Lauren stared at a sword tip an inch beyond her nose. “Eve, I’ve told you all there is to know. So, will you point that thing somewhere else already?”
Corral stepped beside Eve. “Wait, how do we know she’s telling the truth?”
“Because, by now, the queen’s guard would’ve already captured you two,” Lauren said and then watched Corral shake her head.
“Doesn’t mean much,” she said. “She could still be a spy.”
Lauren chuckled. “A spy? Would a spy have this?” She slid a sleeve up and held out a forearm, exposing a skin-discolored scar, and Corral gasped.
“Yes,” Eve said and lowered her sword. “A sorcerer’s brand.”
Lauren nodded. “I’m a lady of science. Chemistry’s my middle name. But when that wretched queen caught wind of my laboratory full of experimentation, she said it was either the gallows or this brand—”
“Which means a life of servitude unless you…” Eve, with her sword’s tip, lifted Lauren’s ankle-length dress enough to see shackles which clung to her.
“Unless you escape,” Corral said and sighed. “Fine: So, you’re not a spy. But that still doesn’t mean we trust you.”
Eve patted Corral’s shoulder. “No worries. She’s got no reason to harm us.” She looked at Lauren. “Leg, please…”
Lauren lifted her dress and held out her leg, and Eve swiped her sword as though it was a bullwhip, and shackle fragments battered the ground.