by Mason Thomas
She gave him a curt nod.
“If anyone runs into trouble, keep going,” he added. “Get out as many as you can. Understand?”
Hunter gestured to the Mazentian woman. “And make sure she makes it out too. Whatever it takes.”
The woman made a single sharp nod to show she understood. “Of course.” She rejoined the others to help them find garments and get them dressed. As Hunter and Dax moved back out into the corridor, Hunter could hear her voice coaxing the others to move.
“So, you have a plan?” Dax asked.
Hunter shrugged. “First, get me to where the queen lives.”
“The royal apartments?” Dax lifted a single brow. “I thought you opposed Quinnar’s plan.”
“That? God, no! I have a different idea. Equally reckless, but it doesn’t involve murder—at least I hope it doesn’t. And I’d hate to see this guard’s uniform go waste.”
Dax narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re certain about this?”
“In for a penny… as they say,” Hunter replied with a shrug.
“Very well,” Dax replied in a soft voice. His eyes caught Hunter’s just as he turned away, and Hunter saw something behind them he couldn’t quite read. Sorrow? Regret? Or was it something else? “Let’s go.”
Dax probably thought Hunter had lost his mind. He was probably right.
34
THEY FOUND a pair of tattered trousers for Dax to wear. It wouldn’t do to have him running around the palace naked—although Hunter wouldn’t have minded. Even bruised and filthy, he was a vision of perfection. It was absolutely the wrong time.
Outside the laundry, in the quiet of the corridor, Hunter pulled Dax close and slipped his hand behind him. His skin tingled against the bare flesh of Dax’s lower back. Hunter pressed his lips to his gently. He nibbled on his lower lip and rested his forehead atop Dax’s head. His hair smelled of sweat and smoke, but Hunter didn’t care.
“When this is over,” he said, looking into Dax’s eyes, “we are going to have a long conversation about you leaving in the middle the night.”
The corner of Dax’s mouth lifted a fraction. “Fair enough.” He held his gaze for a moment longer before he pulled away. “We have to survive this plan of yours first.”
They began their trek up into the castle, up to the royal apartments. Dax led the way, playing the role of a prisoner.
The corridors of the upper floors were largely unpopulated. Word of a fire had sent most scrabbling to the outside and to safety. Guard presence was certainly low. They were likely pulled to help fight off the fire in the dungeon and prevent it from spreading. Servants were about all that remained. Most of them had been charged with collecting and packing the valuables of the nobles they served—should the fire get out of control, their masters wouldn’t want to lose their wealth, of course.
As Hunter and Dax rounded a corner, a group of near-panicked servants were hauling travel crates and tapestry bags out into the corridor. They froze upon sight of Dax.
“Step aside,” Hunter barked at them. He gave Dax a superficial shove, who made a better show of it by stumbling forward and grunting in pain. Hunter believed it was only partially an act.
The servants scurried back into the room and slammed the door closed. Dax turned about and grabbed Hunter’s sleeve.
“This will not work if you don’t make it look genuine,” Dax grumbled.
“They seemed to buy it.”
“It won’t convince any guards. Do better.”
Hunter had never been all that concerned about causing injury to someone on the pitch. Everyone was trained to take a hit, and any injuries sustained were rarely more than bruising or the odd broken finger or nose. Hunter knew he was holding back now. Dax looked like shit, and Hunter could tell he was struggling to keep the pace they made through the castle’s corridors. He was battered and in more pain than he was willing to let on.
“How can you be sure the royal apartments are empty?” Dax asked.
“I heard guards talking. They said the king and queen would be hearing petitions in the main hall all day.”
The sound of boots on the stone floor ahead heralded someone’s approach. A nobleman rounded the corner, a small wooden box clutched to his chest. Hunter forced himself to forget it was Dax in front of him and shoved him against the wall, his forearm pressed against his neck. He bowed to the nobleman as he scuttled cautiously by, hugging the opposite wall.
“My sincere apologies, my lord. Forgive me for exposing you to this filth.”
The noble, dressed in a rust-colored doublet, hose, and very shiny little black shoes, curled his lip up in disgust. “Ugh. How dreadful.” He pulled out a lace kerchief and pressed it to his mouth as if Dax was breathing out horrific diseases. “What is this scoundrel doing by my residence?”
“Escaped custody, my lord. You needn’t worry. He’ll be in irons again directly.”
“I should hope so.” The noble hurried off.
Hunter released Dax from the wall, who winced as he rolled his shoulder and massaged his neck. “That… was better,” he said. Through clenched teeth.
They took another narrow and winding flight of stairs to the next floor. Halfway up the stairwell, the ground beneath their feet shook, and a deep booming reverberation rumbled through the stone like an earthquake. Followed immediately by another. And another. A long series of explosions that seemed to go on and on. The sound was like a rolling beat on a bass drum. The coals had finally burned through the wooden lid and set off a chain reaction, barrel after barrel. Hunter put his hand to the wall, worried everything would collapse and bury them where they stood. When it was over, dust and stone chips shook loose and drifted down around them like snowfall and the castle fell into silence.
“That should stir up the hive for a while,” Dax said.
“Won’t it also be enough to pull the king and queen from the main hall? They’ll be returned to their chambers if their safety is considered at risk.”
Dax nodded as he proceeded to limp up the stairs. “We’d better be quick, then.”
Out of the stairwell, they heard shouting from the windows. The castle grounds were in chaos. A group of servants and what looked like a young family sprinted past them in panic. A woman dragged two young children along as a man shouted at them to keep up. They all plunged into the stairwell heedlessly, giving Hunter and Dax no notice.
They rounded a corner into a wider corridor lined with white marble. Stairs led up to a grand wooden door, flanked by two guardsmen in the king’s livery. As Hunter and Dax came into view, the two stiffened into attention, the halberds at their side shifting to perfectly vertical orientation.
Hunter grabbed Dax under the arm and forcibly drove him forward. Dax made a low grunt and winced. Hunter wasn’t sure how much was acting and how much was real.
“Halt,” one of them spat as Hunter approached the steps. The knuckles of the hand gripping the halberd were white, and his voice was jittery. He was clearly rattled by the explosions. “State your business.”
Hunter gave Dax a rough shove forward and made the salute he’d seen other guards make—a fist to the chest followed by a curt bow. The pretentiousness of their uniform was enough to signal these two outranked a standard guard, so he took the more subservient approach. “The queen wishes to personally speak to this prisoner.”
Their reaction was muted—a sign that this sort of thing was not outside of the norm.
“Still won’t talk, eh?”
“She intends to change that,” Hunter replied.
The guard smirked in approval.
“What is happening out there?” the other guard asked. “Those insurgent dogs getting desperate enough to attempt a direct attack?”
“No idea,” Hunter replied. “But I was told to bring this one, so that’s what I did.”
“The queen is not yet available,” said the first. “Return the prisoner to his cell and you will be called for when she is—”
The guard
sman never finished. Dax was a sudden blur of motion that surprised even Hunter. Dax lunged up the remaining steps for the man and thrust the heel of his hand into the man’s windpipe. The guard gasped, stumbled forward, and clutched at his throat. The second guard started, but as his body tightened to respond, Hunter was already moving against him.
Hunter made a quick jab at his face, stunning him and knocking him backward. He could feel the bones of the nose shatter beneath his knuckles. The man reeled and tried to recover, but Hunter slipped his arm around him from behind and pressed the crook of his elbow against his throat. He kicked the door open and dragged the man inside while he squeezed. He squirmed and clawed at Hunter’s arm, but was no match for Hunter’s raw strength. He stomped down on Hunter’s foot, but the thick military boots protected him from the impact.
Dax took a more direct approach. He smashed the other guard’s head against the wall three times until he lost consciousness and dropped to the floor.
The struggling of the guard against Hunter’s chest eventually subsided, and he fell limp. Hunter lowered him to the floor as Dax dragged in the other body. The one man’s helm was dented in, and blood oozed down the side of his face. Crimson streaks ran down the white marble wall.
The two were dumped unceremoniously next to each other.
“All that blood will be a tipoff that something’s amiss,” he said.
“No guards outside the chamber will do more to alert them,” Dax replied. He kicked one booted foot clear of the door’s path as he swung it closed.
Fair point.
Dax put his back against the door. His chin lowered, and his breathing looked labored. The short fight had taken much out of him.
“You all right?” Hunter asked.
“Let’s just get to your plan. We don’t have much time. What are you thinking?”
“Well,” he said as he marched down the short hallway, “at first I thought we should hunt down the power source.”
He entered the main room of the king and queen’s residence, a vast circular chamber. In the center was an ornate sitting area with settees and several high-back chairs arranged in a comfortable circle. The cozy arrangement rested on an elaborate medallion of inlaid stone. Along the wall, surrounding the central seating area, were large tables, bookcases, various desks, and the largest fireplace Hunter had ever seen. A hearty blaze was happily eating up a small mountain of logs.
The far wall, opposite where Hunter stood, was a series of open archways that led to a wide balcony. Beyond that, Hunter could see the sprawl of the city.
Dax followed to stand at his side. He gave him a dubious sidelong look. “You think the witchstone is here?”
“Stands to reason, right? It’s their private chambers. The most secure location in the castle.”
Dax said with an approving nod, “But the illusion would require more witchstone than we could hope to run off with.”
“I wondered the same thing. Which is why I have a different idea. Quinnar said something about how the imposter would need something of my mother in order to create such a convincing illusion.”
“And you know what that is?”
“My mother’s hand. In my world, she was missing half of her hand. I think they cut it off to use for the illusion before they sent her through the portal. Which means it has to be here. Near the source of power. In one of these rooms.”
Dax nodded approvingly. “We find it and destroy it.”
“Yes. And that should put an end to the illusion.”
Dax’s face scrunched up in thought. “A good plan. Assuming you’re right. But she will not have it simply sitting out on the mantel.”
“Which is why I brought this.” Hunter pulled the amulet from under his tunic. “This is supposed to glow in her presence, right? We use it to track her down.”
Dax’s mouth pursed. He looked up to the ceiling, forefingers hooked on his exposed hipbone. “Zefora’s hammer,” he murmured, and without warning, he grabbed Hunter’s leather breastplate at the armholes and pulled Hunter in close with surprising strength. His warm full lips pressed against Hunter’s with sudden fiery intensity. When he eventually pulled back, he had a rare glint in his eye. “I’ll secure the guards, you search.”
Hunter moved into the chamber. He had no idea where to even start and there was a lot of real estate to cover. Where did you hide a rotting piece of hand? And did the witchstone need to be close to the source of the illusion, or could the two be strategically separated? He undid the chain around his neck and gripped the amulet. It was cold against the skin of his palm.
Shouts and cries from outside continued to drift in over the balcony. From the sounds, the explosion had set off real panic down below.
First, he looped around the perimeter of the chamber. He looked in urns and opened boxes, not expecting to find anything. It wouldn’t be that easy. He dug deeper. He pulled the thick leather-bound books from the shelves, tossing them aside, then pulled the stacks themselves from the wall to make certain they didn’t hide a false back, or that there were no secret passages concealed behind them. He rummaged through desks, emptying out each drawer onto the intricately tiled floor.
All the while, he held the amulet out in front of him like a Geiger counter, looking for any change in the red stone, any sign of glowing from within.
Dax finished securing the guards with curtain ties and dashed off down one of the hallways.
They were losing time. The sounds outside were tempering. They were less frenetic now, more orderly. Shouts of command were getting people in line. Hunter couldn’t help but wonder if the other prisoners had made it out. Or had they been recaptured? Or worse. He continued to ravage the room at a fevered pace. He tore tapestries and paintings from the walls, hoping to uncover a hidden compartment. He overturned the chairs and the settees, ripped open the fabric underneath with his dagger, and pulled out the stuffing.
Nothing.
He stood in the center of the chamber, elbows bent, sweeping his gaze over the mess. He was missing something. There had to be some place that he hadn’t thought to check. But he didn’t know where else there was to look.
Maybe he was wrong about the amulet. Maybe for it to work, his mother had to be alive.
He looked down at the elaborate medallion at center of the room.
The floor. It was the only place he hadn’t thought to look.
The medallion was constructed of at least five different types of stone. Red onyx and olive-colored jade formed a feathered designed that traced the perimeter. The inside was a pattern of swirling overlapping circles. The seams between the stone inlay were flawless—it didn’t seem possible that it could be hiding secret compartment. It was more likely to be under one of the larger tiles around the edge of the chamber. But it would take forever to try and pry up every stone tile around the room. Time they didn’t have.
But he had to try. Perhaps there was some telltale sign on the edge of the stone that indicated it had been pried up before. He began to step from the middle of the chamber, but then stopped. Something about the stones in the medallion triggered something in his head. He crouched and touched a piece of the lighter-colored stone. It was similar to mother of pearl but had an unusual translucence about it, and radiated hints of different colors.
“Holy fuck,” he mumbled.
Dax wandered back into the chamber, shaking his head. “Nothing. There’s nothing in any of the bedchambers.” He glanced over at Hunter standing frozen in the middle of the chamber. He must have seen something in Hunter’s expression, for he stepped closer, his chin lifting. “You found something.”
Hunter nodded. “The floor.”
Dax dashed over and lowered down onto one knee next to Hunter. He took in a sharp breath. “Hidden right under our nose.”
“Witchstone?”
“Yes.” His eye traced the entire circumference of the medallion. “I’ve never imagined so much.”
“Enough to sustain her illusion?”
&nb
sp; “For a century,” Dax said.
“Then the hand must be nearby.”
“Hunter,” Dax said, grabbing him by the wrist. “The amulet.”
It wasn’t until that moment that Hunter realized he felt a warmth against his palm. He opened his hand. The stone glowed faintly red from the inside. He lowered the amulet closer to the floor and the stone glowed brighter.
His heart lurched.
Dax looked at him. Then at the amulet. “We need to find something that can break up this floor.”
As Hunter and Dax lifted to their feet, the door to the chamber burst open and several guards rushed in. Hunter was looking down the shafts of five crossbows pointing directly at him.
35
HUNTER’S BLOOD went cold.
Dax took a step forward. “Hunter,” he said low and deep in his throat, “when I make my move, sprint for the balcony. Fast.”
“Forget it, Dax. I’m not leaving you behind.” Besides, they were at least three floors above the ground. He wouldn’t be able to simply jump down. And if he did survive it, what then?
“Do it,” he growled.
“No.”
A woman stepped forward from behind the line of guards. Hunter’s heart twisted as she came into view. The queen. Her likeness to his mother was so flawless he wanted to run to her and throw his arms around her. Her dark hair was longer than he’d seen it, and she wore an extravagant red gown that his mother would have laughed at and called over the top. But the bright green eyes and smile lines around her mouth flooded Hunter’s mind with memories he’d long tried to suppress.
But not everything was like his mother. She moved with a sultry sway of her hips. And the smug smile stretched across her lips carried no warmth.
“Well, now,” she said. “Appears we have visitors.” Her voice sent ice racing over Hunter’s arms and shoulders. It wasn’t his mother’s warm voice at all. The imposter could mimic his mom’s appearance, but apparently couldn’t disguise her own true voice. “You’ve had a busy day. Looking for something, are you?”