"Later," she grunted in pain. "Talk—when get—to palace. Now—get out—of this house."
Terry nodded and took his foot off her. She landed on the floor with a crunching sound, groaning with pain as she tried to get up again. He thought he could hear her ribs rubbing against one another.
She spit blood onto the floor. Her breathing was shallow. The hooves sounded very nearby. The King's Own were surrounding the house. The pages were out of time. If they found them here, they would not even merit the King's Mercy. It would be straight to the gallows.
But none of them moved.
"What if there's more of them in here?" Terry asked. "More children?"
Ty's eyes slit immediately. She wanted to get the children out. They could all see it. But they had no time. The King's Own was unlikely to want to kill any children in this house, but there was too much carnage for them to listen to the pages about the children in here.
"Oh, can't we just kill them and do our job?" Ty muttered under her breath—to no one in particular. "Please oh please-please? They're such an annoyance…"
"You want a price on your head?" Mel muttered to her, cleaning his sword and taking a stance.
"We need to get them out," Terry said decisively. "Whose master of stealth here?"
They both looked to Ty. She made to stand, but fell back on the wall. Just as Terry had thought—broken ribs.
"I'll do it," Ty grunted.
"The hell you will," Terry told her firmly. "You've at least three broken ribs. Mel—take him to a healer. Try the Dancing Dove—ask there, they'll lead you to one that'll keep his mouth shut. Tell them Terry's calling in a favor. I'll do the children."
"Stallion, I absolutely forbid—" Ty began, but the sound of hooves was now too close. Mel unceremoniously swung her over his shoulder and leapt through the window. Terry tied a strong strip of leather to his brow to keep his matted hair out of his eyes and dashed downstairs.
He didn't have time to be careful of leaving everything as he had found it. He dashed out of the room they were in, ran through the hallway, and found the main upper hall. There were five doors.
He kicked open the first. He found only blankets, pillows, and some kind of rope with manacles. No time to be disgusted, he thought. Slamming the door shut, he walked over to the other door—the one to his right. He tried to push it open, but it wouldn't budge.
Nodding and setting his jaw in a vice-like grip, he kicked out. The door flew open, the iron from the lock going everywhere. He stepped in, grabbed a candle that was hanging a little above his head—
—and gasped.