I gasp the second he shifts back. Surprisingly, he blinks at me like he’s just as shocked. His mouth opens and closes and opens. He mutters for me to be safe once more, and then he rushes out of the alcove and down the hallway.
It takes me a beat to shake off his kiss. I don’t have time to even wonder what just happened. Instead, I rush toward the guards’ quarters, hoping Finn is all right. That he’s not heard the commotion and he’s remained safe in his room. Keeping close to the wall, I scurry down the stairs that lead to the training yard.
At the bottom of the staircase, the grass is stained the deepest, darkest maroon despite the moonlight stealing the rest of the world’s color. Slain guards scatter the field.
Shock has me frozen on the bottom step. Nothing makes sense. I stare and stare at the blades protruding from stomachs, hands flopped to the side. Halos of blood pool under lifeless bodies. I blink, needing the scene to be gone. How could all this have happened?
The magnitude of the many deaths boulders into me. Vomit rushes up my throat. My ears ring. I hold my hand to my mouth, keeping myself together as best I can, and stumble away, rushing into the quarters.
Doors fly open, banging walls. I call for Finn. I search every room, look under cots, shift through every wardrobe.
He’s not here.
Where is he?
Air rushes in and out of my lungs too fast for me to catch my breath. Fear they’ve already caught or killed him turns me frantic. I rush out of the yard, leaving obsidian footprints on the stairs.
When I reach the main level of the castle, a face that’s haunted my dreams stares back at me.
Lord Jamis stands under the arcading.
I skid to a stop. He’s lost weight, and he looks more vulturine than ever. It’s impossible to stop the shiver that racks through me.
His lips hitch open, displaying large teeth. “Hello, Britta. Have you lost something?”
I pant for a stubborn breath as I try to see a way to escape.
Even though I’m outnumbered, I lift the stolen bow and my last arrow, arms shaking. Hatred courses through my limbs. “Where is he?”
Phelia comes out of the shadows, flanked by traitor guards. Different than when I saw her in the woods, she has a brittle coldness about her. I shudder with revulsion. My mind seems to overcome the shock, replaced by the wry understanding that Cohen was right about Jamis and Phelia working together.
The guards force a frightened figure to his knees in front of her. The boy buckles, his knees folding and hitting the granite floor with a thud. Finn.
No!
My arrow is slicing through the air in a heartbeat, aimed at Lord Jamis’s chest. Wind gusts around Jamis and Phelia, whipping at my dress. The arrow spins out of its trajectory, flying into the wall and clattering to the ground.
I stare, confused. What just happened?
Phelia’s chin jerks. My gaze hones in on the movement and the girls to her rear right. Four girls, different heights, body sizes, and skin color, with one trait in common: blue eyes. Channelers. A guard thrusts one toward Phelia.
She takes the girl and presses their wrists together. The girl cries out and, to my horror, crumbles to the ground.
Momentarily unarmed, I toss the useless bow to the ground and slide out Papa’s dagger. I hold it up, trying to figure out how I’ll take on the entire group.
Phelia’s palms lift to face me. The wind picks up again. It knocks me to the floor. I struggle to crawl forward, but the wind is a cyclone that pins me down.
There’s no air to breathe. I suck at nothing, just as I did on the roof with Lirra.
My vision wavers. Blackness crowds in.
Chapter
25
Aodren
I ALMOST MAKE IT ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE bridge when the link to Britta changes in a way I didn’t know was possible. It bows and bucks. My palms turn clammy.
For a moment I wonder if that’s my own internal reaction to having killed a man. The sight of the guard on the ground, eyes open and glossed, will be in my head forever. He would’ve killed Britta.
Each step from the castle causes my heart to pound, a war drum resounding in my chest. Leaving Miss Flannery is wrong. I don’t know why or how I know, but I cannot shake the feeling that I need to turn back. Now.
Gods, this night is one bad decision after another.
I dismount and give my horse a hard smack on the rump. She takes off for the woods, the moonlight catching on the gold and silver royal equine adornments. If anyone is looking for tracks, perhaps they’ll find hers and think I’ve escaped.
Keeping an eye on the gate, I run the length of the bridge, back toward the castle. Men have gathered in the outer yard. They weren’t there before, and there’s no telling if I can trust them. Staying out of eyeshot, I sneak around the side of the guard tower and over the wall. I hold myself with my fingers and boots wedged in the lip of the stone bricks.
“They caught the girl.”
The guards talk and I pause, body clinging to the wall.
The man laughs. “And ta think she was fixin’ on bein’ called a lady.”
No. Britta has been captured.
“I’ll make ’er my lady.”
“You gonna do that in the dungeon?”
My knuckles whiten against the stone, the only thing preventing me from plummeting a quarter league to my death. Jamis has never been a merciful man. The thought of what he might do to Britta has me moving along the external wall, slowly, ensuring each foot placement and handhold is secure.
Each arm span takes me closer to Britta as I make my way toward the waste chute. Years have passed since I snuck out of the castle this way. I never imagined I’d use the waste hole to sneak back in. The smell wafts to me on a breeze. I try not to heave.
Commotion echoes from the castle. Every now and then someone yells. The slow going gives me too much room to think. The knowledge that I’ve let my people down weakens me to my core.
But I will fix this.
Whoever’s taken my castle will pay.
Jaw clenched, breath held, I hoist myself into the tight square opening that leads into the castle. The waste hole has been used frequently lately, no doubt in preparation for the Winter Feast. Crawling through the grime and sliminess has to be the worst kind of torture. Surely, every chamber pot in the castle must’ve been emptied today.
Pausing in the chute beside the servants’ stairwell, I listen for others. Hearing nothing, I push myself out of the hole and land on the stones of the narrow staircase.
The staircase leads to a number of suites. I pick the one I think has the best chance of being empty. Since I can remember, the doors have been locked to the queen’s suite. I move from her privy to her study. Cobwebs stretch across shelves like someone has thrown gossamer drapes over the books to keep them from dust. Though they are not effective. Dust lies everywhere. No one has been in this room in over twenty years. Not since my mother passed giving birth to me.