29
FARES
Fares’s hands are covered in blood. His cheek is blood-splattered, too. His arms are long-dislodged from their sockets. He’s been dragging the driver and Tomas up the road to Sandhorne for hours.
He must make it back to the Villa. He must. But he’s so tired now. He has never walked so far.
The carriage is askew in the road, miles back. The horses have spooked and run into the trees.
Fares is sure the Night Beasts will drive them out, if they haven’t gone back to the Under Realm yet. Two horses will make a nice snack for Xerxes’s pets; better than mice and moths.
Ahead, the sun is rising, a matte globe out of the yolky horizon. Perhaps the horses are safe, Fares thinks. He cannot worry about them now.
But he does.
He worries.
Fares is quite done swearing and shak
