Athan’s hand is already clutching my own again, the only answer I need. The fever dream of this strange night retreats in the wake of renewed conviction. Whatever he’s concerned about, it’s not large enough to kill his determination to help me, and he’s quickly leading me at a run towards the monstrous, glittering shape of home now wrapped in a fog of smoke.
We drop down behind the garden hedges. Faint dark figures loom in the haze, patrolling the grounds, guns raised. Safire uniforms. Cyar makes his move, approaching them with a Savien greeting. They lower their weapons in acknowledgment. One pats his shoulder, asking a question. Cyar points in the opposite direction, towards the stables, urging them to follow, and then they’re gone.
“That was easy,” I say.
“Who wouldn’t believe Cyar?” Athan replies.
Quickly, we dash for the back doors, the ones I always take through the kitchens. It seems the safest bet. We stumble into the scullery, greeted by wide-eyed faces. Hall boys, footmen, maids. They’re all crouched behind tables, gaping at me and my muddy gown and Safire jacket. But I see the one thing I need to see in their gaze—relief. They may be following the General’s orders, panicked, but they’re glad to see me alive. Safe.
It means more than they can know.
“Your Highness,” a hall boy says tentatively. It’s the one who always delivers my breakfast. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I say, trying to sound confident but wildly grateful for a familiar face. “I need to get to Her Majesty.”
“Those rioters in the city are saying terrible things,” one of the maids blurts out. Another elbows her, but she keeps on. “We know it isn’t true, Your Highness. How could anyone believe it?”
The others nod, and I want to cry now. Their loyalty bolsters my courage and touches my heart. My mother has to address the kingdom. These liars don’t speak for everyone and they must be silenced.
“I need to get to Ambassador Gazhirem’s room,” I tell the nearest footman. “We’ll need to use your service stairs, to avoid the main halls. Can you work out a diversion?”
The man fidgets nervously. “We’ve been ordered to stay here, Your Highness.”
“By who?” Athan interjects. I’d almost forgotten him standing behind me.
“Safire orders,” the man stutters in reply.
“Then I give you a new order,” Athan says. “You’re making a diversion. Where are my comrades posted?”
Athan’s words do the trick. It’s almost comical, all these grown men suddenly bumping round, discussing the best way to go, and all because of an eighteen-year-old farm boy who wears the right uniform tonight. But I’m sure it’s reassuring to have a Safire soldier working in unity with me.
Like they’re gambling on both sides at once.
The older footmen go out the doors to the hall, and after a moment there’s a sudden argument in Landori—the Etanian footmen saying they need to check on the injured in the ballroom with the physician, and the Safire saying the injured are well taken care of and about to be transported by the General’s plane to proper facilities, and then the Etanians saying it’s still their duty to check, and back and forth they go while the younger footman slips Athan and me across the hall and into a narrow service door.
We dash up the spiraling stairs for the wing of the state apartments. I pray to Father that my mad idea works.
If Lark is hiding there, let him give me those photographs. Let him see the dire situation we’re in. And if he isn’t, then at least let me find them. Somehow.
Stars, it all sounds worse now that I’m in the palace. My cousin will never let me waste his evidence to save myself. I wonder, briefly, where Havis is but it doesn’t matter. He’s off saving his own neck, for certain.
We’re nearly there and I feel I’ve been running a lifetime. There’s a smoky veil to the air. Someone has opened the windows, letting in the stench of burning trees and flowers and earth. The gunfire and shouts are very close now, just outside the palace.
Silently, the servant boy leaves us at Lark’s room, darting down the hall to scout for Safire. I try to open the door but it’s locked. Athan pushes me back and swings out his pistol. No choice. I say another silent prayer that Athan’s shot will blend into the stammering cacophony of the night, but the report is still loud. Echoing.
I push the wounded door open and—
“Your Highness!”
We both spin.
Three Safire soldiers approach with guns raised, but Athan swings his pistol at them, and they halt abruptly.
“Where is the General?” Athan demands. Again, he sounds far more bold than I expect, as if it’s only natural they should be following his orders, answering his questions.
But it works. They swallow, step back, eyes still on me.
“He’s in the throne room,” one says. “We’re under orders to—”
“To leave her to me,” Athan finishes for him.
The man blinks, then nods.
They retreat down the hall, casting suspicious glances, and we disappear into Lark’s room, shutting the door firm. He isn’t there. Perhaps he’s run off with Havis—which is a relief to me. At least he’s safe. I pull out every drawer, scattering papers and books and maps. I don’t think. I just grab at things, searching, throwing, scouring. But then at last, it’s there, the simple paper folder smudged from sweaty fingers.
I grip it in relieved victory.
“That’s it?” Athan asks, staring like I hold a serpent in my hand. His face is pricked by shameful curiosity, and I know he’d like to look, to see the horrible truth that could condemn his fox and crossed swords forever.
I nod and flip it open. He needs to see.
For a long moment he studies it silently, the wall, the murdered boys, then says, “What, exactly, do you plan to do?”
The realization that he’s just followed me into all this madness without asking that question humbles me. He trusts me. I don’t think anyone has ever trusted me quite like this before.
I shut the folder. “I’m going to demand your General speak on my mother’s behalf. He has control of the palace, so he must announce that these horrid accusations are lies, then let her address our people with a broadcast. If he doesn’t, these photographs go public. To the League. To everyone. It would ruin him before the North.”
“And if he does what you demand?”
I stare at the photographs, reality suddenly shifting with his question.
“If you do this,” Athan continues, “if you use these photographs against my General, you must honour your word and hide them forever. No one can see them. Not your mother, your uncle. Not even your brother. You have to forget the children.”
My chest aches, the images before me begging for justice. Little bodies covered in mud and blood. My hope at bringing two worlds to the table of negotiation. A reason to make people stop and listen.
And the only way to save my mother is to destroy it forever.
“This is important, Ali. Please listen. My General won’t take betrayal lightly. He’ll find his revenge if you lie to him tonight, if you reveal these later and shame him before the North. He doesn’t give second chances.” Athan swallows. “You have only one chance. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I do understand. It’s fear I hear in Athan’s voice now. I’m playing with a man—a warrior—who knows how to protect himself, who built his own nation from nothing. He won’t let me play him, not with so much at stake. If I go ahead with this move, I’ll be bound to it forever, and the children killed in the mud will be forgotten.
“Tell me, Lieutenant, how much trouble will you get in for this?”
He takes my hand. “We’re long past that point, Princess.”
His sacrifice sharpens my resolve, dissolving doubt. He’s given up too much already. “Then I have to help my mother first,” I say, not wavering from his solemn gaze. “The children must wait. How can I stand by and watch my own family burn? I can’t.”
He nods. A lonely smile plays on his lips. “You can’t.”