The Passage: A completely unforgettable page-turner full of mystery and emotion (Wonderland Book 1) by Irina Shapiro

Author:Irina Shapiro [Shapiro, Irina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781805081463
Publisher: Storm Publishing
Published: 2023-10-31T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-EIGHT

We rode in absolute silence for over an hour. Frances had dozed off, her face pale against her blue cloak despite the rosy glow of the sun’s rays. She looked even younger when asleep, her blond ringlets framing her face and rounded cheeks in a way reminiscent of a cherub in a painting.

I tried not to look at Hugo for fear that he would reprimand me for what I’d done, but he just stared ahead, his hands tense on the reins. I wanted to know what he was thinking but was too afraid to ask. Images of the events of the morning kept flashing before my eyes, my nerves stretched to breaking point and my back so rigid that it felt as if it would shatter like glass. My eyes burned from lack of sleep, and my head ached terribly, the nucleus of the pain somewhere right behind the eyes, the pain radiating into my temples.

The men rode behind us. Normally, they talked between themselves, their repartee filled with jibes and jokes, but this morning, they were silent and watchful, alert for possible pursuit and retribution. There didn’t appear to be any, but it would have been foolish to relax—not that any of us could.

“Where are we going?” I asked at last, unable to keep silent any longer.

I cringed as Hugo turned to face me. His face was battered from the fight; his left cheekbone badly bruised and still oozing blood; his lip swollen where it’d been busted, and his expression wary and a trifle blank. It took him a moment to process the question since he couldn’t seem to gather his wits enough to answer.

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “I need time to think. We must see Frances safe. There will be hell to pay for what I’ve done, and I must make sure she’s out of Finch’s grasp. If he gets her back, he’ll kill her. And we must see to Jem. He requires a medick.”

“I’m sorry, Hugo,” I whispered, unsure of what I was apologizing for. I knew the brawl had been my fault, but what could I have done differently. Looking at the frail girl in the saddle, I couldn’t be sorry for interfering, though I was remorseful for the position I’d put Hugo in. Of course, now there was no question of Finch’s support for Monmouth’s cause, and Lionel, being the vicious cur that he was, would want retribution for the injury he’d suffered, the humiliation, and the loss of his wife. I had no idea what he would do, but I was sure we wouldn’t have long to wait to find out.

Hugo suddenly stopped at a crossroads and looked to his right, his face thoughtful. I looked at the weathered cross leaning drunkenly to the side with a single name scratched into the crossbar—“Agnes.” Suicides were buried at a crossroads, denied a proper Christian burial in hallowed ground; their souls cast adrift for all eternity, their final destination Hell. Frances would no

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