Untethered

by KayLynn Flanders

  Her footsteps clicked through the sitting room and out into the hall, the door shutting behind her.

  I couldn’t move. She’d just…what had that been? Did she suspect we were here for my father? It didn’t seem like she knew. Which meant—

  Ren knelt, eyes finding mine in the darkness under the bed. He extended his hand, and I swallowed the dust coating my mouth and took it, letting him help me out.

  I pressed my wrist against my forehead. “What just happened?” I asked. So many emotions jumbled up in my chest I thought I’d suffocate. “Who do you remind her of? What was she talking about?”

  Ren sighed and sat on the bed, his head in his hands. “Kais, I think.”

  “The first king of Hálendi?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I think so.” He flopped back onto the bed and covered his eyes with his arm. “Something dark in me responded to her, to her power. Her offer.” He shuddered. “I only barely resisted her, and only because the Medallion was burning against my chest and I knew you were hiding under the bed. I can’t…I don’t think—” He broke off with another curse I didn’t recognize.

  I slowly approached Ren. Sat next to him. Took his hand and moved his arm so it no longer covered his face. His blue eyes latched onto mine desperately.

  Redalia’s sharp floral scent lingered in the room. I held on to his hand, clasping it between us—to give support, and to keep mine from trembling. “But you did resist.”

  He swallowed, the muscles in his jaw and throat flexing, his eyes studying mine like he’d find his answers in them. “But I almost didn’t. It was like her voice was clawing through my mind, working my tongue for me.” He shuddered violently. “Even now, her voice is echoing in my head.”

  I brought my other hand up and clasped his in both of mine. “I believe in you, Ren,” I whispered. I cleared my throat and squeezed his hand. “But let’s find my father and get out of here, just in case.”

  His stomach tightened in a laugh, and he sat up next to me, holding tight to my hands. “Sounds like my kind of plan.”

  The hall door opened again, and we both jumped. “I’m getting my sword,” Ren muttered, and marched into the sitting room.

  I pressed my hand against my stomach and followed slowly, peeking into the room first to see who had entered.

  Aleksa set a breakfast tray on the table while Ren buckled on his sword. She handed him a note, then took a bite of round bread from the platter. “Your friend Hallen gave this to a servant who gave it to me to give to you. But I don’t know what it means.”

  “You read it?” Ren asked with a frown, unfolding the scrap of paper.

  Aleksa took another bite. “Of course I read it. I don’t trust that girl.”

  Ren’s brows furrowed as he read. “I don’t know what this is supposed to mean. It’s from Luc, but I don’t think it’s a response from the note I sent.” He handed it to me.

  The paper was small and dirty, and revealed a single word, smarito, with Luc’s signature.

  I opened my mouth, then shut it again. “It’s an old Turian word. But he spelled it wrong.”

  Ren leaned closer. “If it’s in code, every detail is important. What letter—”

  But I didn’t hear the rest of what he said. Smarrito was the correct spelling of the old Turian word that meant missing. Luc had spelled it wrong intentionally.

  Loud rushing filled my ears, and my knees buckled. Ren caught me by one elbow, and Aleksa caught the other. They helped me stumble to the sofa.

  “Chiara?” Aleksa said, from so far away. “Chiara!” She snapped her fingers in front of my face. “What does it mean?”

  I clenched and unclenched my teeth, and Ren forced the paper from between my fingers. “I think…I think it means Mari is missing.” I looked at Aleksa. “My little sister.”

  As I explained how I’d decoded the message, Ren cursed and reached for the back of the sofa, then eased himself down next to me.

  A knot twisted in my stomach. Every potential scenario whipped through my mind, lashing out with each possibility worse than the last.

  It wasn’t possible. Mari had to be safe at home, hiding away.

  “Breathe, Chiara,” Ren murmured next to me. “Come on, you need to breathe.”

  The world spun around me. I shut my eyes against it, but my head kept spinning. Ren pushed my shoulders forward until my head rested on my knees.

  Aleksa sat on my other side and stroked my back. “You need to breathe. In and out. Come on, Chiara.”

  In, out. The world didn’t spin quite as much. But I couldn’t lift my head from my lap. What could have happened to Mari? Was she out in the world somewhere—lost? Hurt? My mind marched down a path paved with all the terrible things that could happen to my joyful, exuberant sister.

  Had she tried to follow me? I knew how she hated being left behind. Yet I’d left without her. She was only eight—I couldn’t have asked her to accompany us. Maybe I shouldn’t have come to Riiga. But we were so close to freeing my father. I could feel it.

  “We’ll find her,” Ren murmured, brushing his hand against my arm. “We’ll get your father today, and then find Mari.”

  I nodded and swallowed back the sobs aching to get out.

  A soft knock came, and a boy stuck his head in. “Aleksa? I’m ready.”

  She nodded to him. “Wait in the hall. He’ll be right out for his tour.”

  I brushed at the tears on my cheeks, then marched into the bedchamber and splashed water on my face, careful not to muss the eyebrows. I leaned on the table, fingers splayed wide. Get my father, find Mari.

  Ren leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets.

  He stopped me when I tried to walk by him, and wrapped his arms around me. I pressed my forehead into his chest, willed myself not to break apart.

  “Focus on the next step,” he whispered into my hair. “Only the next step. Get your father out of the dungeon. Out of the palace. Out of Riiga. Then we find Mari.”

  I nodded, but didn’t let go. Couldn’t yet.

  “Thank you,” I said, and my voice came out strangled and whispery. I pulled away and straightened my cap. A tiny line marked his brow as he studied me, head tilted to the side. What did he see when he looked at me? A useless princess? A girl who looked better in disguise than as herself?

  He licked his lips. Hesitated. “Chiara, I—”

  “It’s time,” Aleksa said. “We need to get into position.”

  Ren nodded, never looking away from me. “How will you get Marko out of the palace?” he asked Aleksa.

  “Disguised in a group of servants going to market. We can get him to your friend hiding in the city.”

  Ren nodded. Straightened his shoulders.

  I grabbed his arm. “How will you get out?”

  His mask fell into place, the one with the perpetual smile and twinkling eyes. I hated that mask. “I’ll come up with something. You worry about getting your father out. I’ll meet you at the cliff cave before dawn tomorrow.”

  He tipped his head for me to step into the hall first. “Rescue your father.”

  “Get out of Riiga.” Aleksa tapped the doorframe.

  I straightened my shoulders. “Find Mari.”

  Ren

  “And this is where the royal families’ commissioned portraits hang,” the boy said in his nasal voice, which I’d been listening to for the past half hour. He and I had covered all the main parts of the palace, and now walked the gallery.

  Though they tried to hide, we’d been followed by a bevy of courtiers. Which was fine by me—with all eyes on me, no one would see Chiara, Aleksa, and Marko sneaking out.

  I’d never experienced anything close to what I had with Chiara yesterday. All my life, I’d always been the strong one for everyone else. But talking with her was…freeing. I could just be
me.

  More courtiers and servants in the halls bowed or curtsied as we passed, marking my barely concealed boredom and the young man’s overly proud recounting of the history of the palace and Riiga.

  But the boy had also taken me by almost every exit the palace had, using the main rooms to orient me to each.

  Echoes of Redalia’s voice still swam in my head. She would have been beautiful, if her eyes weren’t black caverns. I’d never heard of anyone manipulating someone’s will as she did; it was imperative we leave. Soon.

  The plan was ridiculous. Walk in, get Marko, and walk out. In a palace full of enemies and mages, trapped between the sea and the cliffs. But it was so ridiculous it might actually work.

  A throat cleared ahead of us, and the boy stopped, his shoulders tight, his stance a fighting one.

  “Excuse me, Your Majesty,” the guard said with the slightest nod to my rank. “King Janiis requests your presence in his chambers.”

  Three courtiers and two of their servants roamed the gallery with us. All of them stopped to listen to our interaction. If I refused or offered some excuse, what kind of repercussions would it cause? If I accepted, I’d be walking straight into trouble. Had Janiis found out about Redalia’s predawn visit? Or perhaps it was Redalia herself summoning me. My hands went cold. I wasn’t sure I could resist her again.

  Or it could be Koranth, with his unsettling black eyes and shade blade.

  Or maybe all three.

  The odds were not in my favor.

  “We are almost finished with our tour. We have only the grand foyer, which is just up those stairs,” the boy said, pointing at the narrow staircase across from us, his nasal tone condescending. I’d have to tell Aleksa she’d made a fine choice in the guide—he was perfect.

  The guard, however, folded his arms over his broad chest. What he lacked in height, he made up for in width. “You, boy, have other duties to attend to. I will escort His Majesty to the king’s chambers. You’re dismissed.”

  The boy shrugged one shoulder and meandered to the stairs while the guard took me in the opposite direction from the king’s chambers. We went down two short sets of stairs, toward the black door of the dungeon, where the tour had started. The boy had explained that because of the sand, an underground dungeon was impossible. So Janiis kept prisoners in the wall we’d ridden over to the main entrance of the palace.

  We’d ridden right over Marko’s cell without realizing it.

  The guard led me past the dungeon and around two corners, to a small door I’d have to crouch down to enter. A door that had been carved out of rock, exactly like the dungeon’s. The guard knocked, then opened the door, waiting for me to enter first.

  A dark cell of a room waited beyond, with Janiis sitting behind a desk, and three guttering candles fighting against the shadows. Though there had been other people mere steps ago, no one roamed this passage. The guard put his hand on his sword. The Medallion beat a steady warning against my chest, but what could I do? If I refused to walk into this room, Janiis could have me imprisoned under a false charge or tossed out of the palace. Chiara and Aleksa would be left on their own or dragged out with me, with no hope of finding Marko.

  But it was only Janiis. I could handle him.

  My boots scraped against the uneven stone floor. The guard put his hand out. “You shall not speak with our sovereign armed thus.”

  It was a bad idea, but I unbuckled my sword and handed it to the guard. “Don’t lose that,” I told him. “I’ll be wanting it back.” He smirked, and again, I considered bolting for one of the exits I’d just learned about. But Chiara was right—this was our one shot.

  My steps echoed as I entered, each sounding like a failing heartbeat.

  Janiis studied me, the candlelight casting deep shadows on his face. The door shut softly, and the guard took his place in front of it. Before I could utter a greeting, two men came out of the shadows behind me and grabbed my arms, yanking them back until I could barely breathe. Two more men emerged from the shadows behind Janiis, both larger than any Riigan I’d ever seen. But they weren’t mages.

  I didn’t fight them—especially since fighting them would have pulled my shoulders out of their sockets.

  One of the big ones in front of me slammed his fist into my stomach hard enough to empty my lungs but not hard enough that I passed out. I groaned and dropped my chin to my chest. These were professionals, then. I swallowed back bile and coughed until my lungs filled properly. My magic responded, so I breathed slow; there were surely more wounds to come.

  Janiis stood, the chair legs scraping against stone. He lifted a wickedly curved dagger from the bejeweled sheath at his waist and studied it in the candlelight.

  I sighed. It was a knife that would not leave a neat scar.

  “You are not supposed to be here,” Janiis said, eyes still on the dagger.

  My shoulders ached and my stomach throbbed. “I’d be more than happy to leave, Your Majesty. The guard was quite insistent I follow him. But if he’s made a mistake—”

  One of the hirelings—I wasn’t sure which—punched my jaw, snapping my head to the side. Blood coated my tongue and trickled from my lips.

  “Not here here, you fool,” Janiis sneered. His inability to sense my sarcasm filled me with the insane urge to laugh. “You were supposed to be taken care of before arriving.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Like King Marko?”

  Janiis’s eyes turned to glittering slits. “Something similar, yes.” He paced closer and pressed the tip of the dagger to my cheek. “Don’t think I didn’t see how you looked at my bride last night.”

  With revulsion? “I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your happiness,” I said, tipping my head as though we were in a ballroom. Don’t die. Keep Janiis occupied while Chiara and Aleksa retrieve Marko.

  He growled and pressed the dagger’s edge to my throat. His hirelings pulled my shoulders tighter, pressing me into the blade.

  “She’s using you, you know,” I said breathlessly, rising onto my tiptoes to ease the strain on my shoulders. “She wants your kingdom for herself.”

  Janiis scoffed. His eyes moved to my exposed neck. The blade shifted and its point pressed into my skin, lifting the chain of the Medallion. Curse after curse ran through my head. Janiis pulled it free and held it close, inspecting both sides.

  He returned the blade to my throat, the Medallion’s chain clutched in his fist. “Just because you can’t manage your kingdom, boy, doesn’t mean I can’t manage mine. You probably can’t even give me one good reason not to gut you right now. You have nothing to offer, nothing I couldn’t take for myself.”

  His grin chilled me to my core. I couldn’t heal from every wound. And I couldn’t let him leave with the Medallion, even if he didn’t recognize its worth.

  I swallowed the last of the blood in my mouth—my lip had healed. “One reason? Okay, here’s one: I named my sister, Jennesara, as my heir should anything befall me on my travels.”

  The blade eased off my throat enough for me to swallow, and Janiis’s brows furrowed until he looked like some sort of furry rodent. “But,” he started, piecing everything together far slower than I expected, “she’s betrothed to—”

  “To the Turian heir, yes,” I finished for him with a grin. “And with Marko missing, they’ll have a spring wedding and coronation. Which means if anything happens to me, Turia’s queen will become Hálendi’s queen. A force you could never dream to stand against. A combined empire so mighty, it would swallow your pitiful cities clinging to life on the fringes of the Plateau until Riiga is only a forgotten memory.”

  Janiis spun on his heel and shoved his dagger into its sheath. He let out a guttural yell and slammed the Medallion onto the desk. Then he turned and swung his fist into my gut. Harder than I expected from a man who had someone else do everything for him.


  My breath left my lungs in a huff, and one of my shoulders popped, spreading fire down to my fingertips and ribs. “W-wow, Janiis,” I stuttered through the pain. “I didn’t know you had it in you. Who taught you to punch?”

  Janiis grabbed my face in his hands, pinching my cheeks. The door opened behind me, casting garish light over the Riigans. Glaciers, if a mage had come—

  “Lord Koranth requests your presence, My King,” a boy said, his voice quivering and squeaking.

  Janiis released me and straightened his robes, then walked to the door. He paused and spoke to his guards. “Make sure he’s still alive when you’re done with him.”

  Something heavy smashed into the side of my head, scattering lights across my vision. My cheek slammed into the stone floor and someone’s boot connected with my ribs. There was a knife in my boot, but I couldn’t take my arms away from protecting my head, couldn’t think through the blazing pain. I’d heal, but one thought rang clear through the haze: Chiara. I had to make sure Chiara was safe.

  Then everything faded to black and the pain finally, blissfully, floated away.

  Chiara

  Windowless rooms shouldn’t be allowed when building any structure. We’d been waiting in a dark room ever since Ren had started his tour at the dungeon’s door. I didn’t know how much time had passed, or how much longer it would be until the kitchen staff brought trays for the prisoners.

  “Stay at the edge of the corridor when we get in—there are grates in the center you could trip on,” Aleksa said quietly. She’d been doing this since we arrived. Giving tips, details, anything to smooth out our plan.

  “Grates in the middle, don’t cough at the stench, ground will be slippery,” I repeated back. I wanted to ask her why she’d been in the dungeon before, but everything in me focused on now, on executing the plan. “Your friend causing the distraction will be okay? Not get in too much trouble?”

  “He’s quick—he knows the risks and agreed to them. He’ll be okay.” More endless waiting in darkness. More time to think of everything that could go wrong. “When we go into the hall, don’t look at anyone, but also don’t look at the ground. Don’t fidget.”