ll want the lesser Royals to tie them up.”
But Petra didn’t lower the rifle. “Not until we get them locked in the cellar. They’re smarter than you think.”
Countess Quine’s expression indicated she doubted that.
Cricket looked at Anouk with a question on her face. They were utterly trapped—?Quine behind them, Petra in front. Anouk’s mind scrolled through all of Vittora’s spells, searching for something small that wouldn’t use up much of Viggo’s blood . . .
Then, to her surprise, Hunter Black raised his hands in surrender.
Anouk gaped.
Beau elbowed the assassin and hissed, “Did that ice-cold water freeze your brain?”
“You heard her,” Hunter Black growled back. “She said she’s going to lock us in the cellar.”
He winked.
Hunter Black never winked.
Countess Quine hadn’t seen it, but Anouk had, and though she had no idea what plan was tumbling around in his brain, she raised her hands too.
Beau and Cricket stared at her like she’d gone mad, but then Luc raised his hands, following her lead with a trusting nod, and Beau and Cricket warily did the same.
“Excellent.” The countess smirked as she herded them down the hallway, with Petra bringing up the rear with the rifle.
Through the narrow windows, Anouk could hear the sounds of the battle outside. Cries for help. Clanking metal. Her stomach revolted as if she’d eaten rotten eggs. How many Goblins were wounded? Dead? Every step she took toward the cellar, she felt more and more despair.
And then, without warning, she didn’t feel anything at all.
The cellar stairs had just . . . vanished, as though by magic. There was nothing beneath her feet, and suddenly she was falling. She crashed into Beau in front of her, and Luc slammed into her from behind. She kept sliding, kicking her feet, trying to grab hold of something, but her fingers glanced off every stone, and the whole group tumbled out of the stairwell and through the wine-cellar door to collapse in a messy, painful heap.
Someone moaned. Someone else cursed. She caught a glimpse of a glass shoe attached to a petite foot that must have been Countess Quine’s. Saw Luc’s face smooshed into Beau’s stomach. Smelled cigarette smoke on Petra’s breath, just inches from her. Heard the scrape of metal—?the rifle!
She and Petra scrambled for it at the same time, but Hunter Black reached it first.
He was standing outside the cell. Standing. Not a part of their tumbled mess.
“What did you do to the stairs?” Petra cried.
Hunter Black aimed the rifle in the general direction of the knot of bodies, unable to get a clear shot at either Petra or Countess Quine. “The last time I was locked in this cell I had a lot of time to think, and those wooden stairs are only for scenery. It’s an old form of carpentry, constructed with rope and joinery. The rope was all but disintegrated, which meant the only thing holding the entire staircase together was this piece of wood.” He held up a wooden pin the length of his thumb. “Pull it out, the rope snaps, it all comes crashing down.”
“Since when is an assassin an expert on carpentry?” Petra demanded.
“You’d be amazed how many ways there are to kill someone and blame it on faulty workmanship.” He gestured with his free hand. “Anouk. Cricket. Luc. Beau. Come on.”
Anouk disentangled herself from Cricket’s arm and Countess Quine’s silk dress. Hunter Black extended his free hand to help her up.
Beau dusted off his clothes and grinned at Hunter Black. “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you do something vaguely heroic.”
“It’s like you’re actually almost human,” Luc teased.
“Yeah, our hero!” Cricket taunted, ruffling Hunter Black’s hair, which elicited the expected growl, though there were no teeth in it this time.
Trapped in the cellar with the countess, Petra scowled at Hunter Black. “You’re not a Pretty. You can’t fire that gun.”