“Right.”
But instead of heading to the ornate library entrance, he sprints across the room, to a wall of bookshelves. He searches for a moment, looking for something. Trying to remember. Then with a grunt, he shoulders a section of shelving until it slides sideways, opening onto a narrow, sloping passage.
“In!” he shouts, shoving me through.
My feet fly over the steps, worn by a hundred years of feet. We move in a gentle spiral, angling downward through dim light choked with dust. The walls are thick, old stone, and if anyone’s following us, I certainly can’t hear them. I try to gauge where we are, but my inner compass spins too quickly. I don’t know this place, I don’t know where we’re going. I can only follow.
The passage seems to dead-end at a stone wall, but before I can attempt to shock my way through, Cal pushes me back. “Easy,” he says, laying one hand against a stone a bit more worn than the others. Slowly, he puts an ear to the wall, and listens.
I hear nothing but the blood pounding in my ears and our harried breathing. Cal hears more or, rather, less. His face falls, drawn into a somber expression I can’t place. It’s not fear, though he has every right to be afraid. If anything, he’s oddly calm. He blinks a few times, straining to hear anything beyond the wall. I wonder how many times he’s done this, how many times he snuck out of this very palace.
Back then, the guards were there to protect. To serve. Now they want to kill him.
“Stay on my heels,” he finally whispers. “Two rights, then left to the gate yard.”
Farley grits her teeth. “The gate yard?” She seethes. “You want to make this easy for them?”
“The yard is the only way out,” he replies. “Ocean Hill’s tunnels are closed.”
She grimaces, clenching a fist. Her hands are starkly empty, her knife long gone. “Any chance there’s an armory between here and there?”
“I wish,” Cal hisses. Then he glances at me, at my hands. “We’ll have to be enough.”
I can only nod. We’ve faced worse, I tell myself.
“Ready?” he whispers.
My jaw tightens. “Ready.”
The wall moves on a central axis, revolving smoothly. We press through together, trying to keep our footsteps from echoing in the passage beyond. Like the library, this place is empty and well furnished, dripping in lush, yellow-colored decor. All of it has an air of disuse and neglect, down to the faded golden tapestries. Cal almost lingers, staring at the color, but urges us on.
Two rights. Through another passage and an odd, double-ended closet. Heat radiates off Cal in waves, preparing for the firestorm he must become. I feel the same, the hairs on my arms rising with electricity. It almost crackles on the air.
Voices echo on the other side of the approaching door. Voices and footsteps.
“Immediate left,” Cal murmurs. He starts to reach for my hand, but thinks better of it. We can’t risk touching each other, not now, when our touch is deadly. “You run.”
Cal goes first, and the world beyond pulses with an expulsion of fire. It spreads across the massive entrance hall, over marble and rich carpet, until it crawls up the gilt walls. A tongue of flame licks up to a painting overlooking the hall. A giant portrait, newly made. The new king—Maven. He smirks like a gargoyle until the fire takes hold, burning at the canvas. The heat is too much, and his carefully drawn lips begin to melt, twisting into a snarl that suits his monstrous soul. The only thing untouched by the flames are two gold banners, dusty silk, hanging from the opposite wall. Who they belong to, I don’t know.
The guards waiting for us flee, shouting, their flesh smoking. They’re trying not to burn alive. Cal cuts through the fire, his footsteps leaving a safe path for us to follow, and Farley keeps close, sandwiched between us. She covers her mouth, trying not to breath in the smoke.
The officers who remain, nymphs or stoneskins, impervious to flame, are not so immune to me. This time, lightning races, splaying from me in a too-bright webwork of living electricity. I only have enough focus to keep Cal and Farley from the storm. The rest are not so lucky.
I’m a born runner, but my breath stings in my lungs. Each gasp is harder, more painful. I tell myself it’s the smoke. But as I vault through the grand entrance of Ocean Hill, the pain doesn’t disappear. It only changes.
We’re surrounded.
Rows upon rows of officers in black, soldiers in gray, choke the gate yard. All armed, all waiting.
“Submit to arrest, Mare Barrow!” one of the officers shouts. A flowered vine twists around one arm, while the other holds a gun. “Submit to arrest, Tiberias Calore!” He stumbles over Cal’s name, still reluctant to address a prince so informally. In any other situation, I would laugh.
Between us, Farley sets her feet. She has no weapon anymore, no shield, and she still refuses to kneel. Her strength is astounding.
“What now?” I whisper, knowing there is no answer.
Cal’s eyes dart back and forth, looking for a solution he’ll never find. Finally his eyes land on me. They are so empty. And so very alone.
Then a gentle hand closes around my wrist.
The world darkens, and I am squeezing through it, suffocated, confined, trapped for one long moment.
Shade.
I hate the sensation of teleporting, but in this moment, I relish it. Shade is all right. And we’re alive. Suddenly, I’m on my knees, staring at the cobblestones of a dank alley far away from the Security Center, Ocean Hill, and the kill zone of officers.
Someone vomits nearby—Farley, judging by the sound. I suppose teleporting and having your head bounced off a window are a bad combination.
“Cal?” I ask the air, already cooling in the afternoon light. A low tremor of fear begins, the first ripple of a cold wave, but he answers from a few feet away.
“I’m here,” he says, reaching out to touch my shoulder.
But instead of leaning into his hand, letting his now gentle warmth consume me, I pull away. With a groan, I get to my feet, only to see Shade standing over me. His expression is dark, pulled in anger, and I brace myself for a scolding. I shouldn’t have left him. It was wrong of me to do that.
“I’m—” I begin the apology, but never get to finish. He crushes me into an embrace, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. I cling to him just as tightly. He trembles a little, still afraid for his little sister. “I’m fine,” I tell him, so quietly only he can hear the lie.
“No time for that,” Farley spits, forcing herself to her feet. She glances around, still off balance, but gauges our location. “Battle Garden’s that way, a few streets east.”
Wolliver. “Right.” I nod, reaching out to hold her steady. We can’t forget our mission here, even after that deadly debacle.
But I keep my eyes on Shade, hoping he knows what lies in my heart. He only shakes his head, dismissing the apology. Not because he won’t accept it, but because he’s too kind to want it.
“Lead on,” he says, turning to Farley. His eyes soften a little, noting her dogged resolve to continue, despite her injuries and her nausea.
Cal is also slow to his feet, unaccustomed to teleportation. He recovers as quickly as he can, following us through the alleyways of the city sector known as Threestone. The smell of smoke clings to him, as does a deeper rage. Silvers died back in the Security Center, men and women who were only following orders. His orders once. It can’t be an easy thing to stomach, but he must. If he wants to stay with us, with me. He must choose his side.
I hope he chooses ours. I hope I never have to see that empty look in his eyes ever again.