Page 50 of Avalon Tower

Cold anger etches his face. He looks furious. Violent. My instincts are telling me to get the hell away from him as fast as possible—especially since he apparently slit the last “whore’s” throat.

“Well, I suppose that’s too bad,” I blurt. “I’ll have to find another man to satisfy my needs.”

Panic tightens my chest as I take a quick step back and rush to mount Dickinson. I spur him on, and he lurches to a gallop through the grove. I cling to his reins as we race between the trees. I’m not exactly sure where I’m going, only that I need to get away from the sergeant. A low branch thrashes at my face as Dickinson thunders toward the road. His hooves pound on the dirt, kicking up dust around me. I focus on the earthen road as we gallop, the wind shrieking in my ears. I’ve never ridden a horse so fast, but I’m charging along the road that Raphael took earlier.

I glance back to where we came from, the border with unoccupied France. In the distance, the veil shimmers with pearly light. I can’t return to the meeting point. Raphael told me I should get back through the veil and wait on the other side, but something stops me.

Allevur will be a bloodbath again tonight after the ambush if that traitor Varris can be believed.

I don’t know anyone called Varris, and it’s strange for my mind to conjure unknown names. But Allevur is where Raphael and the rest of the group are headed.

What if I’m not just hearing random voices?

An idea takes root in the hollows of my mind—I heard his words before he said them out loud. The exact phrase. You’re disgusting. Just like that whore in Allevur.

The voice in my thoughts, then out of his mouth.

In the past, things the voices told me sometimes turned out to be true. Once, a voice whispered to me that the bookshop manager was having an affair with one of the other employees. Then I accidentally walked in on them in the office, his pants pulled down to his ankles, his pale butt thrusting back and forth. Another time, my mind conjured a voice about a customer in the shop, something about stealing books—two very expensive books, special editions signed by the author. Then I caught him stealing them, trying to run straight out the front door.

So what if what I’ve heard wasn’t just nonsense conjured by a stressed mind?

What if it was magic that I shouldn’t dismiss?

Because if my voices can predict the future, there might be a bloodbath scheduled tonight in Allevur.

It’s a small Fey village, built on the ruins of a town after the invasion. Allevur is centered around a train station, some shops and farms, and the tavern where Raphael is supposed to meet the contact. But it’s not a big city. Most of the French abandoned it during the war.

The ambush—was that planned for Raphael and the MI-13 agents?

I’m not sure how to get a message to Raphael. Even if I race after them on horseback the entire way, I’m hours behind. They’ll get to Allevur within the hour, maybe less. There’s no way I can catch up with them. All I can do is—

The train of Gobannos.

It goes through Allevur. That’s the second stop in the occupied zone, arriving from the south. The Seneschal made us memorize the maps of this region, and also commit the whole train schedule to memory. There’s a train leaving the border station at midnight, reaching Allevur at one in the morning.

I steer Dickinson west, heading for the train. As I ride, I pull out my pocket watch, and my pulse roars. I’ve got ten minutes to get there.

I spur on my horse, shouting words of encouragement as he gallops. Apparently, he’s relieved to find that his timid rider has grown more daring, and he seems to relish the fast run across the road. Now his hooves hardly touch the ground. One thing is clear: the riding lessons at Avalon are paying off.

The wind tears at my hair, and I lean over Dickinson’s neck, urging him to run faster. The dirt road carves through corn fields, and I race through a derelict village. Wooden shutters bang in the breeze, but in the distance, I see the flickering warmth of gas lamps. Balconies hang over the street, and the windows are barred to the night. A clocktower rises high above the town, and when I glance at it, my breath catches.

The bells chime twelve times. Midnight.

In the distance, I hear chugging and groaning along tracks. Steam billows, and my heart sinks.

I’ve missed it.

I’m gasping, trying to catch my breath. My chest tightens, but I urge Dickinson on, and we race to the station. The building is stone, painted white. Someone shouts at me from the platform, but my eyes are on the train. An open field runs alongside it. Gripping Dickinson’s reins, we race to catch up.

The train of Gobannos is enormous, with a black and crimson engine. Billows of steam burst into the air above it, and the mist snakes around the train. I’ve never seen a train like this, one with shimmering cars that gleam with silver and gold, others so dark they seem to suck in all the light around them. How many train cars? Thirty? Forty? Impossible to count.

Dickinson gallops faster, and my chest thuds at the sight of a boulder in our way. But the horse is already leaping high above it, and for a second, it almost seems like we’re flying—and then we drop. I bite my tongue as we hit the ground and taste blood.

But we’ve reached the train, and I’m about five carriages from the rear. It’s accelerating now, so I can’t waste another moment.

All of this seems mad, an impossible feat the old Nia would never even dream of doing.

My heart is in my throat as I lean toward the rungs on the side of the train. I try to clutch at a ladder jutting out of a carriage, my fingers brushing it, but it’s already gone.