If Remy didn’t know any better, she’d say they were heading farther into Lord Filch’s fortress instead of toward its exit.
The dull blare of an alarm punctuated Remy’s footsteps as she followed Kyanne through the servants’ passageway. Only Axel’s hand in hers kept her noodle legs from collapsing. “Kyanne,” Remy gasped, “where exactly are we going?”
All Remy wanted to do was hurl the cobbler at Lord Filch’s smug face. Instead, she gave him her brightest smile and a big slice.
“Delcio cobbler, sire.” She stepped back to join the other servant, an older woman named Kyanne, at the tapestried wall of the dining room. “Made with fresh fruit
“We walked into a war zone for a leaf?” Axel crossed his arms.
Remy scanned the trees for folha, one of the many ingredients they’d left camp to find. The bark was sadly free of green vines.
Her stomach growled. Though the emerald canopy hid the sun overhead, Remy guessed it was around midafternoon,
Remy gagged as soon as the first spoonful touched her tongue. “You call this food?”
What should have been delicious soup was mildly acidic, flavorless, and the wilted airi leaves squelched in bitter bursts. She should’ve known how bad it would be by the scent, but she’d given Axel the benefit of the doubt. Wrongly.
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