Everyone laughed, reaching for the bags of food and the silverware that Navier was able to snag as he and Sathryn walked past a stand and ate as if Julian’s speech were only casual, that his words meant no more than a friendly gesture. But for Sathryn, her hands tremored and her face heated every time she found herself glancing in Julian’s direction.
Thankfully no one noticed.
And if anyone did—most likely Colette, as the little redheaded witch had a talent of catching Sathryn when she was most embarrassed—they said nothing about it.
But after the dinner was over, she became less tense. Julian brought over his harp, Navier his lute, and Colette her flute, even as Julian insisted she didn’t know how to play. Sathryn sat as the single audience member. She was unable to play an instrument, but for once, she was okay with that. Listening was satisfying enough for her.
Once they played a piece—“Spring,” Julian called it—it was obvious Colette didn’t know how to play, at least not very well. Every time a note screamed from her instrument, it caused a horrible discord. Julian and Navier didn’t get angry like Sathryn did—they laughed.
“Beautiful.” Julian laughed, running his hands all along the body of his harp.
Colette finally took mercy on the others and let Julian and Navier play on their own, as their abilities surpassed hers by far. Sathryn didn’t even care as much when Colette sat beside her, as she was too entranced by the speed of Navier’s fingers as they plucked the lute’s strings.
They finished, laughing and bowing for their cheering crowd of two. Then, Navier and Julian set their instruments in the corner and grabbed the bag of gifts.
In Pomek, the gifts were to someone and from someone else; here, the gifts were for everyone. Colette opened a glass container of perfume and dabbed it along her arms and neck before handing it around their circle. By the time Colette had the bottle in her hands again, it was half empty, and the room was so stifling with the rosy smell that Julian had to open the room’s curtains to let air flow in. Sathryn couldn’t admit to them she was guilty, so instead she coughed and sneezed with the rest of them. Then, Julian pulled boxes of desserts from the bag—sweet bread, chocolate, caramels, fruits, pastries—and doled them out among their circle.
“How much did all of this cost?” Sathryn couldn’t help asking.
Julian laughed, shrugging as if he had not a care in the world. “Don’t worry about it.”
By midnight, the feast had died down to nothing more than the ghosts of rose perfume and half-eaten fruits strewn about the floor. Colette was lying on her back against the floor, Navier was on his stomach, Julian was plucking random strings on his harp, and Sathryn was wandering about the perimeter of the room, running her fingertips along the depressions in the wall. It was in an effort to fight her impending exhaustion—she didn’t want to be first to go to bed.
Which was why when Julian finally spoke, she was relieved. “Should we sleep?”
From the floor, Colette, who Sathryn assumed was already drifting, piped in. “Probably. But I don’t want to.”
Sathryn stopped walking and looked at Julian. “Yes. Especially since tomorrow is the last day.”
Julian’s lips quirked up at the corners. “This is it.” What was left of the food they put back in the bags, and Julian went outside to collect the remains of fallen snow to try and preserve the meat.
Colette shook Navier awake and dragged him to their room. Julian placed his harp in the corner and followed Sathryn down the hallway in silence.
Sathryn didn’t bother to roll back the blanket they’d bought. Her head hit the pillow, and she was asleep.
It was amazing how well Julian could pretend he wasn’t nervous.
In fact, he was so good at pretending not to be nervous that he even seemed perkier than he had days previous—all smiles and high energy. But Sathryn could see the anxiety camouflaged within his eyes. Every so often, she would catch him in that rare display of mellowness as Navier had said—a moment where he would just stop and stare, a moment where his voice would fade out at the mention of the kings or the castle or the prison. Had she not been paying attention to him, she would have overlooked the minor gestures.
The end of the day neared, and with it came a rush of pent-up worry. Every time Colette missed a shot with her dagger, even slightly, she would get so frustrated that she would miss again, placing her in an endless loop of disappointment. Sathryn tried not to look at her too much—she knew how it felt knowing someone was watching your failures. Julian was racing around the room and practicing shooting his arrows while moving. He’d asked Navier to place little obstacles about the room—a large stone here, a hanging vine there—for him to leap over and duck under for stamina, agility. But he was getting so tense that he stumbled over himself and landed arrows precariously about the room rather than on their intended targets. One once whisked right by Colette; she dodged it, but it made her miss her knives again. Navier was slinging his sword around and throwing darts—the movement of his sword, usually graceful and natural, an extension of his arm, became choppy and uncoordinated.
Tension had the opposite effect on Sathryn. She hadn’t been a prodigy at her weapon as the others were, so her dagger flings and arrow shots were accurate—at least, more accurate than before. The nerves just reminded her what would be happening in exactly a day—reminded her that she wasn’t a prodigy, and if she wanted to live, she would have to rein herself in.
At night, she ate even though her nerves cinched her stomach. It wasn’t a party like it had been the night before. The quiet they sat in while they ate was more deafening than Colette’s flute, and even after they ate, after all of the food was gone and they had nothing more to do than sit and stare around the room or at each other, no one spoke for a long time.
Navier stood. He tried to smile, but it had no life; it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe we should play something.” He bent to pick up his lute, but Julian stopped him.
“I’m going to bed.” He stood and left the room. Sathryn rushed to follow him.
“Are you nervous?” Sathryn already knew the answer, but she wondered what he would say.
“Terrified,” he answered. “Up until now, I don’t think I realized what I was getting myself into.” He laughed bitterly. “I don’t quite regret anything, but I’m nervous.”
He crawled into bed and closed his eyes.
Sathryn, unable to fall asleep, thought through the plan for tomorrow in her head repeatedly.
It would start with all four of them approaching the castle from behind. They could not use horses, as it would be too conspicuous, so they would have to walk. According to Julian, the castle had certain weak spots by nature—walls so strangely built that there were many crevices to hide behind. There were also evergreen trees and bushes just high enough to meld any invader into the surroundings. Once they all reached these weak spots, they would enter the castle using one of the cellar doors, watching for guards and any other surveillers. Once they were inside, they would sneak through and familiarize themselves with the entire castle.
He said they would get help from Colette’s father, who worked for the kings as an interior guard. As Colette put it, her father became disloyal to the kings the minute Julian’s mother was burned and Julian himself was forced from the region a few years later. His assistance, however, was limited, as he could not blow away his cover and secrecy. The main rule was, of course, to avoid getting caught. But the second rule was that they shouldn’t stray far from each other. Colette had suggested to split up into groups of two, but Julian argued strength in numbers. He said that if they were caught by the kings—God forbid—they had a better chance of survival as four than they did as two. And he was right as far as Sathryn could tell.
athryn didn’t want to wake up, because waking up meant grabbing weapons and walking to Kings’ Castle. But she couldn’t just ignore the way Julian was shaking her shoulders and telling her to wake up. So she cracked open her eyes.
/> Julian had gotten new clothes somehow. His pants and boots were sturdier, as was his shirt and the thick vest he wore over it, and his weapons bag was already slung over his broad shoulders as if he were leaving right then. “Finally,” he muttered. “Get up. We are leaving soon. Your new clothes are on my bed.” His eyes switched around the room like little blue hummingbirds. “Hurry.” He rushed from the room.
Sathryn crawled from the bed with her fists in her eyes. Her new clothes were lying on the bed and waiting for her, looking just as thick and tough as Julian’s had. She pulled on the pair of pants and the shirt and vest, then left out the door to the training room, where she met Colette, Navier, and Julian, all waiting. For her.
Julian tossed her a leather coat and a belt with pockets in it. It was a sheath, and it was supposed to be hidden under her coat.
“Is everyone ready?” Julian asked. A stream of sweat trickled down his face. Sliding her weapons into her belt and casting one final glance about the house, Sathryn nodded. Maybe it was because she hadn’t yet registered the cliff right under her feet, but Sathryn didn’t feel nervous yet.
She realized how early in the morning it was the minute they breached the barrier between Julian’s doorway and the dew-dropped green grass growing alongside the cobblestone walkway. The dark sky’s rising sun blew wispy colors through the clouds: pinks, purples, reds, oranges. The early-morning birds sang from their canopies as if wishing them luck. The low sunlight made the trees’ shadows long and narrow against the cool ground and melted snow riddled with underbrush and low-swinging branches. No one wandered the streets. In their place were clumps of trash from the exciting night before and the beginnings of Spring Festival decorations. As soon as the sun shined through the eyelids of the sleeping Kingslanders, they would all rise and finish hanging streamers and lanterns and flowers all along their homes and streetlamps. Sathryn wanted to wait and see how it looked when finished—all the colors and lights and smiling and music—but she decided against asking Julian, whose terse tone and calculated movements suggested he wasn’t in the mood for the festival.
Julian handed them food when their bodies and shadows were shaded by the dark-green forest canopies lining one side of the region. It was food he’d taken in the days previous, and there was so much of it that Sathryn was full, something she knew she wouldn’t feel for quite a while afterward. After their silent meal, they trekked toward the castle at the mercy of Julian’s old parchment map once more.
Farther up the hill, they came upon a brick wall almost as tall as the one surrounding the region. Julian pushed them all back against the wall, his eyes surveilling the area.
“Guard,” Navier whispered, pointing at a figure along the brick barricade. The guard, a tall, heavy man in a gray cloak, was walking closer into view. He paused and looked around like a hound sniffing the air. Sathryn tensed, and her arm flew to the dagger at her waist. She glanced over and saw the others were doing the same.
“Do you see any more guards?” Julian asked them all in a voice so soft she could hardly hear him.
Colette and Navier shook their heads.
Then, as soon as the guard glanced the other way, Julian slipped from the confines of the shadows and crept toward the guard. Sathryn reached to try and pull him back, but Colette—that witch—yanked her back with a strong, steel arm. “He knows what he is doing,” she hissed.
So instead of yanking him back, Sathryn watched Julian grab the guard from behind and clap his sturdy hand over the guard’s mouth. The guard had the advantage of his weight, but Julian’s stealth and agility surprised him. He thrashed beneath his grip, which made Julian’s grip tighter until the guard went limp. Removing his hand, Julian dragged the now unconscious—dead?—guard into the woods beside them.
Sathryn stared down at the wilted guard, then up at Julian. Had he just killed him? But Julian knew the look she was giving him and shook his head. “He isn’t dead,” he said. “Only unconscious. Help me take his clothing off.”
Julian now stood in the guard’s long cloak and hat, and the guard lay in Julian’s coat. “It’s a bit large,” Julian said with a light laugh when he peered down at himself. It was the first time he’d cracked a smile in a while, and Sathryn felt it lift her spirit and everyone else’s. The guard’s cloak hung past Julian’s hands and made him look like a little boy in his father’s clothing. “It’ll work,” he said with a shrug, adjusting the hat low to shade his eyes. “Let’s go.”
The next time they stopped, the sun had pulled itself above the barricade of mountaintops and was shining down on the awaking town below them. As they had busied themselves climbing the inclining pathway to Kings’ Castle, they didn’t even realize the people below were decorating. Now, when it finally occurred to them to look at what the sun smiled upon, they saw the city decorated and welcoming spring.
Glass wind chimes, painted to stain colors along the street when the sun hit them, were strung across every door, and they twinkled and tinkled and twirled every time a light gust of wind wove through them. Bundles of fresh, bright, early-bloom flowers hung in baskets in doorways and windows and along street corners, and the wind dispersed the scent of fresh-picked bloodroots and lilacs into Sathryn’s nose. Vendors toted their carts behind them, but now, instead of selling warm bread and chocolates, they sold fruits, early in growth and brought in underripe from other, warmer places. Nevertheless, people swarmed the carts, ready for fresh spring fruits. Another vendor sold vegetables; another sold seeds. The ground was still too hard to grow much, but the excitement was palpable regardless, and it flew from the town all the way to Sathryn.
She smiled and turned to Julian, but he was already walking farther up the hill. Her smile faltered, but she turned to Navier anyway. He looked back and grinned.
“Do you see the Velda’s walking down the streets?” he asked.
Sathryn tried looking where he pointed, but she couldn’t see much more than the flowers and the fires and the people. “Where?”
Navier approached her from behind, then grabbed her arm and pointed it toward the main street. He leaned his head in close to her ear. “Right . . . there. There! Do you see it?”
And she did. A Velda’s dragon—a giant orange-and-yellow figure—lumbered through the streets. She could hardly see it at first, as its colors blended with the rest of the Festival surroundings, but once she laid her eyes on its beautiful, scaly body, she couldn’t miss it. Navier’s hand still rested against her arm. “I see it,” she said in awe.
Navier laughed, dropping her hand. “Isn’t it beautiful? It’s tradition—on the first day, an orange-and-yellow Velda’s walks through the streets to welcome spring, and on the last day, a bright-green dragon walks through to honor the end of spring and welcome summer.” Pomek did not do this. Sathryn recalled spring dinners, perhaps, and decorations, but nothing as beautiful and extravagant as this. “Hopefully,” Navier continued, “we’ll be able to see the Festival of Harvest. It’s in August . . .”
The Velda’s roamed into a cul-de-sac lined with homes, guards guiding it on either side. Not once did the beast break his celebratory surroundings with a roar or a tantrum. People even wandered up to his great, looming head and ran their fingers along the bridge of the beast’s snout.
“They’re touching him,” Sathryn murmured. When she turned to face Navier, she found that he was already looking down at her and beaming.
“You can do that with Velda’s,” he said. “Very big, but very tame—”
“You two, let’s go!” shouted Julian. His voice was harsh. She glanced over at him, but as soon as she caught his face, he turned, hiding whatever expression he held. “We still have a lot of ground to cover.”
Reluctantly, Sathryn turned away from the start of the Festival and the beautiful dragon and ran to catch up with Julian.
By his side and up close, he looked so much more rigid than he had from afar. “Did you see that dragon back there?” she asked.
Julian nodded.
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Sathryn tried tapping his arm, anything to get him to loosen his tense nerves. “It was beautiful, wasn’t it? I wish I could be down there in the streets . . . all of the people down there looked like they were having so much fun.”
Navier chimed in, “And this is only the first day. Just wait until they start the real fun.”
“Like when they have the Nights of Lights and send lanterns up in the air—” Colette began.
“And in the water!” Navier said.
“And do the fire show—”
“And the dances—”
“And the music—”
“Music?” Sathryn loved the sound of that.
For the first time, Colette positively acknowledged her. “Yes! Music! And plays—”
“And horse races!”
“Dragons—”
“The bi—”
“Stop it!” Julian yelled, shattering the excitement and freezing them all midstep. He whipped around to glare at them all, Sathryn the closest to his ice-cold glower. For a split second she was terrified of him. His face was stiff, and his eyes were switching between them all as if he were losing more and more shards of his control every time he saw their faces.
“Stop it,” he said again. “Do none of you realize where we are going right now? Have you all forgotten what we’re here to do? Why we’re up here on this hill and not there, joining in with all the fun and music and dancing and dragons?” He lowered his voice. “We’re up here, risking our lives, and the last thing any of us need—I need—is for all of you to get distracted! We need to keep our minds on the mission! Has anyone run over the plan, or are you all just preoccupied with all the pretty colors?” Then, his harsh eyes turned onto Sathryn. “And you. I thought that you, of all of us, would want to keep focused, what with your entire damned family locked up in the castle somewhere! Your mother, your father that you always whine about, Etzimek—they’re all probably dead by now because you just want to—”
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