A Queen of Thieves & Chaos (Fate & Flame, #3)

I run to catch up to him. “Everyone who’s here, link hands!”

Nervous energy vibrates as the children reach for one another. I wait until the group seems large enough and then I grab hold of the nearest child and let the silver thread reach toward the stone.

Gasps and squeals sound as the children take in their new surroundings.

“Fates.” Fikar stares, equally dumbstruck.

Lucretia appears a moment later, wearing a thick white smock, its collar snug just below her chin. “Satisfied, Your Highness?” She mock bows.

If I wasn’t so anxious, I would laugh. I had scolded her earlier on perhaps choosing suitable attire for children. She went the extra mile. “Fikar, I need this space for more kids. Take them all up the stairs now. Eden will be waiting there for you.”

I wait for his nod and then I send my affinity back through the stone.

A horde of children are already huddled, waiting. “Okay, next group!”





CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE




ANNIKA


Dagny’s son looks like Dagny.

A male version, twice the height and burly.

But still, he looks too much like my late mother’s seamstress for my liking. He’s nowhere near as refined as Percy was. Is? What did Atticus do with my tainted tributary? He never told me, and then he just up and left for the east! The morning after getting shot by a merth arrow, no less!

I heard he spared Sabrina so perhaps he’ll show the same compassion to Percy. Who knows, though? My twin brother is self-serving, and Percy doesn’t have breasts.

Dagnar is a brute. I summoned him for a walk through the royal garden, and he arrived straight from the stable he’d been working in all day. It’s as if all decorum around here has vanished as of late.

I sigh. The mark on his hand does not glow, at least. Perhaps all he needs is a change in wardrobe and a bath. And if that doesn’t work, well … I suppose beggars can’t be fussy and Islor’s princess is now officially begging for a tributary.

If my parents could see this mess.

The guards ahead of us—there are too many of them lingering inside these days—are intently focused on the far west tower, where people filter into the garden.

“What is happening out there?” I ask out loud to anyone who might answer.

“It looks like the mortal children are going for a walk, Your Highness.” By the guard’s scowl, he doesn’t approve. “Should we intervene and send them back?” He sounds eager for the order.

“I am sure they could use the fresh air. I know the feeling.” Zander once sequestered me in my rooms for weeks because I helped Romeria escape the gray tower and her execution. I sniff. It seems he owes me an apology.

The children disappear down the path. There are so many of them. Honestly, what does Atticus think he’s going to do? Keep a ballroom full so we never run out of tributaries? As if the city’s keepers will tolerate that. The lords and ladies trapped here certainly aren’t pleased. I feel their harsh judgment on me as I walk through the castle, as if any of this blame rests on my shoulders.

This is His Highness’s problem. Not mine. “So, Dagnar, tell me about your day.” I could not possibly care less, but I have enough tact to make polite conversation until I can sit him down and take his vein, and decide if I can tolerate this new match.

“It wasn’t anythin’ excitin’, Your Highness. I got up, had bread with butter, went out to check on the horses …”

I turn my head as he drones on so he can’t see me pout.

We’re approaching the first archway when the warning bell clangs. It makes my heart skip several beats. The last time I heard that sound was the day my parents died and Ybaris attacked us from within our walls.

Now what’s going on?

A guard runs out of the castle, shouts something, and then charges back in. The others flock.

Dagnar scratches his forehead. “Don’t that bell mean trouble?”

“Yes, it does.” But with whom is the question. “Come on.” We retrace our steps in a hurry to reach the two guards who remained.

“What is happening?” I call out to one of them.

“They’re storming the castle, Your Highness,” the one on the left says.

“Who is?”

“Mortals, keepers …” He grips his sword.

Mortals and keepers. Of course. “It’s finally happening.” A wave of shock washes over me.

“What is, Your Highness?” Dagnar asks.

“Cirilea is revolting.” The king’s guard has been hanging people without trial, without mercy, and now they’re marking common servants to be fed upon and taking their children away. Keepers have been dying horrifically for weeks, they’re trapped in the city, and now their property confiscated. It was only a matter of time. “I can’t believe Atticus left me here.” Did he have any clue that this was coming?

“You must lock yourself in your chambers, Your Highness,” the guard says.

“A lot of good that will do, if they want to reach me.” And they will. I’m the only royal left in the household to accept punishment for all the disastrous decisions our family has made, beginning with Zander’s betrothal to the Ybarisan princess.

“My ma was with the kids,” Dagnar says, fear morphing his face. It’s endearing, I’ll admit.

“Go.” I push him toward the direction they went. “These attackers are not here for you, but if they find you with me, I don’t know what they’ll do.”

He falters.

“Go! Find your mother. That’s an order!”

He takes off running without another look back. He wants to protect her far more than he cares to protect his princess, not that he could against a mob, anyway. That’s fine, I can find my way to safety from here. I know this castle’s secrets better than most.

A thud and clatter sound behind us.

I spin in time to see Tyree slash the throat of the charging guard. The other is sprawled out on the ground, unconscious.

And suddenly, I am alone to face off with the Ybarisan prince who has plotted my death once already, who just jumped from three stories up.

“I honestly thought the mortal might stay.” He grimaces, favoring his right leg as he strips the guard of his weapons. “But I guess you don’t inspire chivalry.” He hobbles toward me, a dagger in hand.

I back away, fumbling for the small merth blade I keep tucked inside my cloak. “You can run. They won’t chase you. My brother isn’t here.”

“And leave my bride-to-be?” He grins, but it’s a pained look. “Do you think me foolish? I won’t get out of Cirilea on my own.” He darts forward, faster than I expected, grabbing hold of my arm and squeezing tight. “But I have a chance with a princess.”

I swing with my free hand, stabbing my blade into the meaty part of his thigh, earning his howl of pain. Tearing it out, I make to plunge it in again.

In seconds my arms are tangled behind me and the knife I stabbed Tyree with is pressed against my throat. “That’s not a very kind thing to do to your betrothed.” He pants in my ear. “If you do not get me out of here, you are not worth keeping alive. Understood?”