by Bo Burnette
“He must be alive. Thane would have no reason to kill him.”
“Then where is he?”
She glanced around. No one stood within ten paces, though several guests in audacious outfits chattered not far away. “Do you think he’s here in the palace?”
“I’ve thought of it,” he said. “What if we went looking for him?”
She peered around the pillar, scanning what she could see of the vast room. “Arliss wouldn’t be happy if we split up.”
“I don’t care what she thinks. This is about my father, not about her. I can’t stand by any longer and do nothing.”
“She wants him safe, just like you do.”
“Yes, but has she done anything? No.” Brallaghan fisted his hands.
Ilayda straightened out her hair about her shoulders. “She’s just confused—like you and I are. We don’t know what this place is or what they stand for. And we don’t really know where your father is. He could be back on the isle.”
“If he is, then that’s where I’ll go—with or without Arliss. Come.”
He took her hand and led her to the door they had entered by. The guards opened it without hesitation. Ilayda wondered whether this was an oddity or not; perhaps other guests had already left. She cast one more longing glance at the beauty of the party.
In the middle of the room, Arliss was dancing with Philip.
Blood flushed into Arliss’s face as she and Philip pattered through the intricate footwork of a swirling reel.
“I’ve got a premonition,” Philip said as his feet weaved smoothly through the steps.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a word Erik likes to use.” He swayed her around in a circle. “It means I have a bad feeling, even though I’m not really sure why.”
She nearly tripped on his right foot. “I know what the word means. I mean, what’s your premonition?”
He leaned close as he glided them both past the left pillar closest the thrones. His eyes, bursting with color, bored straight into her heart. His breath felt like smoke in her eyes. “I think we’re being watched.”
“Well,” she lowered her voice to a murmur, “you are.”
He looked at her, but didn’t respond. “Have you seen Orlando?”
Her already-throbbing heart drummed a little faster. “Not for a while.”
“Have you seen the queen?”
She shivered. “Unfortunately, yes.”
The dance ended with a soaring glissando, but they stayed in the middle of the dance floor a moment as the room erupted in general applause at the dance.
Arliss turned to go.
Philip still gripped her hands and nodded behind her—to the thrones.
Beside the pedestal, Merna had her arm on Orlando’s shoulder. His eyes remained fixed on her, but Merna scanned the room. For a long moment, her stare fell on Arliss.
Arliss stared back.
Merna stepped away from Orlando, behind the thrones, and out of the ballroom. Orlando followed.
“Those two aren’t up to any good,” Arliss mused as she traipsed off the central floor. Philip walked with her, his gaze still firmly fixed on the thrones. Arliss tried to focus as well, but the blur of lights and sounds had inebriated her brain beyond clarity. She could hear her own blood pounding in her eardrums.
Smoothing out her hair about her bare shoulders, she gave Philip a little nod. “Looks like the dancing is done with.”
“Pity. I’d have enjoyed another dance.”
“What, with your Anmórian wench?”
“That silly one Eamon tried to pair me up with? Pfft, no.”
“I enjoyed my little dance, actually.”
“With your dashing assassin friend?” His tone snapped from cordial to grating.
“Acquaintance, I’d say.”
“Just so.” Philip stared at her, but she didn’t back down from his glare. Then he seemed to see something in her eyes—perhaps something he did not expect. “You—you’ve changed, a little bit.”
“What do you mean?” Arliss stepped closer to him to allow some guests to filter by between her and a pillar.
“I mean…” He searched her eyes once more. “Nevermind, I don’t know what I mean. But I do know something.”
“It’s usually good to know something. Better than nothing.”
He remained serious, and Arliss dug her fingernails into her own palm as she waited for him to speak. He shot a glance towards the door. “We have to talk somewhere private. I don’t feel comfortable talking here.”
“What about?”
“About how I don’t feel comfortable talking here.”
She tilted her head. “You don’t feel comfortable talking here about how you don’t feel comfortable talking here? Well, that does make sense.”
Philip didn’t, or couldn’t, restrain his smile. “Something’s not right, and you know it.”
“I know it, too.” Eamon’s sudden appearance beside them startled Arliss. Her heart quickened at the grave look on his face.
“What is it, Eamon?” she asked.
He stepped closer, clamping a hand on both their shoulders. “Something’s afoot. The guards are stirring.”
She looked around. None of the guards had moved much at all. “What guards? These are all rather complacent.”
Eamon shook his head. “There are three types of guards in this city. The general patrol, who police the city streets and such. The royal guards, who man the palace grounds and the roads around it. And then there are the elite—Merna’s private posse.”
Arliss gawked. “That ridiculous woman? She has her own level of guards?”
“She may be ridiculous, but she is also powerful. And dangerous. Her absurdity is a half-farce.” Eamon released their shoulders. “You both need to return to your rooms right away. Don’t come out unless you know it is me calling. And I will call, once I know something.”
“What’s going on?” Philip demanded.
“All I know is Merna’s guards are coming for you. There’s a price on your heads.”
“Why?” Arliss whispered fiercely. “What have we done to her? I thought you said they would consider a friendship with Reinhold?”
“I was wrong, it seems. Merwin might consider it, but Merna is a sly ruler, much more so than her husband.” His broad chest heaved. “If something goes wrong and you must flee the palace, go to the trains and ask them to take you to the end of the line. If they give you any trouble, tell them I sent you. Perhaps there are still honest men in Anmór.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Philip said.
Eamon shook his head. “There is always a remnant. Always.” He gave them a slight shove in the direction of the doors which stood at the far end of the splendid room. “Go. Make yourselves safe. You will find your weapons hidden somewhere in your chambers.”
“What about Ilayda?” Arliss scanned the room for any sign of her—or Erik and Brallaghan. None.
“I will look for the others. Now go!” Eamon turned to leave without another word of command.
The last face Arliss saw before she left the hall was that of Harrison of Ikarra. She wondered if she would ever see him again.
Beyond that, would she ever see Reinhold again? If she ever made it back, her parents would be stunned at everything she had seen and heard. Of course, Kenton had known all along. He had warned her that to return to the Isle of Light would be to take a step back toward Anmór.
She had taken that step.
Orlando hurried down the dark corridor, his cape tangling around his ankles as he tried to keep up with Merna. Even in heels, the woman sped along at a terrific rate, not stopping once.
He jogged up beside her. “This is madness. You can’t do this.”
“Whyever not?” she snapped.
“Because, it’s pointless. Arliss and Philip are talented fighters. She wields a bow better than any man in Anmór.”
Merna’s lips pursed. “It won’t matter. She’ll be dead before she e
ven reaches for an arrow.”
“Please, don’t.” He stepped in front of her, walking backwards so he could look her in the eye. “Not this way.”
“Are you in love with her? Is that it?” she hissed. “I saw you two dancing.”
“It’s not that.” His cheeks grew hot. Of course he wasn’t in love with her, but the fact that Merna would suggest it angered him more than he thought it would. “Just mark me, those you send after them are not coming back.”
“Of course they are. I’m sending you.”
He shook his head. “No. I won’t do it. You can ask some of the others—I’m sure they will be more than willing.”
She stopped walking. “Do you know what I did to the last one of my guards who rebelled against me? I had him defenestrated.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what that means.”
She chortled. “It means I had him thrown out a window, and I will do the same to you, if I have to.”
“You wouldn’t lose your best fighter, though. You cannot afford it.”
Merna bit her lip so hard Orlando thought it would bleed. Apparently the queen’s lips were calloused from the habit. “I have other, worse things I can do to you. You would do well to remember that I—and I alone—have the ability to reveal your secret. And I don’t think you could afford that, dearie.”
He shrugged. “I have many secrets.”
“You know which one I am talking about, silly boy.”
“I’m not a boy,” Orlando snapped. “And I’m not your slave. Send someone else to do your dirty work. I have other things to do. There are others in the company who are unaccounted for.”
“Very well.” Merna’s hands curled into half-fists. “But defy me again, and I will reveal everything.”
“There is only one thing.” Orlando clenched his gloved left hand and walked away.
Once Orlando had stalked out of earshot, Merna chuckled to herself. “No, there is more than one secret about you, Orlando. Some secrets even the slyest assassins know nothing of.”
Chapter Twenty-six: Assassins
ARLISS PERMITTED PHILIP TO ESCORT HER TO HER room. He had seemed so flustered after their dance, and he had said that she had changed. She, Princess Arliss, had changed a little bit in the eyes of Sir Philip of Reinhold—the one who had said people could not change.
The question escaped her lips before she could stop it. “Why did you say I’ve changed?”
Philip shook his head. “I don’t know why. Your eyes, perhaps.”
They reached her door, and he said nothing more. She felt through the darkness of the hall for the door handle and found it, the bronze cold as ice against her palm.
Philip hesitated.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. He had something else to say. She knew it. The question was, was now the time to hear it? She waited expectantly.
He looked at the floor, then turned to leave.
So that was that. She let her eyelids slip shut. “Have you noticed something? I haven’t seen a single cup of tea since we got here. Not one bloody cup of tea. Can you imagine?”
“I’m sure they’ve got tea somewhere.” Philip put his hands on the double doors as Arliss stepped inside. “Everyone drinks tea, don’t they?”
She fiddled with her hair. “Maybe that’s what is wrong with this place. No wonder Orlando’s so deceived.”
Philip closed the doors in her face, and she was left in the gray shadows of her chamber.
She turned around, her hands swishing against the silk of her dress. She needed to find her bow. Eamon said he’d hidden it somewhere in the room. She knelt down, her skirts inflating around her as she jerked up the bedskirt. Nothing but old dust fragments lay under the bed.
She jumped to her feet and practically fell over as her party heels clicked on the wooden floor. Of all the useless things…
She yanked them off her feet and tossed them into the corner.
Her bow toppled over in the direction she had tossed her shoes. Unstrung, it had easily clattered out of the corner and onto the floor. Eamon had placed her near-full quiver beside it. Within seconds, she had hung the quiver about her hips and strung the bow, then slung it around her back.
A noise flickered somewhere in the room, or perhaps from outside. Arliss craned her neck toward the high window. Pale blue moonlight glowed into the room from the wide glass opening.
It was too high up to see through, but the bed stood rather tall. Could she…?
She vaulted onto the mattress, grasping the headboard’s towering bedposts, then pulled herself up atop the sloping headboard and balanced there—her eyes just level with the window. She exhaled as she inspected what lay outside.
All below the south wing of the castle and spreading out to the river clustered the most magnificent garden she had ever seen. Even in the wistful moonlight, she could see how vast and colorful a garden it must be. Pools and fountains and staircases and copses and flowers smothered the lush green lawn—well, blue lawn, as it looked at midnight.
A creak sounded behind her. She turned her head around from her vantage point atop the bed, but saw nothing.
The room looked just as it had earlier, only cloaked in shadow. From where she stood, the mirror, dresser, and fireplace shared the right wall, and a curtain hid the closet centered in the left wall. She had hung her traveling dress in the closet, which—surprisingly—doubled as a space for relieving oneself. Anmórian plumbing was much more sophisticated than Reinholdian.
Something creaked again, and her hands began to tremble on the windowsill. Was it Eamon at the door, trying to quietly signal her?
Another thought tickled hairs at the nape of her neck. Supposing she wasn’t alone? In the time it had taken for Eamon to warn them, could someone have sneaked in?
She shivered, only partially because the room really was cold. She peered through the window, down to the gardens below. It was a long fall. Even though this was the ground level, the outside sloped farther down into the embankment, and the foundation of the castle peered through. It would be a risky jump, but she might make it, depending on what she landed on.
A gust of wind blew into the room from a tiny crevice in the wall cut for fresh air. It tossed the closet curtains up for a fleeting moment. Arliss saw a flash of metal in the moonlight. She saw the flicker of wide, cruel eyes.
She wrenched off her bow and nocked an arrow.
The assassin streaked out of the closet, his sword slashing the curtain to shreds. Arliss tried to draw back her arrow but lost her balance and tumbled down onto the bedspread. She rolled to the edge and onto the floor, her face and chest slamming painfully into the wood. The sword hacked into the mattress where she had just been lying.
She dragged herself up and—swinging around the near bedpost—slammed her bare feet into the assassin’s back. He stuttered and kicked behind him, nearly knocking her off her feet.
She fought to stay upright and fumbled for a better grip on her bow. It refused to cooperate with her trembling hands.
The warrior took full advantage of her adrenaline-charged effort. Flashing her a wicked grin, he raised a stocky boot and pounded it into her stomach.
She tottered backwards, practically flying into the opposite wall as she clutched her abdomen. Her stomach threatened to vomit up the wine and olives and grapes from the party, but she forced it to stay down. She could feel blood pounding around her brain. Her ears rattled, but she heard no sound.
As her brain steadied, the dark shadow rushed at her.
She dropped her bow, grabbed the full-height looking glass, and smashed it down onto the assassin.
Glass exploded in the room as she reached again for her bow and pulled an arrow back to full draw.
Her fingers relaxed.
The assassin’s breath huffed from his chest, and he did not move again.
She stood there, breathing harder than anyone had a right to breathe, her fingers still glued to the string. Someone would have heard the commoti
on. No doubt Merna would come looking for her prize.
Arliss swallowed. She could stay here no longer.
Moments later, the green silk party dress lay on the floor, and she wore the slitted skirt and leather jerkin once again.
She mounted the bed again as her bruised stomach complained noisily at the pain and the lack of real food. For a split second, she looked at her reflection that lurked in the glass window. Her hair, which she had so carefully prepared for the party, now dripped in tangles all around her shoulders. But somehow her eyes startled her more than anything by how narrowed and determined they were.
She speared the end of her bow into the window. Glass shimmered like magical diamonds out into the chilly night air.
She swept the window free of shards before wedging herself into the empty frame.
Then she jumped.
Ilayda couldn’t stop running. The slight heels of her party shoes slammed the marble hallway with every tread, creating a noise much louder than she felt comfortable with. As many guards as had been in the ballroom, shouldn’t the entire palace be crawling with them as well?
She focused on catching up with Brallaghan. He rushed on just ahead of her, never once stopping to speak or catch his breath. He barreled towards his goal like…well, she didn’t know what it was like. Something fast, that never strayed from its path. And she admired him for it.
She didn’t realize the passage led directly outside until she felt the sharp sting of the cold air on her face. Even Brallaghan stopped and squinted in the harsh wind.
The hallway they had been following thus far led onto this outdoor catwalk—a bridge which spanned the river and deposited itself in a tower on the other side. Ilayda slowed her pace as she looked out at the river-road and its rows of flickering lights.
Brallaghan waited for her to catch up. He nodded towards the tower. “There’ll be guards in there.”
She fingered the arrow knives she had retrieved from where they had been sitting alongside Arliss’s bow. “We have weapons.”
“Yes, all two of us.” He cast her a sideways smile. “Come on, there’s nothing else for it. Who knows? My father could be in that tower.”