Ward Against Death by Melanie Card

that.
    He swallowed hard and ran for the door, skidding to a halt before he reached it and ducking behind the barrels. It would be better if he could support his plan with a means of escape as well. He turned his gaze to the stalls across from him. The horses snorted and pranced, their eyes wide at the fighting and scent of blo C sced his god.
    It wasn’t the first time he’d shoved a bridle on a nervous horse—just the first time he’d done it to save a noblewoman who happened to be the daughter of the Dominus, and who also happened to be an assassin. There wasn’t a person alive—or dead—who’d believe it if Ward told them this story.
    Another shout and a scream made Ward jump. He ran to the nearest stall, grabbed the bridle from the hook by the door, and opened the gate.
    The horse whinnied and shied away, the whites of its eyes bright in the dim light.
    Ward sucked in a quick breath, held it, and reminded himself he needed to appear calm.
    It whickered and shook its head.
    “Yeah, I know,” Ward said. “Let’s get out of here.”
    The horse shook its head again.
    Ward stepped closer, trying not to add to the horse’s fear, but still move as fast a possible. He eased his left thumb into the corner of the horse’s mouth, slipped the bit in, and fastened the bridle at the top and nose. With one fluid motion, he swung onto the horse’s back.
    A crossbow bolt glanced Ward’s hip, ripping his shirt. The horse bucked and leapt from the stall. Celia was right. They were either bad shots or they didn’t want him dead. He tried to form a coherent thought, figure out why he was still alive, but he couldn’t settle on anything. His mind was a whirl of ideas, images, and memories, all racing with his wild pulse, screaming for him to flee.
    He spurred the horse through the side door into the courtyard beyond. Men held Celia, one at each arm, while a third, a massive man with swarthy skin and wild braided hair, faced her. To their right, three men lay in a pool of blood.
    Ward closed his eyes and raised a bloody hand, drawing on his family’s ancient power. He imagined it shooting through the men before him, forcing their souls from their bodies.
    For a heartbeat, there Ctbehim, forciwas silence.
    He did it! He couldn’t believe it. He’d actually cast a reverse wake.
    But then he opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. Everyone remained standing, and everyone stared at him. Soulless bodies didn’t litter the ground. No one looked affected in any way. Not even sleepy.
    Crap.
    Celia slipped free and jerked the man on her right over her hip, tossing him to the ground. She turned to the other man, twisted her arm under his, broke his elbow, and rammed her fist into his temple. Yanking him around, she tossed him toward the swarthy man. With a pivot, she grabbed Ward’s arm and swung up behind him.
    “You are full of surprises,” she said.
    She almost sounded impressed, but probably wouldn’t remain so if they stayed. He squeezed the horse’s ribs with his knees. That was all it needed, and it raced through the crowd and out the arch into the street.
    They galloped, zigzagging through the maze of streets. The wind caressed his face, and heat from Celia’s arms around his chest and her breath in his ear simmered through him. The heat pooled low in his gut again—
    “Stop.”
    —and he could almost pretend they weren’t running for their lives.
    “Stop here.”
    “What?”
    She grabbed his hands and pulled the reins. The horse slowed and stopped.
    “This is our stop.” She hopped down.
    “But...?”
    She seized his arm and pulled him close, making him struggle to keep his seat.
    “They’ll be following the horse.”
    “How can they follow? We’ve lost them.”
    “You forget you’re dealing with the Gentilica.”
    “But I thought... Isn’t this the Guild?”
    She narrowed her eyes and he dismounted. Word traveled so fast in the Gentilica, most believed it was some kind of magic. Why not the