Chapters (76)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- PROLOGUE
- PART I
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- PART II
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- PART III
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- INTERLUDE
- PART IV
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- INTERLUDE
- PART V
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- PART VI
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- INTERLUDE
- PART VII
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- PART VIII
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Newsletter Sign-up
She crawled back to the bed, finding comfort in the tiny space between it and the stone. There, with the fear still raging through her body and her limbs quivering, Arable let go. Hot tears poured out, but she did not wail, or lose herself. Instead it all flowed out of her. Whatever had been scratching at her skin flushed out her eyes and onto the floor to disappear, and more than her face felt the warmth of being washed clean. Silently. She didn’t whimper or heave. The tears just came, and streamed, and left, and then there was nothing left but Arable, sitting on the floor by a meaningless bed. She had thought there was nothing else for her to do, but she had been wrong. She had thought she was so overwhelmed by it all.
But no. Not so overwhelmed.
Not ever overwhelmed.
Never overwhelmed.
Liberated.
Because literally anything she chose to do now would be better than doing nothing.
And there, on the ground, casting a long oval shadow dripping halfway across the room, directly in the middle of the still gaping doorway, was the one opportunity she’d been hoping for. Arable picked her fucking self off the ground, held her head high and walked out of the room, determined, only slowing to swing her hand down and pick up the ring of keys Gisbourne had lost in the darkness.
FIFTY-ONE
JOHN LITTLE
SHERWOOD FOREST, JUST OUTSIDE BERNESDALE
JOHN’S BOYS RAN ABOUT, each one faster than the last, springing over fallen limbs and back upon themselves. Robin had them playing at chase, claiming it wasn’t just a children’s game.
“Knowing how to run, how to dodge, how to tire a pursuer, that may save their lives. And besides, it’s fun.” Robin smiled, on account of him being Robin. And the others enjoyed their time of it, somehow forgetting come morning they would be on the road to Nottingham, to do as dangerous a thing as ever they’d done.
Every now and then one of the boys would look at John, thinking to tag him into the game. He’d be an easy target but they never picked him, choosing to turn and run at another instead. Ten of them here, hand-picked by Robin from those that volunteered. They’d left the bulk of the group behind in one of their camps deeper in the Sherwood, that the ten of them might sneak into the Sheriff’s funeral. To rescue Will and Elena from the gallows they’d earned, and Marion against a wedding she hadn’t. Ten against too many.
The Delaney brothers had prepared this small camp, just barely away from the village of Bernesdale at the southern spear of the Sherwood. They’d used it as a halfway point to Nottingham, exchanging messages with Prince John, their ticket to getting into the castle safely. If he could be trusted.