Book 2: Escaping the Tormentians

Ainslee

Gavin is behind us, Lawrence ahead. The other two guards, Killian and Brady, are positioned on either side. All of us are wearing very unassuming clothes. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to wear rags like this.

Rafe, of course, would look good in a potato sack. He cuts an impressive, dark, brooding figure in threadbare brown trousers and a faded blue shirt. He’s also holding a rag to the side of his face that is soaked in blood in an effort to hide his identity and pretend he has an injury.

For my part, I’m wearing a scarf and coughing softly every time someone turns our way.

Lawrence stops us at a shattered, overturned hay cart just shy of the smaller North entrance to the city. We’re not going to the main gate. That would be suicide. But there is a smaller gate that many of the locals use, and the portcullis has not been lowered over it. The Tormentians need a way to come and go, after all.

“Here goes nothing,” Lawrence