“Oh, Mother’s breath!” wailed Gareth, his gaspy, gurgling breaths putting more space between us and the soldiers.
The older man waved his hand at the underpassage. “Be on your way, mistress,” he chivvied. “Good eve to you.”
“Thank you kindly, masters,” the captain said gratefully, bobbing her head and spurring the horses on. The glow around us faded as Bethan turned the cart into the tunnel and we began to ascend the steep slope up toward the city. After a few moments, she turned to Gareth, one eyebrow raised.
“Perhaps you missed your calling, master. You could have had a promising career on the stage.” She spurred the horses onward up the ramp. “Let’s see if we can bring the curtain down on this act of our journey.”
* * *
NIGHT ALWAYS FELL on Presston heavy as a blanket, with quiet so thick you could cut a piece out with a pair of scissors. But even after dark in late autumn, Bellskeep was still wide-awake.
We came out of the underpassage into a bustling intersection. People of all sorts, both low and high, still crowded the streets, moving in all directions. Some wound their way to the west of the city over the bridge past its grand houses. Others clapped and roared at a bawdy dumbshow playing by lantern light at the wall of the market. My eyes couldn’t take it all in fast enough. There were hardly this many people in the whole town of Presston, but this was just one crossroads in a city so big I could hardly fit it all in my head.
Gareth took in my wonderment. “It’s not usually this busy so late. It’s end of week, so taverns are allowed to stay open till the first morning bell. Grander folk use these evenings for calling or courting.” As we rumbled through the intersection, he pointed down a side street. “My family lives just there, on Catchtail Alley.”
“I’ll make sure you can get away to see them soon, Gareth,” Bethan said. “It’s been a long few weeks on the road. You’ve more than earned it.”
The young man’s face lit up. “Thank you, ma’am!” He turned to me excitedly. “My mum makes the best bread pudding in all of Bellskeep. She’s sure to have it on the table for supper.” The thought of my own mama’s bread pudding drove a sudden, sad spike through my heart. How long would it be before I would sit down to one of her suppers? How long before Jonquin broke bread with Maura and her family?
Just then, over the clamor of the street, a distant fanfare of trumpets sounded. The captain’s shoulders tensed. “I’d hoped to be farther along before the coach reached the palace. We’ve only a few minutes before it’s discovered that we’re no longer with the company. They’ll know we’re somewhere in the city.” Bethan growled in frustration as she was forced to slow the horse once more due to a tight knot of late-night revelers in the road ahead, wagering on the ability of one of their fellows to dance the four-step after drinking two pints of ale.
“We ain’t far, are we?” I asked. “Surely no one can do anything about it before we get to the palace?”
“If someone sent a horde of assassins after us without managing to dirty their name, I wouldn’t put anything past them,” the captain replied darkly, adjusting the hood of her cloak. “But we’re in sight, anyway.”
As we cleared a tall, crooked pub, I got my first look at the castle. The walls were at least half as tall again as those of the River. Peeking out above, I could make out the high, square tower of the keep, but the huge walls kept all else hidden. The great barbican stood before it like a sentinel, ready to keep out the unwelcome. But as it turned out, we weren’t headed that way. Bethan turned the wagon down a side street lined with houses packed so tight together, you’d be able to hear a mouse squeak in your neighbor’s kitchen.
“I don’t intend to make any kind of grand entrance. The merchants’ gate is round the north side of the castle. Hopefully, Nafir’s managed to get two of my men down to watch for us. I’d rather not advertise the fact that we’re outside the walls with no guard.”
We crisscrossed a quiet warren of tiny streets, each more packed with close, cockeyed houses than the next. There were no gardens or green space to speak of but the weeds that burst out of the cobbles in the gutter. Even though it was dark, I could tell that what was running through it wasn’t water.
“Sweet All, the stink!” I muttered into the hem of the fabric.
“You’ll find the palace much more pleasing to the nose,” Bethan remarked. “But I think if you grow up here, one of the first things to go is your sense of smell.” She took a lungful of the night air. “I don’t really notice anything.”
Gareth’s freckled nose poked out from under his hood. “Me neither.”
Of all the things I could imagine getting used to in Bellskeep, the smell of night soil in the gutters wasn’t one of them. I kept the cloak over my nose and mouth, preferring the smell of old sheep until we cleared the crowded avenues and finally came to the back entrance of the palace. Bethan steered the cart into a small courtyard, packed with empty barrels and wooden crates waiting to be picked up and filled once more. In the light of the gatehouse torches, we could see the outlines of two men playing at dice. They both stopped at our approach and came swaggering out to greet us.
Bethan stiffened. “Those aren’t my men,” she whispered nervously.
“Be off with you, skirt. It’s well past the hour for deliveries,” growled the taller man, stepping forward with his sharp pike in hand.
“Our arrival’s expected, sirs,” Bethan answered respectfully. “Sorry for the late hour. It’s a long way from the Wood, and the streets are murder.”
“Haven’t heard about any arrivals,” grunted the shorter man, rubbing his stubbly chin. I had to stifle a gasp as the air around him began to roil with darkness. I gave the back of Bethan’s cloak a hard tug. Her head whipped round, irritated.
“Aye, whelp, just a sec . . . ,” she began to chide me, but one look at my face told her all she needed to know. All the color drained out of her but two angry blushes high on her cheekbones. “Oh,” she said quietly, her accent falling away. “That’s how it is, is it?” She lowered the hood of her cloak, her proud face visible in the torchlight. “Gentlemen, I don’t doubt you know who I am. In the name of the king, stand aside.”
“I don’t know you from the strumpet on the corner, love,” sneered the first man, his darkness mixing with his partner’s like oil and water. “See, we’ve only this week come to the king’s service. We don’t know anyone. Haven’t even seen His Majesty yet.” An ugly smile crept across his face. “Far as I can tell, you’re just a mangy skirt from west of the River who hasn’t got the right to use the king’s name.”
Fury clouded the captain’s eyes as she threw back a fold of her cloak to reveal her sword. “Gentlemen, stand aside.”
The short man laughed and slapped his fellow on the back. “Would you look at that, Tarique? A skirt with a sword!”
Then the captain did a strange thing. Despite being menaced by two armed soldiers, she looked back at me and said, “I’d wanted to discuss this at another time. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Ma’am?”
The captain stood up straight in the driver’s box. Had I been either of the gatesmen, I would have been quaking in my boots.
“I am Crown Princess Saphritte Renart,” she said through gritted teeth. “Stand. Aside.”
The crown princess? Captain Fisroy is . . .
It hit me at once. The disturbance in the air behind her when we met! What a fool I’d been—twice now I’d not trusted my cunning and I cursed myself for where it’d got me. Why else would she know the palace’s former gardener? Why would her father care more for his duty than anything else? How had I not seen it? I’d been double-crossed. Hoodwinked. We’d shared the same saddle for days and confidences at night by the fire. But she was the daughter of the man who’d ripped me from my home. And everyone in the unit must’ve known it. Everyone.
Including Gareth.
> Wary of taking his eyes off the two menacing soldiers, he turned in his seat, his dark eyes rueful and sorry. But my hurt feelings would have to wait. The men at the gate had no intention of letting us through.
Tarique’s mouth curled up at the edges. “A skirt with a sword and delusions, Marcel. I reckon impersonating royalty is worth a night in the cells, how about you?”
“She is the princess!” Gareth burst out. “Go find the king’s guard that’ve just returned! Ask Captain Reynold! Ask Master Iordan!”
The steward’s head jerked up sharply as the point of Tarique’s pike stopped just a hair under his chin. “Make that a crazy skirt and a mouthy whelp,” the guard snarled. “Sounds to me like you’re keen to join your mad auntie in the cells.” I sat and watched helplessly as the sickening colors around the two men rippled like living things, covering the torches behind. They knew who we were.
Marcel’s hands tightened on the grip of his own weapon. “P’raps they could all do with a night behind bars. Might be a good lesson for the little one.” He sought me out where I was cowering among the logs and showed me all his crooked teeth. “Didn’t your mam teach you that you should . . . never tell lies?”
For a moment, no one moved as everyone realized that everyone else knew exactly what was going on. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that Beth . . . Saphritte’s hand had slid to the hilt of her sword. Tarique noticed, too, but a little too late. Expecting the princess’s sword to fly from its scabbard, he was caught completely unawares by her sturdy riding boot as it collided with his mouth. Blood sprayed from his face as he fell backward with an agonizing wail. Marcel’s sword cleaved its way through the air, but Saphritte’s was ready to counter it.
I was fixing to jump out of the cart when a rough hand grabbed me by the ankle. Tarique, with his destroyed face, yanked me straight out of the back of the wagon and slung me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It was all so quick, I didn’t even have time to shout as the soldier began to run from the merchants’ entrance toward the steps that led up the side of the high wall separating the street from the River below. As I bounced along, Gareth’s cries echoed off the high castle walls. “Highness! He’s got Only!” But Saphritte was deep in a heated battle with Marcel, swords flashing and ringing in the torchlight, not able to break away from the attack.
Tarique reached the edge of the wall and mounted the steps, struggling under the extra weight of his wriggling cargo and snorting like an ox through a nose broken by the princess’s boot. Up to that point, I’d been so surprised, it didn’t occur to me he had a plan. But as I looked up at the parapet, it became crystal clear—whoever had sent Wash Blackrudder into the coach didn’t care about taking me alive. Tarique had a mind to succeed where the Ordishman had failed. We reached the top of the wall and the sickening drop down to the River yawned beneath me. The soldier didn’t hesitate—his meaty arms fastened round my waist to pry me from his back and launch me over the edge. Screaming and kicking, I reached down his back and grabbed hold of his belt so tight, the dull leather bit into my fingers.
“Let go, brat, and stop your squalling!” he growled. “It’ll all be over in a minute.” He pulled harder, trying to loose me, but I hung on for sweet All, wailing at the top of my lungs, hoping that someone, anyone, passing by, even at that late hour, might be tempted to help.
The soldier was in a rage now. Along with his shattered nose, he’d come by a fair few kicks to the head on the way up the stairs. He twisted my body this way and that, trying to pry me from his belt. He shook me over the edge, where there was nothing but the darkness of the River and the faint flickers of torches far, far below. “Get off, you little witch!” he roared.
I felt my grip begin to give. I closed my eyes. I am Only Fallow of the orchard. I’m as tough as a green apple in summer.
Then there was a sound that I ain’t likely to forget even if I live to be one hundred fifty. It was the sound of metal through flesh—a heavy, wet, ripping sound I felt all the way through my bones. Tarique grunted and lurched violently over the parapet, still gripping me round the waist; but a pair of hands grabbed me by the wrists, sliding me from the soldier’s back as he tipped over the stone ledge, half the length of his own pike straight through him. His boots scraped the lip of the wall as he toppled and then there was nothing but silence.
Gareth stood frozen, staring at the space where the man had just been, my wrists still clutched tight in his hands. Far below, there was a soft whump and a splintering of wood, followed by shouts and footfalls that echoed up the walls. The sound jolted the steward out of whatever trance he’d fallen into, and he looked down at me. He was far paler than he’d been in the coach, but he sunk down to the ground and folded the ends of his cloak round my shuddering body.
“G-Gareth.” I gulped. “Th-thank you.”
“I’m . . . I’m a steward,” he said, panting, his voice all flat. “I set the king’s table. I fold napkins. I carry messages. I . . .” He stared down at his hands as if he couldn’t believe what they’d just done.
I put my hands flat on the stone to convince myself I was really on solid ground. “A little different from a straw man.”
Gareth gave a hollow laugh, resting his head against the battlement. “Just a little.” I could feel him trembling where our shoulders touched beneath his cloak.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered. “The future queen of Orstral? I trusted her.” I turned my head away. “I trusted you.”
His head bowed. “I half thought you’d be able to see it straightaway, even though it’s not exactly a lie. It’s part of her name, you see, and . . .” He bit his lip. “I wanted to tell you, honestly, especially after the Wood, but . . . it’s what we all have to do when she’s leading the cavalry. She’s always ‘Captain,’ never ‘Princess.’ Just so we don’t get any more trouble than we need on the road.”
There were voices now—the shouts of soldiers calling across the streets, drifting up the stairs to the top of the wall.
He put his hand over mine, and his mouth close to my ear. “I swear on the Mother I’ve not told a soul about Jon, though. And I won’t, either. You can see I’m not lying about that, can’t you?”
Grudging, I peered out from behind my hair. There were no colorful shimmers, just his round, open face begging me to believe him. I looked away.
“Yeah, I see.”
Heavy footfalls sounded on the stone steps.
A smear of blood made a sluggish trail down the wall before us. “I . . . can’t believe I just did that,” Gareth murmured. “Mother All says killing is . . .”
“I reckon Mother All’s a mother,” I told him. “I think she’d understand.” The close-by voices of the guards let me know they were almost upon us. “Gareth, this city ain’t safe for me. There’s someone here who didn’t count on me making it this far.”
His eyes went wide. “They said they’d only just come to the king’s service. But from where?”
I was in far more trouble than I’d ever imagined.
20
At the start of everything, there was just the Mother. That’s what the testaments say.
They say there was nothing but the Mother and She was alone. She got fed up being the only thing there was, so She birthed the world and the sun and the stars. (Non said it must have been a fearsome labor what with the sun and stars and no midwife.) And when the first folk blinked into the first sunlight, She said, “Don’t be afraid. All that is new, we will learn together.”
At the beginning of my life in the palace, I realized being afraid might just keep me alive.
Saphritte was in a wild battle temper. Her skirmish with Marcel had ended right quick as members of the cavalry flooded into the courtyard and pried the two apart, whisking the soldier off for questioning. I imagined he was going to see a good bit of the cells he’d threatened to throw us in. Gareth looked queasy as the soldiers w
ho found us on the parapets hoisted him on their shoulders and promised him tankards of ale back at the barracks. I gave him a sad little wave as he disappeared under a tide of arms, all trying to slap him on the back or ruffle his hair at once. Captain Reynold gathered me up in his arms so much like Papa, it made me wonder if he had whelps of his own. Together, we descended the stairs to where the princess was waiting. No words passed between us before she grabbed me by the arm and dragged me through a narrow, heavy door set deep into the castle wall.
She was moving so fast, I could barely keep up with all the twists and turns. We marched up staircases, through storerooms, out of doors, through a covered gallery, and back indoors again before I piped up. “Highness, could we stop a moment?”
Saphritte turned, suddenly mindful of my company again. Chest still heaving with pique, she cursed under her breath and pressed her palms and forehead into the stone. I jumped as she let out an unexpected roar and slapped the wall with her hands. “All take it!” she shouted. “What’s happening in this kingdom? I was attacked at my own door—the door to my father’s house! They tried to spill my blood on my step! On my . . .”
The princess whirled round, catching a glimpse of my face, still pale and frighted from being dangled above the dark chasm of the River. The red mist covering her eyes vanished—the royal tantrum well and truly doused. “I feel if I should sit on the throne till the sun goes out, I should not have enough time to beg your pardon.” She let out a rueful laugh. “Look at you, creeping into this palace like a rat onto a ship when all you should be doing is sleeping in your bed in Presston.”
The lock on my forgetting room rattled loudly, blocking out all my sense. “You lied to me. You ain’t supposed to be able to lie to me!”
“Only, you’ve been through a great deal—”
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