Rogue, Prisoner, Princess (Of Crowns and Glory—Book 2)

by Morgan Rice

  In some ways, Sartes’s plan was simple: he was going to walk to the edge of the camp, then make his way through the stakes and trip wires, pits and cordons that surrounded it. The complex part was actually doing it.

  The fact that he’d managed to become useful to the officers around the camp helped. It had gotten people used to the idea that he could move around the camp, when most of the conscripts were carefully controlled. It had let him work out the timing of the guard changes and the locations of the worst traps around the camp.

  “I can do this,” Sartes told himself as he kept moving among the tents.

  “Do what, conscript?” an officer demanded, stepping into his path. Sartes recognized him as one of the training masters. Varion, Sartes thought his name was.

  “Deliver this message, sir,” Sartes said, pulling out one of half a dozen he had hidden away. “The captain said it was urgent.”

  The training master read it through, looked at the seal on the bottom, and then shoved it back at Sartes.

  “All right, get on with it, conscript.”

  Sartes hurried off, and he was glad right then that he’d picked one of the real messages, given the way the officer had checked the seal. He’d carefully collected messages before he’d set out, going round to as many officers as he could to gather them, because the more messages he had to deliver, the more access he had to the rest of the camp.

  He’d forged more, scribbling messages on whatever parchment he could steal from the quartermaster’s stores. He couldn’t fight his way out of the camp, but his stock of messages and orders would let him use the machinery of the army itself as a kind of protection.

  Even so, he had to hurry. There was no message or errand that would get a conscript out of the camp without at least a dozen real soldiers there to accompany him. That meant Sartes had to sneak out in one of the small windows between guard changes, when things were confused. Miss that window, and the whole escape attempt would be for nothing.

  Miss that window, and he would never reach the rebellion. He might never see his family again. He would never see his sister, and the thought of that was enough to make a knot form in Sartes’s stomach.

  So he hurried through the camp, brandishing his sheaf of orders like a shield. He was almost to the edge when another officer stopped him.

  “You, you’re the boy who carries messages for the general, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well then, I want you to go to his tent and get me the latest maps for our preparations against the rebellion. I’ve been sent orders, but I have no idea where I’m actually supposed to take my men. Tell them Leus sent you. Here, you’ll need this.”

  The officer handed over a signet ring, standing there in obvious expectation. Sartes saluted, because he couldn’t think what else to do. He set off back in the direction of the center of the camp for the same reason, although he veered off into the tents as soon as he could, planning to double back.

  He stopped, with his hand on the rough canvas of one of the tents. He held up the signet ring, looking at the worked silver of the design. If he ran now, this might be worth something to the rebellion, giving it the chance to forge orders until the officer admitted what had happened.

  But the man had talked about orders for attacks on the rebellion. The maps for that would be worth far more. Yet if he went for the maps and plans, how much time would that take? He’d planned out his escape to the last minute. Any delay, and they might find him.

  That thought terrified Sartes more than anything. He couldn’t go back now, and if he was caught, it wouldn’t be a quick death. He couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong when he’d planned it all so carefully.

  Yet if Sartes ran now, and people died because they didn’t know where the attacks would come, he would always feel responsible. He had to at least try to get them. He had enough time, if he sprinted. He hoped.

  Sartes ran back toward the command tents, and now he must have looked like what he was: a conscript who had just been given an urgent instruction by a superior and who didn’t want to waste a single instant in following it.

  He made it to the commander’s tent and stood panting in front of the guards for a moment, holding up the officer’s ring.

  “Leus wants the maps for the next attack,” he managed.

  “In a hurry, is he?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then you’d better get in there and grab them. The general’s observing evening drill, so you’ll have to find them yourself.”

  Sartes could barely believe his luck. He had to force himself to move into the general’s tent slowly so that it would look normal to the guards. Only once he was safely inside the pavilion did he start to sort through any papers he could see, trying to work out how much he could get away with taking without the guards realizing what was happening.

  In the end, he took as much as he could fit under one arm, wrapping it up in the map he’d been sent for and walking out with as much confidence as he could muster. He half expected the guards to try to stop him then, but neither even seemed to notice.

  “Better run, boy,” one of them joked. “You don’t want to be late.”

  “You don’t know how true that is,” Sartes said, and set off across the camp at a run again. Fear pushed him forward, not knowing if he’d already taken too long.

  He had his route planned out already. He’d learned his way between the tents, and followed the signs and banners now. He dodged the officers and guards where he could, both because he couldn’t afford any more delays and because there was too much chance of them seeing what he was carrying. Now that he’d taken the risk of getting the plans, he couldn’t let them go.

  He made his way to the spot he’d picked out for his escape. There was a space near one corner of the encampment where the wooden walls gave way to picket lines and there were trees not far away. The guards handed over their watch nearer the middle of the lines, before marching out, so if he’d timed it right—

  “You there!” a voice called. “What are you doing there?”

  Sartes looked round to see a guard approaching. The man was older than him and larger, in full armor, armed with sword, shield, and spear.

  “I asked you a question, boy. What are you doing here?”

  “I have orders,” Sartes said automatically, but he knew it wouldn’t work.

  “No conscript leaves. Those are the orders that matter. Deserter!” The guard cupped his hands over his mouth, ready to call it again.

  Sartes saw a figure rush out from the tents, then smash into the guard. A hammer rose and fell, once, then again. The guard went down and didn’t rise. The figure straightened up, and Sartes stared at him in absolute shock.

  “Father?”

  He still couldn’t believe it, yet it was his father. He stood there, looking exactly as Sartes remembered him from the days before he’d left. Sartes threw his arms wide, rushing forward to hug his father on instinct.

  “Sartes!”

  He felt his father hug him back, and for the first time since he’d arrived in the camp, Sartes had a moment where he felt safe.

  “It’s so good to see you,” his father said. “I thought I’d never find you.”

  “What are you doing here?” Sartes asked. He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m so glad to see you.”

  “I came looking for you. Smiths can always find a way into an army camp.” His father stood back and looked at him at arm’s length. “Are you all right? Have they hurt you?”

  “I’m all right,” Sartes assured him. “I managed to avoid the worst of it.”

  “I’m glad,” his father said. “Ceres told me I needed to be the one to come and find you before it got worse.”

  “Ceres?” Sartes said. “Is she here?”

  That would have been the best possible outcome. His whole family back together, all at once. The excitement that briefly rose in him sank again as his father shook his head.

  “She’s
fighting in the Stade,” his father said. “She said she couldn’t run away from that. But we’ll get her. We’ll go back and find her if we can.”

  Sartes nodded. “We will, and then it will be better, right?”

  “I hope so,” his father said. “First though, we need to get you out of here. That shout will bring trouble.”

  Sartes swallowed at that thought. “I have a way out. Quick, this way.”

  It felt strange to be the one leading the way for his father, but Sartes was the one who knew his way through the defenses around the camp. He’d worked out his route, and now he forced himself to concentrate on it, avoiding the pits and the stakes that kept conscripts in as much as they kept others out.

  “Through here,” he said.

  “We need to hurry,” his father insisted. “What’s that you have there? Leave it, we need to run.”

  Already, Sartes could hear the clamor in the camp. Horns sounded an alarm, and he could see soldiers running about as they tried to work out what was happening.

  “I can’t. I have plans showing what the Empire plans against the rebellion.”

  “What?” His father was the one standing there in shock now. “I’d ask how you managed that, but I don’t think there’s any time. They’ll be coming. We need to go.”

  Sartes’s heart felt like it was in his mouth. This wasn’t how he’d planned on this. His whole escape plan had been about slipping away quietly, and being well away by the time anyone noticed. He’d figured that no one would follow if it was too much trouble.

  Now, though, he could hear the sounds of hunting parties being formed. Horns sounded, and dogs barked in response. Sartes froze at the sound, but his father put a hand on his shoulder.

  “We have to keep moving, Sartes.”

  They ran, but running hadn’t been part of Sartes’s plan. He tripped on one of the wires set out there, and pulled himself back to his feet only with difficulty. Somewhere behind them, he thought he could hear the sounds of the hunting party getting closer.

  Sartes shook his head. “We can’t outrun them. They have horses.”

  Already, he thought he could hear hooves. He could hear them, along with the whinnies of horses being pushed hard. He looked round for a stick, a stone, anything he could use as a weapon. He knew he couldn’t really fight the army, but it was better to die fighting than in any of the ways he would die if they caught him.

  Yet what he saw approaching was a single woman, riding one horse while leading two others. The horses looked like military mounts, complete with their riders’ weapons and equipment, but the saddles were empty.

  “Sartes?” she called out. “Berin?”

  Sartes looked up in surprise, pressing closer to his father. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Anka. There’s no time to explain, but Ceres sent me. I’m with the rebellion. Quick, climb on before they realize that they’re missing horses.”

  Sartes paused, looking back toward the camp.

  “Do you want to risk them catching you?” Anka demanded.

  She had a point. Even if they didn’t know her, if she was claiming to be with the rebellion, then she was probably a friend. Picking one of the spare horses, Sartes climbed aboard. His father did the same with the other.

  “I hope you two can ride,” Anka said. “Because there’s a lot of noise back there.”

  There was. On the edge of hearing, Sartes thought that he could hear more hooves, accompanied by shouts and horns. He saw Anka kick her mount into a run, and his father did the same.

  Sartes took a breath. He was out. He’d found his father. He even had plans that would help the rebellion.

  Now all he needed to do was survive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Thanos resisted the urge to punch the wall of the stables, but only just.

  “Tell us the truth,” he demanded of the stable boy who stood in front of him and Stephania.

  He would have fought any number of opponents in the practice arena rather than spend another minute in frustrating investigation. He would have given anything he had to have an opponent in front of him, a problem that he could solve in a simple, honest way, rather than by skulking around, trying to unpick the intrigues of the court.

  But he didn’t have an opponent in front of him. That was the point. He was caught up in all this, and he wasn’t sure how much time he had. Eventually, he was sure, someone would work out his new role with the rebellion, and that meant he only had a little while to find the person responsible for the attempt to kill him.

  “I need an answer,” Thanos said.

  “It’s all right,” Stephania said, in a much more soothing tone that made Thanos glad he’d brought her for this. “We already know that Lucious gave you that amulet, didn’t he? The one you used to prove to the Typhoon that you’d been sent by him?”

  The stable hand looked away, but nodded.

  “At least, I think so,” he said. “He sent one of his servants. I was to take the amulet and deliver a message to the Typhoon.”

  “What message?” Thanos asked.

  The stable boy shook his head. “I don’t know. It was closed tight. I didn’t want the Typhoon or Prince Lucious thinking that I was spying on them.”

  Even so, Thanos could guess what the message would have said. It was an order for his death, delivered without question by a foolish boy determined to impress.

  “What… what happens now?” the stable boy asked.

  Thanos could hear the fear there. The stable boy probably thought they were going to kill him for his part in the plot. Yet the truth was that he was no more than a tool used by someone else, and Thanos wasn’t like Lucious. He found himself thinking of what Ceres would have done in a situation like this. It helped, even if it brought a pang of loss to him.

  “You’re going to stay quiet about us coming here,” Thanos said. “Then, when the time comes, you’re going to tell what you know to the court.”

  “I… I don’t know…” the stable boy began.

  Stephania gave him a hard look. “You will do everything that Thanos commands, won’t you?”

  The stable boy hung his head. “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  The two of them left together, and once they were outside the castle’s stables, Thanos let himself relax a little. He turned to Stephania.

  “Thank you for coming with me for that. I don’t think he would have confirmed his story if you hadn’t been there.”

  Stephania smiled. “I’m happy to help. I take it you want me to keep quiet about this for now?”

  Thanos nodded. That was the other part of this investigation that he hated. For all that the king had promised his help, the truth was that they couldn’t trust anyone at court. He didn’t know who was involved in trying to kill him, and he had too many secrets about the rebellion to act out in the open. They had to keep up the façade of an investigation going nowhere, while at the same time conducting a real investigation in the background.

  “No one will hear about it from me,” Stephania promised. “Be careful?”

  “I’ll try,” Thanos assured her. “Although I think the most dangerous thing happening in the castle in the next few days will be parties.”

  “Oh, parties can be more dangerous than you think,” Stephania said. “Just don’t do anything foolish like confronting Lucious, I mean.”

  “I won’t,” Thanos assured her. At least, not yet. They didn’t have enough yet to accuse a prince of the Empire. They needed more proof, not least about why Lucious would do something like this in the first place.

  It occurred to him that there was at least one avenue he hadn’t explored yet. Cosmas the scholar had said that he had information for Thanos, but Thanos hadn’t followed up on it yet. The old man had always been a good friend to him, and if he said that he had something for Thanos now, then Thanos believed it.

  He walked to the castle library, making his way along the twisting corridors of the castle, trying to appear calm as
he passed by servants and courtiers, acknowledging their nods and trying to make it look as though nothing was affecting him.

  Thanos wasn’t sure whether it was the need to find the assassin’s employer that had made him suspicious, or his role with the rebellion now, but either way, he saw eyes everywhere in a way he hadn’t before. Every time he walked by a slave cleaning the marble of the castle floors, he found himself wondering who they reported to.

  He hated the paranoia of his situation, but at the same time he needed it if he was going to stay alive here. There was so much at stake, and potentially so little time in which to do it all. He had to find out who was trying to kill him and why. He had to help the rebellion. More than all of that, he had to find a way to get Ceres back from the Isle of Prisoners. To do all of those things, he needed help.

  When he made it to the library, Thanos paused. The library had always been a place Thanos enjoyed going. Its great doors were wide open, with shelves to either side, and desks set in quiet niches wherever they could fit. He found Cosmas in the library when he got there, standing in the middle of stacks of tomes, looking to Thanos like some mythical creature made of books from the waist down. Cosmas would probably consider that an improvement.

  “Cosmas,” Thanos said. “Are you looking for something?”

  “Merely trying to undo some of the chaos that comes when the younger royals get into the library,” the scholar replied. “Although it has meant I have been able to find scrolls that I haven’t seen in twenty years.”

  Ordinarily, Thanos would have asked about them, and would probably have gotten a long lecture on some obscure subject as a result. Cosmas always seemed to learn about the oddest things. Once, Thanos had found him reading about the differences between two obscure types of beetle, neither of which was found in the Empire. When Thanos had asked why he wanted to know such a useless thing, he had answered simply that all knowledge was worth having.