While neither of us likes the idea of leaving Remy to the mercy of Darian, we understand the wisdom of Catoria’s plan. We need more people who are loyal to the Alliance and have magic to use in this fight.
“All right,” I say. “Let’s get Owen.”
I rise, but before we can leave, Zandria grabs my arm. “Aissa, wait.” She regards Catoria nervously. “I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye on what the new Alliance’s goals should be. And I’m still not sure I’m entirely sold on the Technos and Magi being full equals. But after seeing the Magi camp and knowing what we do now about Darian . . . we’re going to destroy each other if we don’t stop this war. I don’t see any other way to do that than somehow making peace.”
Warmth blooms in my chest and I grip my sister’s shoulders. “Zandria, we healed one of the Heartless. The Heartsong spell worked. Vivienne has been spreading rumors about it far and wide. More Technocrats may be ready for the Alliance than we expected.”
Her face turns cloudy. “Now we just have to worry about own people.”
“We’ll find a way,” I say. And with my sister back at my side, I wholeheartedly believe it.
CHAPTER 38
WHEN WE REACH THE TUNNELS AND THE black marble arches, I can’t help but feel as though something is off. I can’t put my finger on it, but my hackles are raised, and I’m more on my guard than usual. We open the door—still locked, which is a relief—and head into the main chamber.
Owen lays unconscious in the middle of the room. Zandria rushes over to him, immediately verifying whether he’s breathing. She lets out a sigh of relief when he moans and puts a hand to his temple. A bruise is forming there. “Someone knocked him out,” Zandria says.
I stiffen immediately, then run toward my room, shouting, “Aro!” I haven’t felt anything, so he should be safe, but I won’t feel good about this until I see him with my own eyes. “Aro!”
But when I reach our room, no one is there. I check every room in our hideout, and find the same thing: nothing, nothing, nothing.
Aro is gone.
I clench my teeth as the truth hits me. Frustrated at being left behind yet again, Aro must’ve knocked out Owen when he returned from putting out the signal rune for the Magi we rescued. He has his own plan to help us win this war.
I know exactly what it is.
And that it’s doomed to fail.
“Forges!” I spit out, and Zandria gives me a surprised look.
“It’s all right, Aissa, Owen will be fine.” He’s come around and sits up as Zandria applies a healing spell to the cut and bruise on his temple.
“It’s Aro I’m worried about.”
“I think he hit me with something,” Owen mumbles.
“Yes, I think he did,” I say. “He’s been frustrated now that his work on the Heartsong is complete. But he’s told me before what he wants to do to help. He’s gone to the Palace to try to talk some sense into his parents.”
Zandria barks out a laugh. “That’s foolish of him.”
“I’ve told him that over and over. But they’re his parents. He doesn’t believe he’s in any danger.”
“Do you think they’ll hurt him?” Catoria asks.
I shudder. “I have no idea. But I’m positive Darian will the second he gets the chance. Getting rid of Aro is a critical part of his plans to take the throne.”
“That means getting rid of you too, though I doubt Darian knows it yet,” Zandria says.
Catoria puts a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll be here to support the both of you with magic if it comes to that,” she says.
But I only feel marginally better. Catoria and Zandria can’t babysit me round the clock. Especially not when we have an entire city to defend on multiple fronts.
I steel my spine. I refuse to cower in fear over what Darian might do.
I found Aro once before when he was hidden under our noses. I can find him again. I just need to get into the Palace. Thanks to his directions about the tunnels, that’s a simpler task than it was before.
Owen is on his feet again, much more stable than he was a few minutes ago. “Are you all right now?” I ask him.
“Practically perfect.” He glances at Zandria and blushes. I raise my eyebrows when I realize my sister’s cheeks are pink too.
“Then let’s go rescue more Magi . . . and my prince.”
Half an hour later, we’re well into the tunnels that lead to the dungeons. Zandria has been arguing with me the entire way. She, Catoria, and Owen need to free as many Magi prisoners as possible while I go to the upper levels and hunt for Aro.
“I don’t like this one bit, Aissa,” Zandria grumbles. She knows she can’t stop me from going. But that doesn’t mean she won’t complain about it.
“This will be quicker and more efficient. Besides, it’s not like Aro will need assistance getting out of here aside from our shield spell.” I hold my arms wide. “See? I’m fine physically, which means he is too.”
Zandria rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say.”
Catoria speaks up as we reach the secret door by the dungeons. “Aissa is correct. It’s the most efficient way to achieve all our goals at once. She has a point about him being physically healthy too.” She eyes me carefully. “But let me bolster you a little just in case.”
She mutters the words to a spell so softly that I can’t make them out, but I feel the fizz of her magic course over me, and then I feel fresher, stronger, more alive than moments ago.
“What was that?” I say, my voice full of wonder.
“An energizing spell,” she says. “It takes a little of the caster’s own energy with it, otherwise, I’d cast it on all of us. But I think you’ll need it the most today.”
“Thank you,” I say. “And good luck.”
The others enter the dungeons through the hidden door, and I wait for a moment to be sure they don’t run into immediate trouble. When no sounds of guards or a fight come through the wall, I continue as the tunnel circles ever upward.
A knot tightens in my stomach. Aro’s angry with me. But I’m afraid he’s about to discover the hard way I’m right.
When I reach the secret door to the ground floor, I kneel before it, listening for any signs of life beyond. Feeling confident no one is there, I press the sigil, and the door slides open, quiet as a whisper. I tiptoe out into the hall under the safety of my cloaking spell and get my bearings. This isn’t a hall I recognize, but given where we entered the tunnels, I know approximately where I am in the Palace. The east wing. Aro’s quarters shouldn’t be too far from here. The trick will be how well guarded those main doors leading to his quarters are.
I could be wrong, but knowing the king and queen, there’s an excellent chance Aro was locked up in his rooms the second he set foot in the Palace. Good thing he gave me Leon’s master key for safekeeping.
It’s slightly unnerving to not see my reflection in the steel mirror-walled halls. But I’m struck by memories of when I was first here, searching for a little girl who was the heir to the throne, my head full of confusingly warm thoughts about the boy who would turn out to be the true heir. Now here I am, after him once again.
Tonight, no guard stands watch outside the door to the hallway leading to Aro’s quarters. Perhaps they were reassigned and haven’t yet resumed their post. I wait until there are no servants or courtiers coming and going through this area, then I slip through the door and creep down the hall. When I unlock the door to Aro’s room, I swallow my surprise.
It’s empty.
I quickly search Aro’s room but find no trace of him. Wherever he went, his parents haven’t locked him up in here again. Yet.
He must be with his parents. But where would they be? Either in their own quarters—which I never found when I was here before—or somewhere else in the Palace.
It’s time to use my backup plan: the tracking spell I initially cast on Aro the night we rescued him from Isaiah/Darian’s grasp while he slept. Just in case I ever needed it.
I weave my hand over a small stone cylinder made from that magic-infused black marble. A tracker is a spell that holds; I only need to cast it once to reactivate it, leaving me free to conceal myself under a shield. Until the Sanctuary, I didn’t realize there were many spells like this and the Binding rite, ones that don’t need to be released before the user can cast another spell. But it works, and the cylinder angles toward the door leading to the hallway. It’s a strange feeling, a tug of magic in the right direction. I can feel it all the way in my heart, perhaps our bond reacting to the magic of this new spell.
I hold out the tracking stone, letting it guide my path. Cautious as always, I pause behind every door before opening it to determine what awaits me in the hallway beyond, then proceed with all the speed I can safely muster. The tracking stone takes me down a hall I once traveled more accidentally than anything not far from Aro’s quarters. That was the day I witnessed the queen torturing Vivienne. A sight I’ll never forget. Whenever I think I’ve seen the full fathom of the queen’s mercy, there always seems to be deeper depths for her to sink to. I shudder but keep moving down the corridor.
The stone takes me to the same door I remember.
Aro’s inside. No question.
How I will reach him without anyone else inside the room noticing that someone opened the door is, however, a big question.
I hear voices, but I can’t make them out, nor do I dare relinquish my cloaking spell. Frustration fills me. I’m so close, yet stymied.
The door swings open, and a harried-looking serving girl rushes into the hall and down the corridor, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“. . . and be quick about it!” the king calls after her.
A plan forms in my mind. I consider the layout of the hallway. There are several doors, and I quickly determine which are rooms and which are closets.
Then I wait.
When the serving girl returns holding a dustpan and brush, I pounce. My shield drops as I mutter a sleeping spell, “Somnis.”
The girl slumps in my arms, and I drag her into the nearest closet, quietly shutting the door on her slumbering form. I feel a pang of guilt. She’s going to be confused when she wakes, and if one of her masters discovers her before that happens, there will be fires to burn. But it’s necessary.
Before anyone else can wander down the hall, I cast the form-changing spell, grimacing as the magic works its way through my muscles and skin and bones. When it’s done, I check my reflection in the hall.
I look exactly like the serving girl. I pick up the brush and dustpan from the floor, then hunch over slightly in the manner the girl carried herself and open the door.
“It’s about time,” the king says the moment I enter the room. “Clean up that mess you made, girl. Then get us more refreshments.” King Damon smiles as he says this, and the sharp metal tips of his teeth catch the mechlights in an alarming manner.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” I say as meekly as possible. Broken glass is scattered over the floor near a large metal cabinet; that must be the mess he’s referring to. He probably frightened the poor girl enough that she dropped drinking glasses and they shattered. I waste no time cleaning it up as I scope out the room.
It’s much the same as the first time I saw it—a regal drawing room—but this time the couches and chairs are arranged in a more normal fashion, and the curtains are open, letting moonlight filter into the room. The spurt of blood still streaks across one wall, and two more have joined it since. The king and queen lounge on one of the couches, seemingly at ease, though clearly annoyed with me, the serving girl.
My heart stutters and I nearly drop the dustpan when I spy Aro sitting on a chair in the corner. His pale hair glimmers in the mechlights, and his face is creased with irritation.
Judging by the scowl on Aro’s face, his conversation with his parents is definitely not going the way he expected.
Once I’ve cleaned up the broken glass, I toss the debris down the garbage chute and then position myself at what I hope is an appropriately respectful distance in the corner. The king stares at me expectantly, and even the queen turns her head and frowns.
“If you’re trying to get fired, say the word, and we can give you a whipping right away,” King Damon says.
I do my best not to startle, realizing my fatal error. The serving girl must have been in the middle of a task when she broke the glass items. They looked like wine glasses. Since the king and queen aren’t currently drinking anything, it’s a fair bet they’re waiting for me to pour them more. I take a step toward the wine cabinet when the queen tsks and gives a heavy sigh.
“Honestly. We haven’t cut your ears off—yet—but perhaps we should for how well you listen.” The queen scowls. Aro’s forehead is creased by a deep V between his brows.
I bow low. “My apologies, Your Majesties. Please, may I beg you for a reminder so that I may do your bidding correctly?”
“Moth—” Aro begins, but the queen cuts him off before he can finish the word. Mother. They hide this secret even from the servants. He sighs. “For the Anvil’s sake, just tell the poor girl what she’s supposed to do. She’s clearly terrified.”
This elicits a smirk from the queen and a grunt from the king. The king gets to his feet and steps toward me. My heart throbs in my chest, pounding so loud I fear he might hear my Magi blood. Or even smell it with some strange mechanical enhancement. Who knows what these people have dreamed up?
The king is tall with dark, peppered hair, the opposite of his queen. His robes are a deep purple, almost black, and his eyes glint strangely. When he gets closer, towering over me, I realize it’s because there’s something mechanical in them. I don’t dare stare long enough to get a good look, but the rumors he can see keenly for long distances may not be fairy tales after all.
I duck my head and bow again. He sneers, sending skitters down my spine. When I glance up for a moment, his wickedly sharp teeth flash at me.
Rage rushes through me. The only thing preventing me from reaching out and stopping his heart is Aro.
Aro, who is right there, watching me. If I kill his parents—in front of him, no less—there’s no world in which he’ll forgive me. I know what it’s like to lose your parents. As much as I hate his, I can’t do that to him.
That’s the only thing that saves them. And probably me.
King Damon reaches past me to open the door of the tall metal cabinet. I move to the side and it swings open. For a moment, I’m not sure what this contraption is, but he gestures at the spout and the nearby cabinet full of glass and metal goblets.
“Does this ring any bells?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. My apologies, Your Majesty.”
“Then get to it.” He sneers as he returns to the couch.
“Right away, Your Majesty,” I say, automatically reaching for a goblet while I study the strange metal cabinet. The spout disappears into the metal box, as if this is some vintage they enjoy so much that they have it on tap here in this room. There are a few small holes around eye level and a seam down the center. I can’t quite tell whether it’s decorative or serves a purpose. At waist height is a lock. My breath catches.
What on earth is this contraption? Is this a trick?
Three sets of eyes burn into my back. I have no choice but to take the risk. I pull the lever on the spout and a thick, warm liquid spills into the goblet I hold beneath it. The unmistakable scent of iron hits my nose, turning my stomach, but it’s mixed with something else.
Something fizzy. Something magic.
Inside the cabinet, something—someone—moans. Then something shifts and the cabinet shakes.
Horror shoots through me so fast it makes me dizzy. My vision floods red with rage.
The royals are drinking Magi blood.
They’re drinking Magi blood.
No wonder they seem to have barely aged in the years I’ve lived in Palinor. No wonder their strength and keen senses are legendary. Who knows what consuming unbridled magic might do to a Technocrat?
Suddenly everything is crystal clear. My breath calms and the ringing in my ears stops.
I turn slowly, and my eyes immediately go to the two empty, red-stained goblets on the table.
I squeeze the goblet in my hands hard enough that it shatters. A plume of red and silver bursts, then shivers to the floor. My hands are bloody and sting with cuts, but I don’t even feel the pain. The blood isn’t mine. At least not most of it.
The king stands again and strides toward me. “What on earth is wrong with you, g—”
Before he can finish the word, my spell catches him by the throat, yanking him off his feet. His eyes widen as he chokes. His hands scrabble at the invisible strings holding him up.
Fury consumes me. I squeeze my fist and the magic tightens around his throat.
King Damon gasps. I hate him. I want him to die.
Him and the queen. They’re the ones perpetuating the lies about the Magi. They’re the ones bent on destroying my people.
The queen rises, a keen glimmer in her eyes. “A spy in our midst,” she murmurs, showing little interest in her suffocating husband. “Poor thing. You just realized what we keep in that cabinet, didn’t you?”
Aro—who has remained seated in shocked silence this whole time—gets to his feet. “Mother,” he says in a low voice. “What do you keep in that cabinet?”
Heartless Heirs Page 27