“You courted the wrong principality. And for some reason, trying to have a little boy assassinated turned Eskandel against you.”
“No one would have traced that to me if I’d chosen my tool more carefully, I’ll admit. And I regret it now. Killing Felix wouldn’t have solved the problem of getting Tremontane to accept me as its ruler. I should have adopted the boy, made him my heir. I can still do that. It’s not too late.”
Willow laughed. “It was too late the moment Kerish smuggled Felix out of the palace two steps ahead of your thugs.”
“Yes, I suppose you’d never trust me. Ah, Kerish. I loved him like the son I never had, you know. I couldn’t believe it when he betrayed me, but I was glad to learn he survived, even if it made my life more difficult.” Terence laid his hands, palm-down, splayed out on the desk’s glossy mahogany surface. “So. What am I to do with you? You’re a valuable bargaining piece, if I were at all worried about the outcome of this battle.”
“We’re going to defeat you.”
“You really won’t. My forces outnumber yours and are better trained. We Ascendants have learned from our mistakes. We know, for example, that those wands don’t work through physical barriers. Every Ascendant in the field is armed with a shield and a dozen soldiers ready to stand between them and danger. You may have dealt us a blow, but you failed to make it a fatal one. Willow—may I call you Willow? I feel I know you—as I said, Willow, this is going to end badly for you. But I’m prepared to offer you a deal.”
“You don’t think—”
“Take Felix and leave Tremontane. Have him live out his life in Veribold or Eskandel or take ship for that new continent the Eskandelics have discovered. I’ve seen too much bloodshed and I’ve lost my taste for it. Take the boy, and I won’t pursue you. We’ll give out that he was killed in the fighting. It’s the only offer I’ll make you.”
For the tiniest sliver of time, long enough to draw two breaths, Willow considered it. It was what she wanted, after all, and—
She came to her senses. “You can’t afford to let Felix live,” she said. “He knows he’s the rightful King, and someday he’ll be an adult and he’ll return to challenge you.”
“With no support.”
“Yes, and that’s the other thing. What about all the people who’ve put their support behind Felix? What happens to Lord Quinn, or Lady Heath, or all those soldiers who follow them? I already know the Countess of Cullinan is in prison; you can’t let them all go free. You have to make an example. Your reign will be the bloodiest in Tremontanan history. I’m not going to abandon all those people. Do whatever you like to me. It won’t stop Felix’s army and it won’t stop you getting what’s coming to you.”
The pleasant smile dropped away from Terence’s lips. “I might have known you would think that way. Well, I had to try.”
“If you try to use me as a bargaining chip, they’ll turn you down,” Willow lied. “I’m not the only one in charge of the army.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. That would suggest I was afraid of losing. No, I’m afraid I have to kill you. But as a courtesy to you—one leader to another—I’ll make it quick and painless. I’d be ashamed of myself if I burned you or suffocated you like some common criminal.”
He put his hands on the desk and pushed his chair back. Quick as thought, Willow snatched up the wand, pointed it at Terence, and twisted the cuff.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Terence gasped, falling back into his chair. Willow grabbed her wrist knife, the only other thing she could reach, and bolted from the room.
The chamber was deserted. Willow didn’t stop to wonder why. She sprinted down the short hall, took the steps three at a time, and turned the corner away from the direction the soldiers had brought her. She didn’t have any idea where she was going, but as long as she kept running, she’d eventually find a way out. Probably.
She heard the sounds of fighting ahead, and slowed to a trot and then a tiptoeing sidle. She edged up to the corner and peeked around. Soldiers in Valant colors fought others in scarlet and blue, Quinn colors. Willow backed away and looked for another exit. Her small knife wasn’t suited to a fight with a swordsman, and she needed to…what? Get out of the palace, get back to the army and find out what was going on.
The halls were growing wider and brighter now, the walls and even the wooden floors painted a brilliant white that took the light of the wall lamps and magnified it tenfold. Willow’s steps echoed hollowly in the vast white space. She passed a door, backtracked, and opened it. Inside was a small but luxurious bedroom, complete with wardrobe and dressing table. It was unoccupied. Willow ran on.
She searched door after door, though she felt in her bones she’d just find more of the same: bedroom, bedroom, washing chamber, bedroom. But if she bypassed one, and it was the exit—she threw open another door and heard shrieks. Willow caught the door as it swung shut and poked her head inside.
A dozen or so young adults, most barely more than children, huddled together at the far side of the room. Sofas and chairs filled the room, which was three times the size of anything Willow had found so far, and there were bookshelves and cabinets taking up so much space Willow couldn’t tell what color the walls were. A white bearskin rug lay rumpled up in the center of the floor.
One young woman raised her hand, and a thread of fire spun outward from it, unraveling so slowly Willow didn’t even have to duck, she just stepped out of its way. She raised the wand and brandished it at the woman. “You recognize this? Want me to use it on you?” She made an inspired guess and added, “You’re none of you fully trained Ascendants, so who knows if you’d ever get your magic back!”
They cringed even more. A short young man, his face a mass of freckles, said, “We’re not going to hurt anyone! Please, just leave!”
“This is the academy, isn’t it?”
The young man nodded. “We’ve none of us been here more than six months. I swear we don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“You’d betray your King like that? Refuse to help defend him?”
A few of them began to sob. Willow started to feel impatient with them. Surely she’d never been this gormless when she was thirteen? “Never mind,” she said. “Show me the way out.”
“We’re not supposed to leave the room. It’s not safe,” said a tall, plump girl with black hair and a strawberry birthmark high on one cheek, like a fairy kiss.
“A lot less safe if you don’t help me now,” Willow said. “Look. You don’t want to turn out like the other Ascendants, do you? Entitled and privileged and cruel? You show me the way out, and I’ll give you a chance to serve the true King of Tremontane.”
“You’re a rebel,” said the freckled youth. He raised a hand. “We won’t listen to you.”
“Don’t even think about it,” Willow warned, brandishing the useless wand. “One chance. Now.”
The black-haired girl stepped away from the others. “If I show you the way out, will you leave us alone?”
“For now. Once we’ve won this battle, I’ll be back. And you’ll have to decide where your loyalties lie—with a murderous usurper, or the true King.”
“I hope they kill you,” the freckled boy said.
“That’s still a possibility. You, get moving.”
The black-haired girl strode rapidly down the hall without looking back at Willow, who had to run to keep up. They left the white corridors behind for more of the frigid stone passages, all of which were dimly lit by lanterns that cast eerie shadows like spirits with too many bony fingers. It would have been creepy if Willow had been there alone and not racing along after the silent young Ascendant, or Ascendant-in-training, or whatever she was.
They heard noises before long, distorted by the echoes everything made in those halls, the hooting of owls and the clatter of sticks tossed into the fire. It took Willow a few moments to realize the hooting was men’s cries, the clatter the sound of swords and staves clashing. “I didn’t say take me to the battle!
”
“It’s the only exit I know.” The girl stopped in the center of where two corridors crossed. “Down that way, past the Rotunda, then through the antechamber, and that’s the front door.”
“I can’t get out that way!”
“You said, show me the exit. That’s the exit.” The girl turned and ran back the way they’d come, fleet as a deer, and was gone before Willow could object again. Willow cursed, thrust the wand into its sheath, drew her knife, and trotted toward the distant affray.
For a moment, she thought she might avoid the conflict entirely. She came to another long hallway and saw fighting at the far end. Nobody seemed to notice her, but she knew from her scant experience with battles that nobody ever saw anything that wasn’t happening two feet in front of them. She made her way slowly down the hall, in case she was wrong, and was nearly at the end when a couple of combatants stumbled toward her, one in Valant colors, the other in the lavender of the Countess of Huddersfield. The lavender soldier swung her sword awkwardly and had it handily deflected by the woman in black and red, who brought her sword around for a finishing thrust.
Willow ran forward and grabbed the Valant soldier from behind, getting one arm around her throat and stabbing her solidly in the area of her kidneys. Then she shrieked and ducked as the Huddersfield soldier’s wild swing nearly took her head off. Willow stabbed her opponent again, twisting the blade until she was sure the woman was dead. Then she dropped the body and wiped her blade on the fallen soldier’s shoulder. “I’m Willow North,” she shouted over the melee. “You’re welcome.”
“You look like a Valant soldier—why would you kill one of your own?” the lavender woman said.
Willow cursed and struggled out of the Valant coat. She’d almost forgotten she was missing a shirtsleeve, but better to be cold than risk being killed by her own people. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, ma’am. We came through the west gate and made it almost all the way to the palace before we were attacked. I don’t think they’ve pulled anyone off the main gates, the enemy I mean, and our people haven’t come through that way neither.”
Willow cursed again. She should have paid better attention to Soltighan when he laid out this strategy, but she’d been focused on doing her own part of the job. “Where’s Captain Takjashi?”
“I don’t know. I have to get back to the fight, ma’am.” She saluted and ran off, engaging another Valant soldier eagerly, if erratically. Willow averted her eyes. The woman was going to get killed, and Willow didn’t want to know about something she couldn’t stop.
She scanned the vast space in front of her. It rose three stories into the air and was topped by a domed roof covered with paintings she couldn’t make out in the dimness. Soldiers fought and fell wherever she looked, and the air was thick with the smell of blood. Willow took a deep breath, then sidled along the wall, pretending she was invisible and hoping that pretense worked. She didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, which would break the spell—
Screaming, a Valant soldier launched himself at her. Willow ducked away from his sword and ran for an open space, anything to get her out of the crowded Rotunda. She tripped over a fallen soldier in scarlet and blue, gagged at the bloody mess his face and throat were, and turned to see if the Valant soldier was still following her. He was closer than before, but he’d tripped over another body—they were certainly thick on the ground, and she choked down an inappropriate laugh. Willow staggered to her feet and kept running.
Another Valant soldier sprang up as if from nowhere in front of her. He grinned savagely and swung at her head. Willow dodged the blow and thrust with her knife at his heart, forcing him to dance away a few steps. Willow followed, looking for a way around him. The other one had to be close, any minute she’d feel his blade on her spine, oh, Felix, I’m so sorry—
Someone stepped up and spitted the second soldier on his notched blade. Rafferty said, “Didn’t your mother teach you not to bring a knife to a sword fight?”
Willow spun around and barely caught the first soldier’s sword on her knife, pushing it just enough out of the way to spare herself the killing stroke. “My mother taught me to give others a chance to be chivalrous,” she said, as Rafferty freed his sword from the dead man’s belly and swung at Willow’s opponent, nearly severing the man’s head. “Thanks, Giles.”
“I’m building up all manner of favors you owe me,” he said with a grin. “Now, get out of here before you get killed.”
“Where’s Soltighan? And Kerish?”
“Kerish is leading the assault on the front gates with Lord Richard. No idea if they’re close to breaking through. Captain Takjashi is at the front of these troops, clearing a path to the pretender. The man fights like a demon, I don’t mind telling you.”
“Make sure everyone stays together. There are too many ways to be ambushed in this place.”
“I think we’re past the point of giving orders. The fighting has been fierce. I’ve seen some people I didn’t recognize; are they your, shall we say, ruffian friends?”
“Probably. I—watch out!”
Rafferty turned and slashed the woman attacking them, opening a huge wound all down her front. “They’ve acquitted themselves well,” he said, as placidly as if the attack hadn’t occurred. “In case you were wondering.”
“I don’t doubt it. Look, can you collect some of the stragglers and make a search? I don’t want our people surprised by squads coming up from behind.”
“I’ll do what I can. You should return to camp. This isn’t the fight for you.”
“I know. Thanks, Giles.”
The fighting seemed to have swept past, leaving groaning or motionless bodies in its wake. Willow hesitated, reluctant to abandon her people, but there was nothing she could do for them. So she ran past, offering up a silent apology and a plea for heaven’s aid. How did heaven decide who to help? Willow believed she was in the right, but so did Terence, and the soldiers on both sides were fighting based on what their leaders told them. She wasn’t even sure heaven did help people in the mortal world. She was ignorant of religious matters aside from knowing the lines of power existed and bound heaven to earth and families to each other, so for all she knew her prayers were meaningless words, and depending on them a fool’s errand. Well, she was sure of one thing: nobody ever won a battle by sitting on the sidelines and wishing for a miracle. She would run for the west gate and get back to the army as quickly as possible, and figure out what to do next at that point.
The air outside the palace was crisp and bracing, though it still smelled of blood and, more distantly, the pungent odor of burning wood. She could faintly hear the cries of soldiers battling at the south gate. Definitely not where she wanted to be. She hoped Kerish was all right, down in the middle of that battle. He was fine. He had to be.
She loped down the paved courtyard in front of the palace doors to the gravel path that circled the palace. There was the hedge that had sheltered her only…it must have been less than two hours before. It felt like years. She crunched toward the hedge, then stopped before stepping over it. She could retrieve her boots. It wasn’t foolishness; the grounds around the palace were clear, the fighting contained within its walls. And she really liked those boots.
Out of habit, Willow stayed on the frostbitten grass between the hedge and the noisy path, moving rapidly and keeping to the shadows. Once again she smelled warm horse and manure, and kept an eye out for stable hands, but the melee hadn’t spread this far, and the horses drowsed in their stalls and the mews were dark and silent. It was all going far too easily, but then it had been damned hard earlier and she was due some good luck.
The tiny courtyard surrounding Old Tower lay dark and still, barely lit by the moon. Willow walked across the grass and picked up her boots. She’d left the laces tied together after she’d tried carrying them around her neck, so she fumbled the knots free and crouched to put them on. Her breath puffed out in a soft cloud, drifting in the wind, which felt
colder now than before—well, that made sense, she wasn’t wearing her coat, and her right arm was bare to the shoulder. She shivered, then shivered again, and couldn’t stop herself. With her boots fastened, she wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed. Stupid, she thought, don’t just sit here, get moving.
She stood and looked up Old Tower one last time. Sweet heaven, but it was tall. And she’d climbed it. She shook her head in wry amusement. Kerish had had faith in her to even suggest it. She turned away and ran down the narrow passage, wishing she had eyes altered to see in the dark. What an advantage that would be. Though it would have left her blinded inside the palace, so it was probably just as well.
She stayed close to the palace wall, though she no longer worried about unseen observers in the east wing. That might be a mistake, but she was weary and Terence had used up her supply of fear for the evening. At this distance, she could outrun anyone who came after her, and everyone behind those well-lit windows was more worried about their own safety than about intruders.
She saw movement in the mews scant seconds before the person noticed her. Willow froze, pressed against the palace wall, and the figure clambering out past the mews stopped with one hand on the wooden corner of the stables. He was indistinct in the dimness, but Willow could barely make out that he wore a noble’s coat and knee breeches. They stared at one another, Willow thinking What do I do now? She gathered herself to run.
With a rush of air, fire bloomed all around her. Willow screamed and dropped to the ground, rolling away from it, but it was everywhere, warming her past comfortable into hot in the space of two breaths. Fire filled her lungs and her eyes. She crawled, got to her feet, and ran, thinking there had to be an end to the fire and she was either going to find it or die trying. Her skin felt parched and blackened, and she closed her eyes for what scant protection that would give them. There was no air. Just ten more steps, and she’d lie down and let the fire take her. Just five. Just three.
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