CHAPTER 57: CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN

Ashlyn behind her, the sharp knife raised high, its polished steel blade catching a single, terrifying glint of light.

Nora squeezed her eyes shut, a silent, choked prayer dying in her throat. This was it. This was the end. She had served her purpose, and now she would be silenced, just like Lorena.

She waited for the piercing, agonizing pain.

Instead, she heard a series of sharp, quick thwacks. The ropes binding her wrists and chest suddenly fell away, cut.

Nora gasped, a huge, shuddering breath filling her lungs. She was free. She looked up, her mind a complete blank of confusion.

Ashlyn was calmly wiping the knife blade clean on her cloak, her expression serene, a small, gentle smile on her lips. "Don’t worry," she said, her voice a soft, reassuring whisper. "This is the main estate, after all. I wouldn’t dare act so rashly here. I am not stupid."

She slipped the clean knife back into its hidden sheath and, in a gesture of strange intimacy, she reached out and touched Nora’s tear-stained face. Her fingers were cool and dry. "You have done well, Nora," she murmured. "Your performance in the drawing room was immaculate. Truly convincing."

She then turned and picked up a dark, bundled set of clothes from the floor near her lantern. She threw them at Nora’s feet. They were the simple, rough-spun clothes of a peasant. "Change into this. Quickly."

Nora, her body still shaking so hard she could barely move, just stared. "My... my lady?"

"Change," Ashlyn commanded, her voice losing its softness, becoming the hard, cold steel beneath.

Nora nodded silently, her hands fumbling with the coarse fabric as she scrambled to obey.

A few minutes later, the door to the same cell was kicked open. Derek strode in, his face laced with fury. He had come expecting to find the witness. He found only an empty room, a wooden stool, and a pile of neatly sliced ropes on the stone floor.

He crouched, picking up one of the cut pieces. He examined the end. It was a clean, sharp cut. Not frayed from struggling, but severed with a blade.

"Ian," he called out, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

His guard appeared in the doorway instantly. "Yes, Your Grace?"

Derek stood, his presence seeming to suck all the air from the small cell. "She’s gone." He held up the rope. "She was set free. Block all entrances and exits to the city. All of them. Send people out to find Nora’s whereabouts. I want patrols on every road, in every alley."

His voice was not loud, but it was an iron command, absolute and unquestionable. "If she is alive, bring her to me. If she is dead, show me her corpse. I want her found."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"And one more thing," Derek said, his eyes narrowing. "Check where the Second Lady is. Find out her location immediately. Besides Nora, I want you to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious. Especially Lady Ashlyn."

Ian’s face showed no surprise. He simply bowed. "Yes, Your Grace."

He left, and within moments, the quiet, sleeping estate began to move. Men were roused, horses were saddled, and the Duke’s personal guard, a force more powerful than the city watch, began to pour out into the night, the order clear: find the missing girl.

In a dark, muddy alley on the very outskirts of the city, far from the estate, Ashlyn pulled the hood of her cloak down. She had led Nora through a series of hidden servants’ paths and dark, winding streets.

"Here," Ashlyn said, pressing a heavy leather pouch into Nora’s trembling hands. The jingle of gold coins inside was unmistakable.

"My... my lady?" Nora whispered, her eyes wide.

"This is your payment, for your good performance," Ashlyn said. "Take this. Leave this city tonight. Go north, go south, I don’t care. But you will never, ever show your face here again. Do you understand?" Her voice, which had been so reasonable, suddenly turned sharp and cold as ice. "Otherwise, you will end up just like Lorena. But this time, no one will ever find your body."

"I understand, my lady! I understand!" Nora cried, clutching the pouch to her chest.

"Your family is still in the south village, aren’t they?" Ashlyn continued, her voice a soft, venomous whisper. "Your mother. Your little brothers. If you dare to have any other thoughts, if you dare to speak one word of what you saw, to anyone, ever..."

"I won’t!" Nora interrupted, her voice high with terror. "I swear! I’ll forget everything! I’ll forget you! I dare not! I dare not!"

"Good," Ashlyn said, her smile returning. "Now, get out."

Nora didn’t need to be told twice. She turned and fled, clutching her gold, her new clothes flapping as she disappeared into the darkness, a ghost vanishing into the night.

Ashlyn let out a long, satisfied sigh. It was done. All her loose ends were tied. Marissa was disgraced, her power stripped. Lorena was dead. Nora was gone, banished by fear and bribery. It’s over.

She pulled her own cloak tighter. She had to get back to the estate. She thought of how she would return. I didn’t take a carriage. It would have been too suspicious. She sighed. It was a long walk, but it was safer this way. No coachman to ask questions, no record of her journey. She began to walk.

She was halfway back, moving through the quiet streets near the main city gate, when she started hearing them.

The sound of heavy boots on cobblestones. The clatter of hooves. The flare of torches where there should be none.

"The Duke has sealed the gates!" a voice shouted from a watchtower. "No one in or out until sunrise!"

Ashlyn’s blood ran cold. She ducked into the shadow of a deep doorway, her heart beginning to hammer. She heard the guards, the Duke’s men, their voices sharp and clear in the night air.

"Have you seen a young woman? About this high, brown hair?" one was asking a sleepy, terrified baker.

"We are to search every inn and every house! The Duke’s orders!"

She peeked around the corner and her heart stopped. She saw him. Ian. The Duke’s right-hand man, standing in the middle of the street, directing the search, his face grim in the torchlight. They’re not just investigating, she thought, a new panic seizing her. He’s hunting. He’s hunting for Nora. He’s hunting for me.

What do I do? I can’t be seen. If they find me, here, cloaked, on foot, in the middle of the night, right after Nora vanishes... it’s over. They will know. He will know.

She had to move. She couldn’t stay here. She pulled her hood so low it covered her entire face, and she forced herself to walk, to step out of the alley and onto the main street, trying to look like a simple woman hurrying home. She kept her head down, her steps quick but not panicked.

She passed one guard. He didn’t look at her. She passed another. He was busy questioning a carriage driver. She was almost at the next turn, almost safe.

"Stop!"

The shout was loud, authoritative, and aimed directly at her.

One of the men, a soldier in the Thompson uniform, had noticed her. He had seen her quick, furtive movements, her face completely hidden by her cloak. It was suspicious.

"You there, with the cloak! Stop where you are!"

Ashlyn froze, her back to him. The blood drained from her face. She was caught.