by Mary Weber
“I’m all for letting Eogan live a bit longer, and you for that matter, which is why I stopped you from getting stabby back there. But a couple of days?” Her voice lilts higher than normal. “You’re holding the fate of five kingdoms in your hands. This should be taken to King Sedric.”
“Right. So he can kill him.”
“Or he’ll lock him up until they figure something out.”
I tilt my head and stare at her. Does she actually believe that?
She peers away.
“He’ll kill him and you know it,” I say. “Which will only restart the war, and Bron will come down harder on our heads. Except this time . . .”
She bites her lip.
This time my abilities are gone and I won’t be able to stop them.
“I’ll stay in this spot until he boards the airship,” I whisper. “After that . . .”
Her eyes flash toward me and widen with their reddish hue for a half second. “After that?” she says in a tone that says she’s just seen exactly what after that is going to entail. She snorts. “Are you insane? Bron isn’t going to welcome into their kingdom the person who destroyed their armada. You’re just as likely to get yourself killed.”
“Which is why I’ll make sure I’m not seen.”
She withers me a glare. “This is a bad idea. If they catch you sneaking aboard their king’s airship, they will kill you. And on top of that, perhaps killing Eogan right now might restart the war, Nym, but so will having King Sedric think Eogan stole you.”
“I’ll leave a note. If anything, he’ll blame my lovesick heart and the rumors of elopement he’s heard. In the meantime . . .” I glance around the corner at the guards again. “If he moves an inch I promise you I will have my knife at his back.”
“A knife? If he moves, you should be telling King Sedric and screaming it to every Hidden Lands kingdom! Think about how easily he stole your ability, Nym.”
“I wouldn’t say easily. And I will handle him if—when—I have to.”
She purses her lips together.
“You said his intentions weren’t harmful here, and it’s not like he can do much damage while on that airship.”
She snorts.
“We’ll be there to stop him.”
“I said they didn’t appear to be harmful here. And that speaks nothing as to once he’s in Bron, nor does it mean I’m agreeing to this.” She rubs her arm. Then sighs. “Look, I have to alert my own guards and send word to my queen mum. I also have to find out what time we’re leaving because, oh hulls, I need my wardrobe packed!” Her face takes on a look of panic as she glances down at her evening party dress. She turns to me. “Will you be okay until I return?”
I nod. Yes.
Maybe.
Her gaze falls to my bandaged hands before lifting to narrow in on my eyes. After a moment, my internal mess of emotion sealed beneath the numb suddenly shifts and I look away. Blast her.
She tips her head once. Because abruptly we both know that probably nothing about me is okay. Because in the course of one daft night, I’ve lost both my ability and the only man who ever made me feel safe enough to love.
I peek around the bend at the two Bron soldiers pacing in front of Eogan’s door. Do they know it’s not their king inhabiting his body? I grit my teeth—Let’s just do this—and turn back and shrug because, even though I’m thinking it, my words won’t work.
She sighs. And plants a kiss on my cheek. “Right. I’ll hurry. Forty minutes. And my guards will be here sooner. I’m still not saying I’ll comply with your request. I’m just speaking with my men. If Draewulf moves before then, yell for King Sedric please.”
Her soft footsteps clip down the hall in the direction of Eogan’s room. I hear her voice offer a “Good evening, handsomes” to the guards before her steps fade down the corridor. I lean against the wall to ignore everything except figuring out how to get aboard that ship.
CHAPTER 5
A QUARTER HOUR LATER THE SOUND OF HEAVY footsteps draws my attention to the hallway on my right where three of Rasha’s guards are striding toward me. I tighten the grip on my knives tucked between the folds of my dress and stay planted against the inverted corner that simultaneously allows me to face the approaching guards and the corridor where the group of soldiers are still hovering around Eogan’s shut door. The surly glares the Bron unit has been shooting my way make it clear my presence is considered not only an insult but a threat.
“Her Highness will be along shortly,” the middle Cashlin says quietly when they near me. Reaching into the folds of his red doublet, he pulls out parchment and an ink quill with a tiny pot attached at the tip. “From her.”
My hands are steady as I set down my blades and scribble awkwardly with my right hand, since my gimpy one can no longer write, on the parchment as fast as possible.
When finished, I sign my name at the bottom and hand the ink back.
The three of them settle in place a few feet away, heightening the offense and interest of the Bron and Faelen soldiers. They eye us and almost in unison slip their hands to their sword hilts.
“Perhaps the little Elemental is looking for a duel,” one of the Bron guards says, prompting the others to snicker.
“As long as it’s to the death,” another replies.
A Faelen soldier steps between them and my line of sight. “I’ll caution you both to watch your words.” He waits a moment, then resumes his previous position, and the look the first Bron guard sends me says it’s only the Faelen and Cashlin men’s presence that is keeping him from descending on me.
I finger my knives and stare at them as the seconds tick by.
Those seconds slip into minutes. Which slide into hours.
Two hours pass in the uncomfortable, tension-filled hallway, and it has gone from absolute silence to the occasional weary shuffle of the guards’ leather or metal. The sudden clip-clip-clipping of Rasha’s shoes and the tromping of two guards with her bring me to a standing position.
“My apologies,” she whispers hurriedly, glancing between me and her soldiers. “Sending an immediacy letter to my mum via the High Court runners proved more difficult than expected.” She peers down the other corridor to Eogan’s room. “Has anything happened?”
I shake my head and catch an eyeful from one of her men, whose frown I gather is disapproving the fact I’ve not curtsied before Her Cashlin Highness.
“All has been silent, Princess,” he says.
“When’s the airship scheduled to leave?” I ask.
Rasha turns to me. “In two hours. But—”
A click down the hall echoes loud, and in unison we both freeze.
Eogan’s door opens and his guards step back as a swath of Bron soldiers emerge, and in the middle of them, him.
“But Eogan is boarding now,” Rasha says.
A burst of sour slides up my throat. I slip one of my blades into my ankle sheath before handing her the letter for King Sedric and, keeping the other blade tucked into my dress skirt, nod. “Then let’s go.”
Before I can move she grabs my arm and lowers her voice. “I still think this is a bad idea.”
I narrow my gaze and glance down the hall toward Draewulf. And bite back the remark that I don’t care what she thinks right now. We have to go.
She sighs. “But seeing that you’re obviously set on it, first make me a promise.”
I raise a brow.
“I’ve decided to agree with you regarding the politics of exposing Draewulf on Faelen soil. And I believe that if we can make it to Bron, it’d be wiser to do it there, in front of his council, especially considering he’s just offed their King Odion. However . . .” She stops and waits until I look at her. “You have to promise me that you won’t get caught, and the moment anything goes wrong, you won’t even hesitate to do what needs to be done.”
Is that it? I give her a sharp nod. Fine.
“Nor will you stop me if I decide to do so.” She waits for me to nod again before slipping of
f the cloak she’s wearing. “I’ve figured out where to hide you on the ship, but we need to disguise you as my maid-in-waiting to—”
“That won’t work. They’ll investigate and as soon as they see my hair, they’ll recognize me.”
She curls her lips wryly at me. “Which is why I still think this is a terrible idea. Perhaps—”
“I’m going,” I interrupt, watching Eogan and his entourage disappear from the far end of the hallway. “And I have a better idea.”
Rasha raises a brow before she nods and looks to her men. “You two guards follow Eogan. You other three come with us.”
We’ve gone down three corridors when I tell her men, “It’d be best if you stay here.”
Rasha tips her chin at them just as we reach the door we’re to go through. I shove it open when a voice rings out, “May I help you, miss?”
Litches.
I stall. Turn. Tannin.
He looks at Rasha’s men, at her, and then at the door I’m holding ajar.
“I was heading up to grab a cloak,” I say.
His smile falters. He stares at the gilded wood behind my head as if he can see around it and is quite aware that this direction leads nowhere near our rooms, let alone my wardrobe. “Would you like me to get it for you, miss? Afterward I’d be glad to escort you to King Sedric. I believe the waltz is about to be played.”
“Thank you, but—”
“I think I’m in need of some fresh air,” Rasha says.
“Then allow me to—”
I wave him off. “The princess and I just need a few minutes for . . . woman issues.”
A blush blooms on his cheeks, and before he can say anything further, I flip around and push through the door to rush with Rasha up a flight of candlelit stairs, vaguely aware that her guards have settled into place to prevent Tannin from following.
It’s black as hulls and freezing when she and I step outside the palace door onto the Northern Wing’s upper courtyard. The place has been converted into some type of platform for the airship, and the few torches lining the far wall flicker through the fog. Their light glints off the giant metallic ship floating in front of us—or at least the underside of it, which is the only part visible since the makeshift scaffolding rising up in front of us is stretched out to surround the entire top portion. On the ground nearby, a ribbed-looking base for holding the ship has been slid away, allowing the hull to float a good five feet off the ground. Large ropes tether it in place, but even so it lists toward us and the scaffold.
“Your quarters have already been assigned?” I whisper.
“Yes, but—”
“On which side are they?”
“This one,” she murmurs. “Four stories up on the deck level. But I don’t think—”
“So just above that window there?” I count four perpendicular windows and point at the topmost one that sits just beneath the spiraling planks hiding our view of the ship’s upper portion.
“Nym.” Her tone sparks uneasy. “I really think we should wait until Eogan’s boarded the ship and then try to—”
A man’s voice breaks through the fog. “King Eogan and the rest of his men, Captain.”
I peer up at the scaffold rising in front of us and listen to the tromping feet cross it. Squinting down, I eye the two beams closest to us with a crossplank at the bottom. They’re higher up than I’d counted on. “I’m going to need a boost.”
“Are you insane?” Rasha grabs my shoulder and pulls me around. Her brown hair and face loom toward me in the dark. “You’re going to climb?”
“They won’t believe I’m your maid. They’ll see my face beneath that cloak, and the minute they do . . .”
There’s a clatter above our heads, then another from an alcove in the torch-lit wall opposite the courtyard where we’re tucked into the shadow. A whistle from up top and then the soldiers’ voices are talking over each other, muffled by boots along the ramps. “Your Majesty, this way,” someone shouts.
“Bron guards! A second sweep of the yard below!” another yells in an accent.
Kracken. “Hurry, give me a lift before they search this area!”
“You actually think we can fit through there?” Rasha snorts, pointing up at the round window that is slightly ajar.
“All I need is a lift. I’ll meet you inside once you board with your men.” Without waiting for a reply, I slide from the door and duck into the shadow of the giant ship’s hull. She follows with an expression declaring this is crazy, even as she weaves her hands into a stirrup and hoists me to the first plank.
I begin to climb.
Within moments I’m sweating as I stretch from one board to the next and nearly fall in the first two attempts because my curled fingers can’t grasp onto anything this size. Curses. I finally settle on a sort of shimmy that effectively punctures my arms with splinters and shreds every last thread of my dress, but I manage to move from one post to the next. My arms and legs and bandaged hands burn with the strain. C’mon, Nym. Just get up and get in if you want to help Eogan.
I’m a quarter of the way up when the clang of metal against stone is followed by guards’ voices. I glance down only to discover Rasha has somehow jumped and is following me up. What the—?
Accented muttering floats up from below her, and abruptly two Bron soldiers appear, swords in hand, in their sweep of the courtyard.
Litches. I plaster myself as close to the slightly tilting ship as I dare and hope to hulls she follows suit.
The scowling men move unbearably slow, looking around at the Castle’s doors and into the courtyard shadows as they talk. Rasha’s warning from the hall makes my palms ache. “If they find you sneaking aboard the ship, they will kill you.”
Apparently their conversation is more interesting than doing their actual job though because they continue on around the side without ever glancing up, and I exhale in relief.
Except two seconds later Rasha starts climbing again.
I give her a look and beckon her back, but either it’s too dark for her to see it or she’s too busy gasping for breath between planks because she gives no indication of a response other than to keep going. Bleeding hulls.
The airship lilts toward us, bumping into the scaffolding enough to make the wood moan, and for a moment I envision the whole thing giving way and crumbling on top of us, or else bringing the guards back. I adjust my grip and watch Rasha brace against one of the beams until, after a moment, the airship steadies and there’s no reappearance of soldiers. I wait for her to reach me.
“Are you crazy?” I hiss. “Go back. There’s no sense for both of us to be killed.”
“Which is exactly why I’m here,” she whispers. “If the Bron soldiers discover you without a delegate, they’ll not act mercifully. Now move.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the ship lists again and soldiers begin to shout overhead. I scowl and continue skirting up the rest of the beams.
When we finally reach the window, it’s barely ajar. I press into it with the knuckles of my twisted hand while holding on with the other. For the smallest moment the thing is jammed and I’m scared we’ll have to climb back down. But the next, the glass gives way and squeaks open wide enough to allow Rasha and me to pull our way through.
The room we fall into is a pantry lit by a single light on the wall. The glass-enclosed flame illuminates the space like a candle but with less movement. I frown at it, then pull Rasha up and point us both to the door. “This way.”
We slink up the absolute narrowest set of steps I’ve ever seen until we reach another door that opens onto a thin hall also lit by those strange lights.
I jump as a crash sounds from the other side of one wall, and the men’s voices from earlier heighten. They’re just outside.
“Which way?” I mouth.
Rasha squints as if looking for her bearings. “In there.” Her tone is panicked as she indicates a room a few yards from us.
We’re just sliding along the hall toward it w
hen the sound of her harried breathing is replaced by a low chuckle. It slips through me with an intimacy that makes every hair on my body bristle.
I flip toward the stairwell we just left, only to see the space undulate in a way that curls my insides. Another wave of floor bending hits and I grab the wall, but the rippling grows stronger and my stomach’s suddenly lurching and I’m leaning over again right before a mental image of a bolcrane fills my vision. The beast opens its jaws and raises a shiny black claw as its scaly body barrels toward us. I duck and force my mind to scream It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s so blasted not real.
Then the image flickers.
The floor tilts and the ceiling falls.
“Well, well, wellll,” a muffled, snakelike voice purrs. “If thisss isn’t a quandary.”
CHAPTER 6
THE HALLWAY SHIFTS AGAIN, RIGHTING ITSELF. Except this time there’s something else with it. A shudder in the thin layer of atmosphere.
I choke and grab Rasha’s arm in case she’ll screech, just as the wretch pushes a tiny cabin door open in front of us to reveal himself—Myles, Lord Protectorate and Blasted Oaf. Standing three feet away. Sporting a handsome face that’s looking a bit nauseous behind a smooth grin.
The odd, enclosed lighting glimmers off that one silver tooth among a row of white, perfectly straight ones. He steps forward, props his arm against the wall, and grins at me. “Rough evening, love? Need a hug?”
I leap at him faster than he can brace himself and clamp my bandaged hand around the cravat at his throat while my gimpy hand reaches for my knife.
“Ah-ah, careful with the clothing.”
I tighten my grip on his frilly bow and jerk him toward me, then slip the blade near his gut. “I should kill you.”
“Ooh, let’s torture him first,” Rasha whispers. “But maybe in the room because Eogan’s men are right outside the hall.”