The Forgotten Locket (6 page)

We ran past seemingly endless rows of torch brackets, the light blurring in my peripheral vision into one thin, unbroken stream of fire. We passed door after door; some stayed closed. Others swung open, disgorging guards, officers, men with swords, men with clubs.

Five hundred six. Five hundred seven.

My world dissolved into a cacophony filled with shouts to stop, to go, to turn, to wait, to go back, to go forward. I clutched Orlando’s hand like a lifeline. As much as I didn’t want to be stopped, caught, trapped by the guards chasing us, I didn’t want to be lost forever in these twisting tunnels, either.

We ran up a flight of stairs, exchanging rough-hewn stone walls and plain wooden doors for more lush surroundings: colorful carpets and rugs on the floor, tapered candles instead of torches on the wall, even a slice of a window or two. The hallways were empty here on the upper level and, though the sound of footsteps still thundered behind us, I harbored a hope that we might make our escape after all.

I ran until my lungs ached, until my sweat burned, until my legs lost their strength and a sudden cramp locked my muscles. I stumbled and fell to my knees with a cry and—
two thousand twenty-eight, two thousand twenty-nine
—the numbers ran out of my head.

Orlando turned and, without missing a step, reached out to catch me before I fell any further. He lifted me up and then, with one arm behind my back, swung me into his arms.

He was unrelenting, his energy unfailing. I could feel his breath on my neck, the rise and fall of his chest as he carried me toward the door at the other end of the hallway.

I blinked the sweat from my eyes and clutched at the collar of Orlando’s shirt.

An
open
door.

Could it be true?

Orlando arrowed his way outside, breaking free from the courthouse without breaking stride.

He headed for the spacious plaza that lay outside the courthouse, his footing swift and sure across the mosaic-patterned cobblestones. Despite the late hour, there were several other people scattered across the plaza, but they were all wrapped in heavy cloaks, heads down, intent on conserving warmth and not getting involved.

I tilted my face to the stars and gulped down a steady stream of cold, clean air. The sweat on my body tingled like snow melting and I felt a trickle of relief slide down my neck and spine.

“Hold on, my lady,” Orlando said. “Just another minute . . . we’ll be safe in just another minute.”

I turned my face toward Orlando’s chest. I hoped he was right. I hoped there would be a safe place for us at the end of this journey. But deep in the black place where my memories used to be I feared it would be a long time before I felt safe again.

The sky above was dark and clear, but the air tasted of a coming storm.

Chapter 4

When we reached the other side of the plaza, Orlando slipped into the shadows of an alleyway as narrow as a throat before setting me on my feet. “Can you walk?” he asked, holding tight to my forearm in case I fell. His breath plumed from his mouth and nose like steam. His eyes darted from me to the plaza behind us, searching, watching.

I gulped down huge breaths of cold air and nodded. My leg still ached, a sharp pain racing from my hip to my ankle, like someone had stretched a rubber band next to my bone and then lit it on fire. “I can make it,” I said, hoping it was the truth.

“Are you sure?” he said, glancing past my shoulder. “We need to keep moving.” He shifted his weight forward, his chest still heaving from his run, and I knew he was eager to take flight again.

I followed his glance. Two men were hunting through the plaza, stopping each person, checking each couple. Silver moonlight lined the edges of their bared swords. I could almost hear the time ticking away while we stood in the shadows of the alley. I knew the longer we waited, the more danger we were in. There were still people in the plaza, but not many. It would take only one person to say, yes, they had seen us run past, one person pointing in our direction, and our precarious hiding spot would be exposed.

“My lady?” He squeezed my forearm lightly, but the urgency in Orlando’s voice was clear.

I nodded and took a step forward. My sore leg crumpled under my weight.

Orlando caught me, concern filling his eyes.

Goose bumps lifted on my arms. A brisk wind kicked up and my teeth chattered. My skin remembered the touch of summer’s warmth and rebelled at the sudden change to winter’s bite.

“I don’t think I can make it,” I said, feeling cold tears sting my eyes.

Orlando rubbed his hands briskly over my arms, but between the shocks I’d already endured and the cold that seemed to be turning me to snow, I couldn’t stop shivering. My body felt encased in frozen air, my bones as brittle as icicles.

“I’m sorry,” I managed as the tears spilled down my cheeks. “You should go. I’ll be fine. I’ll catch up—”

Orlando cut me off with a gesture. “No. I’m not leaving you behind.”

I blinked as an image flashed behind my eyes. An alternating rhythm of red and yellow lights, the sound of fire cracking open the bones of a wooden building and sucking out the marrow with a scorching tongue.

And then the image was gone as the familiar blackness cut across my mind like a drawn curtain, denying me entrance to my own memories.

“My lady?” Orlando said again.

I felt divided, body and soul. I shivered violently, but whether from the darkness, the exhaustion, or the winter air around me, I couldn’t tell.

He stepped up next to me, encircling me with his arm and pulling me close. His body shook with exhaustion and he pressed his hand to his side as though working away a stitch in his muscles. “I know where we can go. It’s there—at the end of the alley. I don’t think I can carry you again; do you think you can make it that far?”

Leaning against him, I managed to limp forward one step. Then two. I bit down on my lip to keep my whimpers from turning into a scream.

Slowly, one limping, halting step at a time, we shuffled deeper into the dark alley, aiming for the vertical band of lighter gray at the other end. I tried not to think about the tight quarters, the oppressive sky looming overhead. I avoided thinking about the words
trapped, locked,
and
endless
and focused instead on the words
open, free,
and
horizon.
It seemed to work, for a time.

When we emerged from the mouth of the alley, I looked up and all the words evaporated from my head. I couldn’t speak. Towering above me was the most amazing, most beautiful, most elaborate building I had ever seen. A cathedral sparkling with stained glass windows. Walls of smooth gray stones set in intricate patterns. Towers pirouetting to delicate points. A light dusting of snow feathered the edges of the structure like wings.

I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to. The mere sight of it filled me with peace and happiness.

Orlando directed us toward the heavy doors; I leaned my weight on his shoulder, trying to keep as much pressure off my leg as possible.

I swallowed, too filled with emotion to speak. We were going
inside
the cathedral. My heart sped up in anticipation.

Orlando pulled open the door and a flood of warm golden light washed out over us.

We slipped inside the church, the door swinging shut behind us.

I had thought the outside of the building was breathtaking, but the interior felt magical.

The moonlight that fell through the stained glass windows diffused into a rainbow of muted colors, softening the edges of the pews and rounding the square corners of the pillars that held up the high arched ceiling. The air felt still and serene in the heart of the cathedral. Statues of saints populated the nooks and alcoves along the wall. A rack of stubby candles stood by the door, many of them lit with the prayers and wishes of the faithful. Further down the aisle, I could see the heart of the nave covered in gold.

A huge mural stretched across one whole wall, countless images of angels within its golden boundaries. From the angel with a flaming sword turning away Adam and Eve to the Angel Gabriel appearing to Mary, the mother of God, to the Archangel Michael battling the dragon as the stars fell from the skies.

“What is this place?” I asked, awed.

Orlando followed my gaze. “It’s the Cathedral of the Angels.” His voice was reverent, and a little wistful. “My parents were married here. I had hoped—”

His voice cut off as a man in a black robe approached us. The cowl of his robe spilled over his shoulders, revealing a face weathered and worn by age. His white hair was trimmed short, and his eyes were soft and kind. His hands were tucked into the wide sleeves of his cassock. The moonlight outlined a silver cross on his chest.

“Welcome, weary travelers. I am Father Marchello. I hope you find peace and shelter here in the house of God.” The priest glided toward us on whispering, slippered feet.

Orlando shifted, his body automatically moving to shield me. “We have come seeking sanctuary, Father.”

The priest hesitated, stopping a few feet from us.

“Just for the night,” Orlando said quickly. “We—”

A heavy knock sounded at the front door, the sound rolling through the quiet church like thunder.

Orlando pushed me behind him until my back was against the wall and we were out of sight of the doorway. My heart raced and the breath I had managed to catch slipped away from me in a low exhale of panic.

The priest tilted his head, watching us.

The knock sounded again, louder and more insistent.

“Please,” Orlando breathed.

I could feel the sweat on his skin where it touched mine, hot and cold at the same time.

Nodding imperceptibly toward us, the priest walked to the door and pulled it open.

“Good evening,” he said, nodding his head in greeting.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Father,” a gruff voice said, “but two prisoners have recently escaped from the courthouse. A man and a woman. He is tall, dark hair, blue eyes. She is smaller, thin, with brown hair, and is dressed as a boy. Has anyone matching that description come to the cathedral this evening seeking help? Protection, even?”

Orlando inched back, pressing me even closer to the wall until all I could see was the broad expanse of his shoulders. I could feel the tension in his body like steel. His hand found mine and held on tight.

“God extends His hand to all men who come to the cathedral seeking help and protection,” the priest said smoothly.

“These prisoners are dangerous, Father. It is important we find them as soon as possible.”

“Thank you for the warning, good sir,” the priest said. “If anyone comes to our door who matches that description, I will be sure to personally escort them back to the courthouse.”

“I would appreciate that, Father. Thank you.”

“Good night,” the priest said. The door made a firm thud as it settled closed.

I peeked around Orlando’s shoulder, holding my breath, straining my ears in case the guard decided to return. But the church was quiet and still.

“I’m sorry you had to lie for us, Father,” Orlando said, his voice low.

“Oh, but I didn’t,” the priest said, a smile in his voice. “The truth is, if any such people
do
come to the door tonight, I will take them to the authorities. But seeing as how you are
already here
. . .” His voice trailed off as he shrugged. “I doubt I will have much trouble keeping my word.”

I heard Orlando exhale a tightly held breath and saw his shoulders drop. He stepped forward, though his hand remained closed around mine. “We are not dangerous like he said. We are simple travelers looking for a safe place to stay. We will be gone at first light, I promise.”

The priest paused, as though considering Orlando’s words, then he nodded. “Rest a moment. I will bring you some blankets and, if you wish, something to eat. I believe there is something we can spare from the kitchens.”

My stomach growled loudly. I winced in embarrassment.

Orlando offered me a slight smile. To the priest, he said, “Yes, thank you. We would be grateful for your hospitality.”

The priest nodded again and disappeared through an archway, deeper into the hidden rooms of the church.

Orlando helped me sit on the nearest pew.

“Thanks,” I chattered. My breath misted in the quiet church. It was nearly as cold inside as it was out on the plaza. I hoped the priest would be back soon with the blankets.

Orlando frowned. “Wait here a moment.” He padded down the aisle toward two tall, closet-sized boxes standing side by side along the wall. He slipped into one side of the confessionals and emerged a moment later with his hands full of an earth-brown cloth. Returning to me, he unrolled it, and I saw it was a cloak. He draped it around my shoulders, and I immediately relaxed into the warmth that covered me from head to foot.