I look at Colin. He didn’t have to come.
Swallowing, I pull from the wide fog bank that’s accumulating along the cliff, cloaking us, and just concentrate on descending with my dull-aching leg and cramped hand as the sound of the airships grows louder. Their noise ricochets off the valley floor along with the clanking war preparations.
As we near the tiny gray fortress, I see it’s made up mainly of a parapet between two turrets—one attached to a slightly lower, round building, the other to three stone lodges all crammed into a giant courtyard. At first glance, the outer surrounding wall appears wide, until I realize that the courtyard is almost level with it—a design of convenience allowing the guards to easily peer over the side and down the hundreds of feet it drops, where the only point of entry is up the steep, narrow stone walkway. Or down the mountainside we’ve just come.
When we reach the wall, we wedge ourselves against an ice-dusted rock to watch the guards walk by without being seen. At this level, the atmosphere feels as if it’s crawling with that dark presence.
“Close enough for you?” Breck growls to Colin, her ear tilted, listening.
I give her shoulder a reassuring pat, which she yanks away from.
Colin puts his hand to the ground and slowly raises the other, as if to say he’s counting the number of guards he feels through vibrations in the earth. His fingers come up, one, two, three. Fourteen guards he indicates, but that’s not what’s got my attention. Through the fog, one shuffles by. He’s wearing the cloak of Faelen.
I frown and look at Colin, whose expression turns confused.
Let’s get closer, he mouths, beckoning toward the frosty, shingled top building farther along the mountain from us. He pantomimes to ask whether I think I can jump to it if we move closer.
I shake my head. Not with my leg burning and the medicine wearing off.
I point to an open window near ground level of the closest round turret. “What if we drop into the courtyard and climb in?” I murmur.
He glances from the window, to me, to Breck. Chews his lip. His agreement only coming once he’s certain we’ve got the guards’ routine down and he’s begged Breck to stay put. She consents, but that queer smirk is on her face again. It makes me twitch.
When Colin’s ready, I wait for him to jump before easing myself into his arms. Then I press him toward the window.
He uses his fingers as a stirrup to help me through before creating handholds for himself—quickly joining me inside on a shallow loft that overlooks the sunken, circular room. The place is empty except for a desk, three chairs, and a lit fire. I push my hood back.
Colin’s just leaning forward when voices float in from outside. The speakers’ sharp comments go back and forth, incomprehensible. Then fade.
When we’re sure they’re gone, we sneak down the creaky set of steps leading into the large room.
Colin listens at the first door while I head for the desk on which sits a quill pot and a scroll, both smelling of fresh ink. I glance at the bald boy, who’s moved on to the second door, before I open the lengthy, tightly written paper.
I narrow my gaze.
It’s an agreement of some kind. With King Odion’s signature.
“Colin, come look at this,” I whisper.
Suddenly he’s beside me, grabbing my arm and shoving me toward the stairs. I toss the scroll on the table and scramble up the shadowed steps. I bite my tongue as a shock of pain wells up my leg. Climbing down a cliff wasn’t my brightest idea today.
Colin slips his hand to squeeze mine just as the door opens and four men enter. Two knights, neither of whom are wearing identifying surcoats, are followed by two men in brown cloaks shrouding their faces.
The knights each move to guard a door while one of the cloaked men strides to the fire. The other moves to the desk and bends over the scroll, tapping his fingers on it. One minute, two minutes. Colin nudges me and gestures. Those are the Bron generals. What are we waiting for?
The tapping stops. “As you can see, our position is more than generous to the Faelen people,” the man says, turning our direction.
Beside me, Colin gasps. My chest deflates as if a storm of needles has just slammed into it.
I swallow and count the reasons I shouldn’t kill the beautiful man right here and now. Until I peer closer and realize there’s an arrogance to his green eyes that Eogan doesn’t have. A cruelty. Which means it’s King Odion standing here, not his twin.
But Odion? What’s he doing here?
I lift my hand and feel the atmosphere spark. It doesn’t matter why he’s here. This is better than Adora or Eogan could’ve even imagined. It will be quick for him. For them. My stomach knots even though I know I can prevent the horror that is to come when Bron takes over.
King Odion turns away.
I stand. And wait. At least he should have the honor of seeing his attacker’s face before death. The static in my blood is just snapping when the man at the fireplace glances right at me.