Chapter 4 BETRAYAL

A fresh sob hitched in my throat. "Thank you. Oh, god, thank you."

"We have to move now," Roland insisted, pulling me deeper into the shadows of the alley. "There is an old smuggler's path near the eastern wall. It leads straight into the forbidden woods. If we can reach the treeline before the sun sets, they won't follow you past the boundary."

I stayed close to his back. I mirrored his quiet footsteps as we navigated the maze of backstreets.

We stayed away from the main thoroughfares. We used the narrow spaces between the high stone walls of the merchants' district to avoid the patrols.

The alarm bells continued to ring. It was a constant, terrifying reminder that they were hunting me.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" I asked softly when we paused behind a row of wooden crates. "We are heading toward the merchant quarter. The guards always patrol here."

"I know these streets better than the guards do," Roland replied, and he did not look back at me. "Just keep your head down and stay quiet."

We hurried across an open courtyard and slipped into another narrow passage.

The stone walls felt closer here. They blocked out the sunlight and cast long, cold shadows over the cobblestones.

My side ached where I had pulled a muscle during the fall in the square. My lungs burned, but I forced myself to keep walking.

"Roland, wait," I panted. I slowed my pace and leaned against the brick wall. "I need... just a few seconds to catch my breath."

"We don't have time," he snapped. His tone was sharper than I had ever heard it. "Keep walking."

I swallowed hard and pushed through the pain. He was right. We were running for my life, and I couldn't afford to be weak.

We took another sharp turn. The passage suddenly widened into a small, enclosed alleyway.

The brick walls on either side stretched up three stories high.

I stopped walking.

There was no exit. The alley ended in a solid, ten-foot-tall brick wall.

"This is a dead end," I said. Confusion quickly replaced my panic. "Roland, we took a wrong turn."

He didn't answer. He stood a few feet ahead of me, and his posture was rigid.

I stared at the brick wall, my mind racing to make sense of the mistake. Roland had walked these streets for decades, and he never got lost.

"Roland, turn around," I urged him. "We have to go back before a patrol sees us."

He stayed silent. He kept his back to me, staring at the dead end as if he was waiting for something to happen.

The shadows near the back of the alleyway shifted.

I froze.

Four figures detached themselves from the darkness. They stepped out into the dim light, and their boots were silent on the cobblestones.

They wore the dark leather armor of the High Sovereign's elite executioners.

The silver broadswords in their hands glowed with a faint, lethal Light Fae magic.

They didn't rush forward. They simply spread out and formed a horizontal line that blocked the entire width of the alley.

They blocked my only way forward. I looked back over my shoulder, and two more guards stepped out of the passage we had just come from.

I was trapped.

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard it actually hurt. I backed up until my shoulder hit the cold brick of the side wall.

"Roland," I whispered. I reached out to grab his sleeve. "They found us. Do something."

He looked down at my hand. Then he looked up at the executioners.

He gently brushed my fingers off his sleeve.

"I'm sorry," I stuttered. I took a step back. "I don't understand."

Roland slowly stepped away from me. He moved toward the executioners with his hands raised in a calm, non-threatening gesture.

He didn't look scared. He looked relieved.

The executioner in the center lowered his sword slightly and nodded at my mentor.

The realization hit me like a blow to the stomach. Nausea rose in my throat, bitter and acidic.

He hadn't pulled me into the alcove to save me. He had pulled me off the main street so the city watch wouldn't have to cause a panic trying to capture me in public.

He led me right into a cage.

"You set me up," I breathed. The words barely made it past my lips. "Why?"

Roland stopped walking and finally turned to look at me. His face was a mask of cold, calculated indifference.

All the warmth and kindness he had shown me over the last nineteen years vanished.

"Do not make this difficult, Lenora." He smoothed the front of his fine robes. "The High Sovereign pays a fortune for a Voidborn's head, and I intend to collect every single coin."