“You're more likely to fit in than us old folks,” Wido had said, handing them their fake slaver’s bands. Instead of the silver worn by the household slaves in Hail, these were made out of hollow aluminum and had a hidden clasp so that they could be removed when the job was done. “It will be easier for you to get in and out, especially if you are just insignificant slave children.”
Wido Cliffbane was Imeyna's father and the closest thing the Republic of Shade had to a king, though he would never call himself that. He was the leader, the rallying point, the maker of plans and the dreamer of freedom. It was by his grace that she was alive and now was her chance to prove he had not made a mistake.
Sneaking through the outer gates had been easy. The guards were overwhelmed by the festival crowds, giving the celebrating citizens only cursory glances as they passed. With Imeyna's iron-and-leather armor and long, black braids hidden by her cloak, they had given no thought to the group of slaves being led by the tall guard through the gates. The snow fell gently, dissolving in wet pinpricks on her shoulders and leaving the uneven cobblestones slick beneath her feet.
Children raced by, bells on their ankles jingling with each step. Tonight, their parents would steal the bells and slip gifts beneath their pillows—trinkets and carved toys, sweet, hard candies, and packages tied up with rough, brown strings. These were meant to be gifts from Enos, rewards for good behavior and dedication. Rayne remembered the First Snow Festivals at the palace in Dusk, the way the flakes made the gray city into a blank slate, something with the potential to be beautiful. One of her earliest memories was waking up to find a soft doll tucked into her pillowcase. It had red lips and tight, brown curls so much like her own. She had taken it with her when she left Lerora and lost it in the Silver Hills, where she had wandered for days before Imeyna found her, half-starved and wild with grief.
Vendor stalls lined the walkways. Nearest to them, a man sold bands of bells as quickly as the group of women behind him could string each set. Rayne desperately wanted to buy one, to run through the streets with abandon as she had done when she was a child. But the daggers at her hips reminded her that she wasn't a child anymore, no matter her age. Merek's hand reached for her, and she grasped it, letting him pull her forward, out of the daydream and back into the present.
The palace gates were open to admit revelers and merchants and entertainers. Rayne took comfort in the chaos, sinking into the crowd easily, relishing the sounds of jingling bells and raucous laughter, the crush of joyous bodies. Here, it was easy to get lost and to lose, to blend in and become someone else, or no one at all.
The five intruders stopped in sight of the kitchen entrance and made sure that their bands were showing, glimpses of metal beneath their cut sleeves, a fashion trend that was used by Hailians as a way to distinguish rank. Slaves wore bands and were identified not by their names, but by the metal used and the embellishments on the band; a bare arm meant a free man. As the Shadderns fell in with the crowd of slaves coming and going through the nondescript side door, her eyes sought out other bands, those of dark iron that indicated a slave of Dusk, her home country. It was her way of remembering why she had to do this. A life for a life. A princess for a slave. Her sister for Imeyna’s sister. Edlyn for Madlin. Her father would suffer for what he did to her friend. Rayne would exact her payment in blood.
In the hallway beyond the kitchen, the press of bodies was even worse, intensified by the roaring kitchen fires and the clang of metal dishes, the sloshing of dirty water, the sticky stones and dirty rushes beneath their feet. Rayne worried about what Giles and Rolf carried hidden beneath their cloaks. Giles, whose mother was an alchemist in Bricboro, had warned them not to jostle the firewater as he had carefully added the different powders to the vials and then filled them with the clear liquid that, if it weren't for the sharp smell, could have been mistaken for water. But not even he seemed concerned, and they plowed on, pushing through the crowd and past the bustling kitchen, finding an empty alcove just before a stairwell.
Merek pulled her close but there was no tenderness in the way he held her. He kept things like gentle touches and sweet words confined to when they were alone. At a time like this, he was all business, posturing for Imeyna, the leader of their little group. Rayne fixed her features into a blank slate to match his. She was a Knight, a rebel, an assassin. Nothing else.
“Let's have it,” Imeyna said, gesturing to Giles and Rolf. They produced the small, cut-glass vials full of the colorless liquid and gave one to everyone except Rayne. Rayne had her knives and her blood, and that was all she needed.
But it was her blood that betrayed her, too. Because it was the same blood that ran through her sister’s veins and the same blood that she was supposed to spill tonight. Her hands were balled into fists and she pressed them against her thighs so that the others wouldn't see the tremors that threatened to make their way from her fingers into the rest of her body. She was already certain that the Knights didn't fully trust her, not even the ones she considered her closest friends. It was a relationship based on mutual need—she needed them to survive, and they needed her to kill the princess.
“Dinner is on the third course,” Emma said, reappearing in the alcove. Rayne hadn't even noticed her disappearance. The small, pale girl was like a ghost. Wido wasn't wrong about them coming and going easily. The rest of them squeezed together to make room for her.
“How far away is the great hall?” Merek asked.
Emma pointed one finger at the ceiling. “Two floors.”
“And the girl's room?” Imeyna asked.
Rayne held her breath. To her surprise, Emma's finger pointed down. So it was true. The girl was as good as a prisoner and it was all Rayne's fault. Rayne had been young and foolish when she'd left, not fully understanding the consequences of her departure. But the last five years had taught her well, and Edlyn’s suffering would soon be over, while her father’s would just be beginning. They deserved it, both of them tyrants and slavers.
This was what she told herself, even when her nerves betrayed her. Even when her mind fed her pictures of Edlyn as she had last seen her—young and slight, beautiful even in youth with her big, brown eyes and smooth curls. Some days, when her emotions were raw, betraying her wretched family seemed like the easiest thing in the world. But on the other days, she didn't know how she would work up the nerve. No matter what he had done, he was still her father. Edlyn was still her sister. This palace or one like it was supposed to be her home, not some ramshackle cottage in Bricboro, where the air was so dirty she was constantly coated with a fine layer of black soot.
Merek tugged at one of her dark curls, raising an eyebrow. They were all looking at her with tight, pinched faces. If they knew about her hesitation, it would be a strike against her. How quickly she could become their enemy instead of their ally, a fact she had been painfully aware of for the last five years.