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“There is no way we are making it out of here undetected,” Elian said, voice straining underneath Marcellus’ weight.

“We will if no one can see us.” Lotta narrowed her eyes, mapping out the streets in her mind. “Thicket, do you remember the invisibility incantation I taught you?”

She nodded.

“I need you to cast it on both you and Marcel. You are the only one whose energy can last long enough to support two people. Can you do that?”

Thicket hesitated. Her last attempt hadn’t panned out very well. It took one glance at Marcellus’ pale, slick skin for resolution to clamp around her mind, as hard and unbending as steel. There was no time left for doubts. She had done the training. It was time she started trusting herself. “Yes.”

“Once we are invisible, we won’t be able to see each other. Thicket, help Elian carry Marcel. That way you two will remain tethered.”

Elian shifted, allowing Thicket to slip underneath Marcellus’ other arm.

“You see where the streets intersect?” Thicket followed the angle of Lotta’s finger past the market stalls pressed against the sides of the tall buildings framing the street. It was almost hidden behind a crimson and gold tarp, but Thicket made out an archway cut into the bottom of the complex, leading to another section of the city. “There is an inn just beyond it on the left. I will leave the door open so you can slip inside while I get us a room. We should be able to hide out there until the guards pass. Are you ready?”

Thicket nodded, stomach churning.

“Invizible.” In unison, they vanished. Thicket kept a firm grip on Marcellus’ arm, doing her best to shoulder as much of his weight as she could.

Lotta must have already departed, moving on silent feet. Thicket and Elian remained in the alley, waiting for a lull in the crowd to reduce the number of bodies they would have to navigate. Once there was an opening, Elian asked, “You ready?”

Thicket nodded. Remembering he couldn’t see her, she said, “Let’s go.”

They moved clumsily at first. It was hard to match their pace when they couldn’t see the other, yet they found their rhythm as they darted across the street. Thicket held her breath, willing her steps to be light against the packed sand as they passed a cluster of guards interrogating one of the nearby vendors.

One of the birds delivering mail dove down. Thicket tried to move out of the way but with Marcellus draped over her she couldn’t react fast enough. The bird collided with her, feet tangling in her hair. It squawked. Thicket barely held back her own shriek as the bird’s wings beat against her face.

The guards whirled.

Elian tugged the bird from her hair, pulling some of her strands along with it. Thicket didn’t complain as the bird finally shot back into the sky. They took off down the street, not daring to look back at the guards to see if they noticed them. They turned the corner past the arch to see the inn door open, just like Lotta promised.

It was too narrow to fit them both, so Thicket let go of Marcellus, letting Elian take his full weight and stepped inside, closing the door behind her right as a pair of guards ran down the street past them.

Thicket held in a sigh of relief.

Lotta was at the front desk, her scarf pulled over her face and hair, concealing most of her defining features. The innkeeper passed her a key and pointed in the direction of the room. Thicket followed Lotta down the hall, hoping Elian was right behind her. As soon as they were safely inside, they dropped their invisibility.

“Set him down on the bed,” Lotta ordered, gesturing at Elian. He obeyed without question. Thicket drew the curtains closed to avoid any prying eyes as Lotta knelt over Marcellus, putting two fingers to his neck. “His pulse is low.”

Thicket twisted her fingers around one another. Her heart hadn’t calmed since the attack first started. Since he had gotten shot. “What does that mean?”

“It could be from the venom.”

“Or?” she asked, sensing there was one and fearing the worst.

“Thicket, I know you are worried, but please. Let me focus.” Lotta rummaged through the straps holding Marcellus’ sword. She pulled out his knife and held it over her hand. “Fya.” Her palm ignited and she held the blade over the flames. The metal glowed red hot.

Bunching her fist to extinguish the fire, Lotta tore Marcellus’ shirt open further, giving her a full view of the wound. With steady fingers she pressed the tip of the knife onto his skin and sunk it inside his flesh. Thicket’s stomach roiled and she covered her mouth, hands shaking once again as Lotta dragged it down the length of the arrow head.

When she was done with the cut, Lotta grabbed the arrow firmly by its base and pulled it free. She immediately dropped it and put her hands to the wound, staunching the fresh bleeding. “Gayrir.”

Sweat slid down Lotta’s temple as Marcellus’ skin slowly knit itself back together. The wound fully closed, but the raw pink of the broken flesh didn’t disappear.

“Is that it?” Thicket asked.

Lotta sat back, breathing heavily. “For now. He’s too weak to undergo much more. When he wakes up, I’ll have you finish healing him. I am going to get washed up.” Lotta tossed one last look at Marcellus, making sure he was stable, before closing the door to the bathroom.

Thicket sat, knees curled tightly to her chest. Her heart was cracking, its pieces falling away from one another. She fought desperately to catch them, trying to stitch them back together before she fully fell apart.