Mark of the Fool

The moment the innkeeper lunged, Darius kicked the table between them, knocking the blade from her hand. The plate of stew crashed to the floor, but there was no time to dwell on it.

“Elara, window!” Darius shouted.

Elara was already moving. She vaulted over a chair and smashed through the nearest window just as the Drakon soldiers burst through the front door. Darius followed, landing hard on the dirt outside.

“Halt!” a soldier bellowed.

Darius didn’t listen. He grabbed Elara’s arm, and they sprinted toward the stables, where their stolen horse was tied.

Arrows whizzed past them as they reached the animal. Darius swung into the saddle and held a hand out to Elara.

“Move it!” he yelled.

Elara took his hand and leapt up behind him. With a sharp kick, the horse bolted down the moonlit road.

Only when they were far enough from danger did Elara finally let out a breathless laugh.

“Well,” she panted, “that was a setup if I ever saw one.”

Darius shook his head. “I knew something felt off.”

Elara nudged his shoulder. “Oh, you knew, did you? Could’ve warned me before I started eating that stew.”

Darius smirked. “Maybe it was poisoned.”

Elara made a face. “Great. Thanks for that thought.”

They rode in silence for a while, until Darius suddenly pulled the horse to a stop. His eyes scanned the road ahead, and he frowned.

“Did you see that?” he asked.

Elara tensed. “See what?”

Darius pointed to a shadowy figure standing in the middle of the road. Slowly, it raised both hands in surrender.

Then, in a cheerful voice, it called out.

“April fool!”

Elara blinked. “What.”

Before either of them could react, the figure threw down a smoke bomb and disappeared into the night.