I hesitated, wondering how to proceed. Despite my snooping last night, I still needed more information about what Milo was plotting—information that Reiko might have, if she was as good a spy as she claimed to be.
“What have you found out?” I asked. “About Milo’s plans?”
Her eyes narrowed, and her inner dragon gave me a suspicious look. They were both back to not trusting me again. “You first, princess.”
I glanced around, but we were still alone. “I snuck into Milo’s workshop last night.”
“You and Prince Leo, right?” she drawled. “Skulking around the palace together after dark? How romantic.”
I ignored her insinuation. “You might be interested to know that Milo is fucking Emperia Dumond.”
“His future mother-in-law?” Reiko’s nostrils flared in disgust. “That’s a new low, even for a Morricone. Does Corvina know?”
“Oh, she knows, but Corvina has her own affair to manage. She’s fucking Captain Wexel.”
Interest filled Reiko’s face. “Really? Tell me more.”
I stared at the dragon morph, wondering how much I could trust her, but she was still the closest thing I had to a true ally here. And if something unfortunate did happen to me, then someone needed to get this information out of Myrkvior and to the leaders of the other kingdoms.
So I told Reiko everything that Milo, Emperia, Corvina, and Wexel had said last night, along with their plots against each other and Maeven too. I also plucked the arrow I’d stolen from Milo’s workshop out of my boot and twirled it back and forth in my fingers, making it shift from light gray to dark blue and back again.
Reiko tracked the changing colors, her face creasing into a frown. “Why tearstone?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why make arrows out of tearstone? Why not make them out of iron or some other more common ore? Tearstone is notoriously tricky to work with, and tearstone weapons often shatter, unless they’re crafted by a highly skilled metalstone master. Milo didn’t go to all this trouble just to make arrows that are going to shatter the first—and only—time they’re fired. So what’s the point?”
They were all good, troubling questions. “I don’t know.”
We both stared at the arrow, and I kept moving it back and forth, watching the colors change.
“Give me the arrow,” Reiko said in a quiet voice.
My fingers curled around the projectile. “What?”
“Give me the arrow,” she repeated. “I have some contacts in the city, some true metalstone masters. They might be able to tell us more about the arrow, and what Milo is planning to do with it.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Us? I thought there was no us. Just you, the daring, sophisticated spy, and me, Glitzma, the pampered princess playing at being one.”
Reiko huffed. “I already said that I underestimated you.”
“Is that supposed to be an apology?”
“Given what I thought of you when you showed up at the Blauberg mine? Absolutely.”
I gave her a sour look. “Well, I’m glad I could amuse you.”
Reiko grinned, and her inner dragon opened its mouth in a wide, silent laugh, although both of their expressions quickly turned serious again. “Give me the arrow, and I promise to return it to you after my contacts have examined it. We need to figure out what Milo is plotting in order to protect both our kingdoms.” She paused. “Please.”
I looked at her and her inner dragon, but they both regarded me with solemn expressions. I could have tried to read their thoughts, but that would have been a violation of the fragile trust that was struggling to take root between us. So I took a leap of faith. Besides, no risk, no reward, as the old saying went.
I held out the arrow, and Reiko slipped it into her pocket. In return, she offered her hand to me, and I clasped my fingers around her forearm, sealing our missions and our fates together—for now.
* * *
Reiko and I looked around to make sure no one had seen us talking, then left the library.
“I’ll slip out of the palace and take the arrow to my contacts right now,” Reiko said. “What will you do?”
“I have a lead on where Milo might be hiding the tearstone. Maybe I can at least damage the arrows and any other weapons he’s made—”
We rounded a corner, and I slammed into someone. I jerked back and started to offer an apology when I realized that I hadn’t run into a servant or a random noble.
I’d crashed straight into Leonidas.
The apology flew out of my mind, replaced by a sharp spike of worry. Had he heard me talking to Reiko? Did he recognize her from the Blauberg mine? Did he realize that we’d joined forces? That I was plotting against him?
I stopped short, standing in front of Leonidas, but Reiko kept moving, turning her head, slouching her shoulders, and scurrying right on by him. From one moment to the next, she transformed from a noble lady ambling around the palace to an anonymous servant hurrying about her work. Even I might have overlooked her, if I hadn’t seen the smooth transformation for myself.
Reiko was right. She was much better at being a spy than I was.
Leonidas started to glance over his shoulder at Reiko, but I loudly cleared my throat, drawing his attention back to me.
Behind the prince, Reiko winked at me, then slipped into another hallway and vanished from sight.
“Lady Armina,” Leonidas said. “I thought you might like to take that tour of the palace we discussed last night.”
Tour? He must mean the old armory.
“Of course. Thank you, Your Highness.”
Leonidas hesitated, then offered me his arm. I too hesitated, but I threaded my arm through his, once again trying not to notice the strength in his muscles or the warmth of his body brushing up against my own. No matter how handsome he was, or how charming he seemed, Leonidas Morricone was still my enemy. My ghosting magic had reminded me of that last night, although certain parts of my body, especially my treacherous heart, didn’t seem to be getting the message this morning.
“How was breakfast with my mother?” Leonidas asked.
For once, I decided to give him a completely honest answer. “Stressful.”
His small, amused laugh further softened my heart. “Yes, it usually is.”
As we walked along, Leonidas pointed out tapestries, statues, and other knickknacks, playing the part of the polite host for all the servants, nobles, and guards that we passed. The more he talked, the more I wished that we truly were just a couple out for a stroll.
Reiko was right. I had read far too many storybooks where love conquered all. Oh, I certainly didn’t love Leonidas, but I liked him far more than I should have, especially given all the horrible things his family had done to mine.
Eventually, we moved to a quieter, less crowded section of the palace and then into a deserted corridor. The second we were alone, I forced myself to drop his arm and step away.
“What have you discovered?” I asked.
“Milo has quietly taken over the old armory,” Leonidas replied. “No one seems to know exactly what he’s using it for, and only he, Wexel, and certain guards are allowed to enter that area. Milo moved into the space while I was gone to Blauberg, which is why I didn’t know about it before you mentioned it last night.”
“And you want to sneak in there?”
“Yes. Right now. Milo is entertaining some nobles for lunch. We won’t get a better chance.”
“Then let’s go.”
Leonidas led me to a large section of liladorn on a nearby wall. He glanced around to make sure we were still alone, then reached out, took hold of a particularly large, curved thorn, and yanked down on it.
Click. Just like in the rookery, part of the wall slid back, revealing a secret passageway. Leonidas stepped inside. I followed him, and the wall slid shut behind us.
Unlike the one in the rookery, this passageway featured fluorestones embedded in the ceiling to light the way. We moved to the far end of
the corridor and climbed a set of stone steps that spiraled upward. At the top landing, Leonidas pulled down on another large, curved thorn. That wall slid back, and we stepped through to the other side.
We were back in a regular corridor, but this area was as silent as a tomb. No paintings or tapestries hung on the walls, and not so much as a single chair crouched in the hallway. A thick layer of dust coated the floor, while enormous spiderwebs dangled from the ceiling like gray, silken chandeliers. The air was quite cold, as though no fires were ever lit in this section of the palace. I shivered, wishing I’d thought to wear the purple coat Leonidas had given me.
But the most curious thing was the liladorn. The vines had punched through the stones just like they did in other parts of Myrkvior, but there were more of them here than anywhere else in the palace, except for Delmira’s chambers. Perhaps it was my imagination, but it almost seemed like the liladorn was trying to strangle the walls, or at least reclaim this part of the palace for itself.
“What is this place?” I asked, my words steaming out in a faint cloud of frost.
“This wing belonged to King Maximus,” Leonidas said in a low, strained voice. “Mother ordered it sealed off after his death. I think she had as many bad memories here as I did.”
Another shiver slid down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Voices started whispering all around me, the sounds bouncing off the walls and echoing back. The voices quickly grew louder and louder until phantom wails were rending the air, as though we were surrounded by ghosts. But not all the cries were human. Many were sharper and higher and reminded me of how Lyra had cawed with rage when she thought that I’d hurt Leonidas back in Blauberg.
He gave me a sympathetic look. “I can hear the cries too. The sounds are some quirk of the liladorn. The vines and thorns sometimes vibrate with strange noises, especially in this section of the palace.”
“Why here?”
“This is where Maximus conducted his experiments on the strixes, where he took their blood and their magic,” Leonidas said, his voice even lower and more strained than before. “And where he punished the people who displeased him.”
And me too. He didn’t say the words, didn’t even think them, but they hung in the air between us, as filmy and unsubstantial as the spiderwebs undulating back and forth through the cold, drafty air.
Leonidas cleared his throat and strode forward. I shivered again, but I fell in step behind him. We moved through the hallway, down a staircase, and over to a set of floor-to-ceiling double doors that were cracked open.
I reached out with my magic, but I didn’t sense anyone nearby. Normally, that would have comforted me, but not now. If Milo was storing the tearstone here, then he should have at least posted a guard or two. Or perhaps the lack of guards was his strategy to hide the tearstone. After all, why bother to station guards if there was supposedly nothing to protect?
Leonidas slipped through the open doors. I glanced around again, but we were still alone, so I followed him.
The doors led into an enormous room that took up most of this wing of the palace. Stone tables filled with dusty glass tubes and broken jars marched down the center of the room, while books with black, molded covers lined the shelves along the walls. Swords, spears, and other weapons hung in rotten wooden racks, and empty coldiron cages dangled from the ceiling. The space reminded me eerily of Milo’s workshop, except for one thing—the blood that covered many of the surfaces.
So much blood.
Puddles of it had dried on the floor, looking like dull brown paint that had been haphazardly spread all over the grimy gray flagstones. Streaks of blood crusted the walls, with more splattered on the cages and all the way up on the high ceiling. I shuddered and hugged my arms around myself. How many creatures and people had Maximus killed? The number must have been quite high for this much blood to still be in here, some sixteen years after the king’s death.
“This isn’t an armory,” I muttered. “This is a slaughterhouse.”
Leonidas grimaced, but he didn’t dispute my words. “Maximus really did keep weapons in here. After his death, my mother started referring to it as the old armory. I think it was her way of trying to forget about all the awful things that happened. Eventually, everyone started calling it that, even Milo and me, even though we knew what it really was.”
He stared at a nearby table, which was empty, except for the dried blood dotting the surface. His jaw clenched, his hands fisted by his sides, and his eyes darkened, but I didn’t ask what memories were haunting him. I didn’t want to add to his pain.
I glanced around the chamber again. “Well, everyone might call it the old armory, but I don’t see any new weapons. Are you sure we’re in the right place?”
Leonidas nodded. “Yes. Just because we don’t see the weapons doesn’t mean they’re not in here. The palace is riddled with secret passageways, cubbyholes, and rooms, thanks to the liladorn. Or Milo might have left some other clue behind.”
We split up. Leonidas took the side with the strix cages dangling from the ceiling, while I headed to the one with the bookshelves.
Up close, the books were even filthier than I’d thought and covered with so much grime and black mold that I couldn’t read the titles on the spines. Using the edge of my tunic sleeve, I pulled one book out of its slot and opened it, but the pages inside had molded as well, rendering the volume an indecipherable mess.
“Find anything?” Leonidas called out.
“Nothing. You?”
“Not yet.”
I searched my half of the workshop. Broken glass jars, molded books, dust-covered weapons, blood spattered everywhere. I didn’t see anything new, although I found myself strangely fascinated—and disgusted—by the objects. Ever since the Seven Spire massacre, I had always wondered what drove someone to hurt other people and creatures to gain just a tiny bit more magic. Or perhaps amassing the magic was the truly thrilling thing, rather than actually wielding the power itself. Hard to say.
I rounded the corner of a table and started to head over to another one when I noticed a small gray object gleaming on the floor. Curious, I went over and picked it up.
It was another arrow.
This arrow was the exact same size and shape as the one I’d given to Reiko, complete with hooked barbs and a sharp, pointed tip.
Why make arrows out of tearstone? Why not make them out of iron or some other more common ore? Reiko’s earlier questions whispered through my mind.
Obviously, the purpose of any arrow was to hurt—to kill—and I had no doubt that Milo wanted to murder all his enemies. But I never would have even found out about his plan if he hadn’t stolen tearstone from so many places in Andvari, especially the Blauberg mine. Surely, Milo had realized that someone there would notice the missing tearstone sooner or later, but he’d still sent Wexel to fetch it anyway. The crown prince had taken a big risk, which meant that he specifically needed tearstone, and that no other metal, ore, or gem would do.
I started to slip the arrow into my pocket when a lighter patch of floor caught my eye. I squinted. Someone had left a footprint behind in the grime that coated the flagstones.
No, not just one footprint—dozens of them.
A chill skittered down my spine, and I reached out with my magic again. This time, instead of reassuring nothingness, I sensed several people, all hurrying this way.
Leonidas whirled toward me, sensing the same thing. Then we both turned toward the back of the chamber.
Several shadows slithered away from the wall, congealing into guards clutching swords. They advanced on us, with Captain Wexel leading the charge.
It was a trap.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Wexel headed toward Leonidas. Most of the guards followed him, although a few veered in my direction, grinning and swinging their swords back and forth.
All those long, grueling hours of training and countless sparring matches with Rhea, Serilda, and Aunt Evie filled my mind. I clutched the
tearstone arrow a little tighter and dropped my hand to my side, hiding my makeshift weapon from the approaching guards.
Wexel stopped and sneered at Leonidas. “I thought that I’d killed you in Blauberg, but you seem to have as many lives as your bloody strix does.” He gestured at the guards. “Well, this time, I brought enough men to finish the job.”
More than two dozen men stepped up beside the captain, still swinging their swords back and forth, like they were guillotine blades about to drop.
“You should have kept your nose out of Milo’s affairs in Blauberg, and especially his workshop here,” Wexel said. “You’re not nearly as clever and sneaky as you think you are. No one enters Milo’s workshop without him knowing about it, and you were all too eager to follow his trail of breadcrumbs right back here.”
I silently cursed. Milo must have had some magical trip wire we hadn’t sensed. Or perhaps he’d realized that someone had been in his workshop because the liladorn vines had shifted. Either way, it sounded like he had purposefully mentioned the old armory, knowing that Leonidas would come here the first chance he got.
Leonidas drew his own sword from the scabbard on his belt, then stared at the guards. “Sure you want to do this? Attacking your prince is treason. You will all hang for this.”
None of the guards flinched at his warning. They were all Wexel’s—and Milo’s—men.
“The only one who’s going to hang is you, Leo,” Wexel crowed. “After I kill you, I’m going to stuff you in one of these cages. Maybe Milo will display you in his workshop like Maximus did all those strixes he experimented on.”
Leonidas’s face hardened, and icy fury filled his eyes.
Wexel looked at me. “I don’t know who you really are or where I know you from, but you’re no Mortan lady.”
Leonidas glanced at me, and I nodded back. We didn’t have to send thoughts to each other. We both knew that fighting together was the only way we were going to survive.
Wexel sucked in a breath, probably to taunt us some more, but I cut him off.
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