“True,” I agreed. “What if they dropped us at the far end of the gardens, and we snuck in ourselves? Through a kitchen door or some such place?”
“The palace is crawling with Roulaini soldiers. They’d catch us long before we got within a hundred metres of Amalia,” Luka predicted, shaking his head. “First we’d have to get across the gardens, then into the palace, and then through the halls. Not possible. ”
“Back to the balcony, then?” I twisted my fingers nervously in my sash.
“I don’t like it,” Feniul said.
“Neither do I, but there isn’t another option,” Niva put in. “I’ll take them both myself: one dragon is far less conspicuous than two. I’ll fly in, drop you on a balcony, and fly away as fast as I can. You’ll be on your own once you dismount,” she warned.
“Understood,” Luka said, his voice tense.
“But what about me?” Feniul sounded close to tears. “What if something happens to you? I promised Shardas that I would keep you safe. ”
I put a hand on his muzzle. “Dear Feniul, you have kept me safe and been braver than I could have imagined. Thank you for that. I know Shardas will be proud when he hears about all you’ve done. But for now, I need you to go back to the Mordrel estate. Keep an eye on things there, and follow the duke’s orders. All right?”
His tail swept around and curled briefly around my legs, wrapping me from ankle to hip, and then uncurled. “All right,” he said finally.
“Good man … er, dragon,” Luka said.
I patted Feniul’s nose and then stepped aside. With a final bob of his head and lash of his tail, he leaped into the sky and glided away.
Niva shook her head. “He is rather strange,” she said.
“He has a good heart. ”
“True. ”
And with that, Luka and I mounted the green female dragon. In silence she took off from the roof of the chapel, and in silence she flew to the New Palace. She checked her speed when the dark form of another dragon flapped between two of the chimneys that still stood. But the patrolling dragon continued on, and Niva soared in the opposite direction, to where a stone balcony jutted out above the rose gardens.
Luka leaned close over her neck. “That’s Miles’s bedchamber,” he whispered loudly.
Niva’s head dipped, and she manoeuvered until she was just above it. Without stopping to think, I slithered off her back and dropped to the stone floor, Luka a heartbeat behind. Niva wheeled in the air and flapped away, leaving us alone and exposed in the moonlight.
Luka drew his sword and I pulled Marta’s dagger out of my sash. We exchanged a look, and then he pushed open the glass doors and we stepped into the crown prince’s bedchamber.
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A Visit to the Kitchens
I’m not sure who was more startled: Luka and I, or Larkin. Luka swore and I took a step back, but Larkin dropped the gown she was mending and shrieked. That gave Luka just enough time to stride across the room and clap a hand to her mouth.
No one came to answer her shriek. I peeked into the adjoining dressing room. It was knee-deep in shoes and cast-off gowns – Amalia had clearly taken over – but there was no sign of her or anyone else. The only light in the entire apartment came from a trio of candles on the table near Larkin. I turned my attention back to the traitor.
“Larkin!” I wanted to shake her until her teeth rattled. The duchess had been right: she had come to work for her precious Roulaini princess. “How can you sit there and mend her clothes! Do you realise what she’s done – what you’ve done?” I waved a hand at the balcony doors, although the pretty view of the gardens outside belied what was happening in the city all around us.
Larkin just gave me a defiant look over Luka’s hand. I took a step towards her, but Luka warned me away with a shake of his head.
“Larkin,” he said in a much calmer voice, “where is Amalia? If I take away my hand, will you tell us?”
She shook her head, still glaring.
“Larkin,” I said, making my voice as calm as Luka’s, “do you realise who this is? This is Prince Luka. Of Feravel. The son of your king. And if the Roulaini have killed Prince Miles, he is your future king. ” I saw with great satisfaction that her eyes were wide and the colour had drained from her face. “Now tell us where Amalia is. ”
She shook her head.
I had never seen Luka’s face look so cold. He kept staring around at the room that had once belonged to his brother. Amalia had redecorated with a vengeance. It was all pink hangings and boxes of sweets. Shawls and scarves were draped over most of the chairs and crystal vials of perfume cluttered the dressing table.
Leaning in close to Larkin, Luka said, “Do you know what the penalty is for spying? Or conspiring with the enemy? Or kidnapping a member of the royal family?” He whispered something in her ear that made her go even whiter. “But if you cooperate,” he said in a normal voice, “I will see to it that some leniency is given. ” He slowly removed his hand.
Larkin’s spine stiffened and she gave him a haughty look. “Princess Amalia isn’t here,” she said. “His Majesty King Prilian just arrived by dragon. She’s gone with him to the caves where your father was hiding like a coward. Your father is dead, and you are the heir of nothing. ” She laughed, a mad cackling sound, and then drew a deep breath. “Gua—”
Before she could finish, I stuffed a stocking into her mouth. Luka grabbed one of her hands and I grabbed the other, and we tied her to her chair with a pair of embroidered sashes. I took off the gold filigree bracelet Amalia had given her as a reward for the slippers. I put it on my own wrist and pretended to admire it, ignoring her glares, and then slipped it off again.
“I wouldn’t want to wear traitor’s gold,” I said, and walking to the balcony doors, I pitched it out. “How do we get to the caves?” I asked Luka, pointedly not looking at Larkin’s frantic struggling.
“Through here. ” Luka led me into the little dressing room, shoving aside mountains of clothing.
The back of one of the wardrobes opened with a hidden latch, and we slipped into a narrow passageway between the walls. Seeing how dark it was, I returned to the bedchamber and fetched a lamp, while Larkin glared at me and drummed her heels on the floor.
With the lamp held high, Luka led me deep into the bowels of the palace. Other tunnels and stairwells crossed ours, and from time to time we passed another secret door, but Luka never wavered. Neither of us said anything: we didn’t want to give Larkin’s words any credence.
King Caxel could not possibly be dead.
One of the little doors to our left rattled open, and we froze. I took the lamp, and Luka unsheathed his sword. A shaved head tattooed with blue dragons poked through the door: Tobin.
He grinned, and gestured, and we both sagged with relief. We stepped out of the hidden passage and into a dimly lit corridor.
“He says that Amacarin told him where we’d gone,” Luka translated, “and he came here after us. He heard from some guards on his way in that Amalia and Prilian had gone to the caves, and figured that’s where we were headed. ”
“So he’s been backtracking to find us?”
Tobin nodded, and gestured again.
“Yes,” Luka translated, “but he’s also been trying to figure out how the Roulaini even got to the caves; the lower passages have been collapsed. ”
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“Did the dragons do that?” The lower levels of the New Palace had looked intact; how could the dragons have got to the hidden tunnels?
“No, my father did. ” Luka didn’t need to ask Tobin. “It’s part of the defences. Some of the tunnels are rigged to collapse as a last defence. ”
“But how will they get out?”
“There are two other escape tunnels,” Luka explained. “They lead right under the palace grounds and even I am not sure where they come out. We’ll have to f
igure out a way to –”
“You there! Drop your weapons!” A Roulaini soldier with a thick moustache to match his thick accent came around a corner. He carried a barbed spear, and it was aimed right at Tobin’s heart. More guards followed, until that end of the corridor was completely filled.
“Creel,” Luka said very softly. “Run. ”
“No. ”
“Creel, follow this corridor until you come to a green-painted door. ”
The Roulaini soldier snarled. “I said to drop your weapons, fools!”
“The green door leads to the kitchens. Go through the kitchens to the gardens. Now. ”
“No. ” I held my little dagger in one shaking fist, the lamp in the other.
“Creel, I command you,” Luka said.
I looked at him. It was quite possible that he was now the king, and at that moment he looked it.
“Attack!”
The Roulaini soldiers leaped forward. I threw my lamp at their leader, turned, and ran. Down the endless miles of corridor I went, twice bumping into Roulaini soldiers. They shouted and tried to follow, but their armour hampered them. With my skirts hiked up above my knees, I burst through the green-painted door and into the kitchens.
I suppose it should have occurred to me that someone would be cooking for the palace. Late as it was, there were a number of cooks and maids baking bread for the next day. They all scrambled about for a moment and then froze, staring at me in amazement. I stared back.
Then I gave them all a smile, trying to look as innocent as I could, and started across the room to the door at the back that led to the gardens. The head cook stepped into my path, holding up a large wooden spoon like it was a sword.
Doing my best imitation of Amalia’s accent, I said, “What ees thees? I must to thee gardensss!” And I tried to brush past her.
One of the kitchen maids had come up behind me and grabbed my arm as I stepped around the head cook and her spoon. I twisted as best I could, trying to stomp on her feet, but her gown was so long that I couldn’t reach them.
“Let me go!” I writhed free, backing away from both the cook and her helper.
And then I got a good look at the helper.
It was a man, dressed in a gown and wearing the apron and head scarf of a cook. He could almost have passed for a woman – a very ugly woman, mind you – if it weren’t for the scattering of stubble on his cheeks.
“By the Boiling –” was all I managed before he put a large hand over my mouth.
“Shh,” he whispered.
“She’s not Roulaini,” the cook said, coming closer. “And she’s not dressed fine, like the limping one. ”
I pushed the man’s hand away. “I’m with Prince Luka. I need to get to the caverns under the palace,” I said. “I won’t tell anyone that he’s a … that you have a man in here. ” I shook my head over this. Why was he dressed that way? I noticed that his hands were hard and calloused – definitely not the hands of a cook – and that his right hand hovered near his hip, as though feeling for a sword. “Are you a soldier?”
The man and the cook exchanged looks again.
“I told you,” I said impatiently, “I’m here with Prince Luka. ”
“My brother is in the King’s Guards,” the head cook said finally. “I’ve been hiding him since the Roulaini took control. ”
“Cara!” He frowned at her.
“Excellent!” Now it was my turn to grab his arm. “Guide me to the entrance to the caverns at once. I’m going to find Princess Amalia and wring her scrawny neck!”
“I can’t,” he protested. “The entrances are hidden. ”
“But you’re a palace guard; you must know where they are!”
“I did know a few, but some of them are burned out, and some have collapsed. ”
I tapped my foot in irritation. “So how did Amalia get down there?”
“She took one of them dragons. There’s a big sinkhole at the southern end of the palace grounds, caused by all this dragon-work, reckon they went down thataway. ”
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“If we could get to that sinkhole, could you help me find the way down into the caves?”
A shrug. “Supposing we could get there, yes. Trick is, kitchens are on the north end. Besides that, it’s a straight drop down that hole into the caves. ”
“That won’t matter. Come with me. ” I wheeled around, heading for the garden door.
Behind me, I heard the swishing and fumbling of clothing coming off. I glanced back to see the guard casting aside his apron and gown. Underneath he still wore the green breeches of the Guard, but a plain white shirt. The head cook produced his sword and belt from a cupboard and smiled in approval as he buckled them on.
We slipped out, craning our necks from side to side to look for Roulaini guards. In the middle of the kitchen garden I stopped, put my fingers to my lips, and whistled, hoping my hunch was correct.
The guard gave a start and clutched my elbow. “What are you doing?”
“We’re going to fly around to the sinkhole,” I explained.
Niva had said that once she dropped us off we would be on our own, and I believed her. She was a plain-spoken, haughty sort of dragon.
Feniul, however, was a different beast entirely.
With a whoosh of air and a flap of his wings, Feniul landed beside us. The guard cursed and fell on his rear.
“Can this guard ride with me around to the southern side of the palace?”
“Of course. ”
I scrambled on to his back. “You were supposed to wait at the estates,” I teased him as I held out an impatient hand to the guard.
“I’m sorry. ” He ducked his head. “I was worried about you. ”
“Feniul, I adore you,” I said. “You can disobey my instructions anytime. ” I grabbed the guard’s shaking hand and yanked.
Grunting and biting his lips, the guard struggled up behind me. He wrapped both arms around my waist in a way that would have been highly inappropriate had the man clearly not been terrified. He was shaking and I thought I felt sweat drip on to my neck.
“Ugh. Feniul, hurry,” I said.
The dragon obliged. To avoid notice, the lithe Feniul wove between the turrets of the palace, sometimes almost scraping the roof with his claws. As we cleared the building and looked down on to the gardens, it was plain where the entrance to the caverns was: there was an enormous hole, blackened around the edges, gaping in the middle of what had been a smooth and verdant lawn.
“That hole is big enough for me,” Feniul announced after circling it twice. “I shall carry you down. ”
“Be careful,” I warned, but he was already diving for the opening.
With my eyes squeezed tight, I kept myself from screaming as we shot through the narrow sinkhole. I told myself that dragons larger than Feniul had fitted into the space, but I was still half-convinced that I was about to die. The guard must have thought the same, for he was whimpering and shaking until I had to grip his hands at my waist to prevent him from slipping off.
When Feniul’s speed slowed, I dared to open my eyes. He had tucked his wings in close, and was coming to a gliding stop in a large passageway deep beneath the earth. It was a natural tunnel, with strange luminous rock formations, and I was heartened to see that it was more than big enough for Feniul to accompany us.
“You can let go now,” I told the whimpering guard. “Let’s get down and walk. ”
“Thank the Triunity,” he said in a hoarse whisper. Letting go of my waist, he slithered off Feniul and on to the floor, where his knees buckled and he sagged to a crouch.
“Are you well?” Feniul tilted his head to inspect the shaken guard.
“Yes, thank you, dragon … sir,” he mumbled.
With just a trace of smugness, I swung myself neatly down and started to walk along the passage. “Coming?” I said over my shoulder. I
heard a groan from the guard, and the scrape of Feniul’s claws on the stone.
Although we were deep under the ground, there seemed to be illumination coming from somewhere ahead of us. We finally turned a corner, and found a tunnel that looked as if it had been carved by human hands. Every ten paces there was a burning torch set into a wall sconce, though some of them had gone out. Feniul relit them as we went along, puffing little spurts of flame from his nostrils.
When the tunnel forked, the guard took over, leading us down the right-hand branch. There were more burned-out torches this way, and some had burned so low that Feniul couldn’t get them to light again. I took one of the better ones, and the guard took another. There was an ever increasing sound of running water that, combined with Feniul’s bellows-like breathing in the cramped space, made conversation impossible. All we could do was trudge along and hope that we found what we were looking for before our torches went out.
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Instead, we turned one corner, then another, and found ourselves in a very well-lit cavern. Glowing moss covered the entire cavern ceiling, bathing the scene below in a weird greenish light. Because of the fey lighting it took me a moment to register what I was seeing. When at last I was able to make sense of the scene before me, my mouth dropped open and I gave a little squeak.
The source of the sound we had been hearing proved to be a massive underground waterfall that roared into a pool at one end of the cavern. The rushing water had muffled the sound of the battle that was raging here under the New Palace. Our enemies had penetrated Feravel’s last defences and now only half-a-hundred Feravelan guards stood between the king and the Roulaini invaders. King Prilian himself stood atop a boulder and shouted encouragement to his men. If King Caxel were killed, Prilian would declare himself king here in this cave beneath the New Palace.
And where was King Caxel? I searched the surging, clashing mass of men and swords and pikes. In the middle of a knot of Feravelan guards I spotted a stout grey-haired man slumped on the arm of an elderly gentleman in physician’s robes.
“It’s the king!” I jostled the guard’s arm and pointed. “The king lives!”
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