“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 when 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