I’ll be ready.
I pushed our connection to the back of my mind and swung my feet off the table—
One of the workshop doors creaked open. I didn’t have time to hop off the table, and there was nowhere to hide anyway, so I did the only thing I could—I wrapped the chains around my wrists and lay back down on the table, as though I were still shackled and helpless.
Maeven strode into the room, followed by Emperia. The noble lady left the door open behind her, but no guards appeared in the hallway beyond. The two women must have wanted to lord their triumph over me in private. My hands tightened around the chains. It was going to be the last bloody thing they ever did. Milo might not be here for me to murder, but killing Maeven and Emperia would be an excellent start to avenging myself against the Mortans.
I rolled my head to the side as they approached me. Emperia was smiling wide, but Maeven’s earlier smugness had vanished, and her expression was surprisingly neutral. The two of them stopped and stared down at me.
“I still can’t believe this is Gemma Ripley,” Emperia sneered. “I thought she would at least be pretty, given all the songs about her. ‘The Bluest Crown’ certainly makes her sound like a great beauty, but she’s rather ordinary. And her metalstone magic feels exceptionally weak. Rather like Delmira’s magic.”
Maeven’s nostrils flared with anger. She didn’t like Emperia maligning her daughter’s seeming lack of power. “Yes, well, this is Gemma Ripley, and you’re a fool to underestimate her. Just like you’ve been a fool about a great many things.”
Emperia faced the queen. “What do you mean?”
Maeven dropped her hand to her side. Something silver glinted in her fingers, and she gave the noble lady a cold, thin smile. “Perhaps this will make my point.”
She snapped up her hand and plunged a dagger into Emperia’s chest.
I gasped and jerked back on the table, rattling the chains. Out of all the things I thought might happen, Maeven killing Emperia was not one of them.
Emperia opened her mouth to scream, but Maeven clamped her hand over the other woman’s lips, muffling her cries.
“Did you really think I didn’t know that you were fucking my son?” Maeven hissed. “Encouraging his ambitions? Using him to plot against me?”
Emperia let out another muffled cry and swayed on her feet. She lifted her hand, but only a few tiny hailstones sputtered out of her fingertips before falling harmlessly to the floor.
“I’ve known about your plot with Milo for months. I had hoped that Corvina was aligned with you and that I could eliminate both of you at once, but your daughter has her own plans. She is a teeny bit smarter than you in that regard.” Maeven spoke in a calm voice, twisting her dagger even deeper into Emperia’s chest. “For years, you have undermined me at every turn, thinking that my crown should have been yours. But I killed Maximus to earn it, and I’m killing you now to keep it. For myself and especially for Delmira.”
Maeven smiled at Emperia again, then ripped the dagger out of the other woman’s chest and shoved her away. Emperia staggered back, hitting the table where I was still lying. I rolled away from her, letting go of the chains and dropping off the opposite side of the table. Then I popped back up and onto my feet.
Emperia stared at Maeven. Her mouth kept opening and closing, but no words came out, only a few bloody coughs. Then her eyes rolled up in the back of her head, and she tumbled to the floor.
Maeven turned toward me, still clutching that dagger. “You freed yourself already. Good. It will help sell my story.”
“What story?”
She tossed the dagger down onto the table. “That you managed to get free and murder Emperia. How sad that a spoiled, pampered princess like Gemma Ripley was able to kill such a strong weather magier as Lady Dumond. But I suppose that’s what Emperia gets for coming in here alone and foolishly interfering with my prisoner.”
My eyes narrowed. “You lured Emperia in here so that you could kill her and use me as your bloody scapegoat. Just like you blamed the Seven Spire massacre on Captain Auster all those years ago. You should have thought of a new plan. You’re becoming predictable.”
Maeven shrugged. “Why come up with new plans when the old ones still work so well?”
I ground my teeth, hating her cool logic. “Let me guess—you’re going to kill me now so I can’t tell anyone what you did.” My bandaged hands clenched into fists. “Well, that’s not going to happen.”
I snapped up my hands, reached for my magic, and threw the chains on the table at her. But Maeven summoned up her own purple lightning, blasting the metal to pieces.
I ignored the flying metal, lunged forward, and grabbed the dagger off the table. The weapon was much lighter than I expected and slid into my hand with an easy familiarity. I glanced down at it. My snarling gargoyle crest glittered in the hilt.
I silently cursed. Maeven had killed Emperia with my dagger to further incriminate me. She really had thought of everything. My fingers clenched around the hilt. Well, I could kill her with the blade just like she’d murdered Emperia with it.
I hurried around the table, but Maeven moved in the opposite direction so that it remained in between us. She raised her hand, and purple lightning crackled on her fingertips. The two of us stood there, facing off across the table. She gave me an amused smile. I snarled and bared my teeth in return.
Maeven flicked her hand, and a bolt of lightning zipped out of her fingers and slammed into some glass jars on another table. The subsequent explosion boomed through the workshop.
In the distance, a voice rang out. “What was that?”
“I think it came from Milo’s workshop!”
“This way, men! Hurry!”
I tensed, recognizing the last voice as Wexel’s.
“You’re not killing me tonight, Gemma,” Maeven purred. “Not with your mind magier power or that dagger or anything else.”
I silently cursed again. By throwing those chains at her, I’d shown Maeven what I truly was, if she hadn’t already guessed.
“You might—might—be able to murder me if you were at full strength, but you’ve been severely injured.” Her lightning burned a little brighter and hotter in her hand. “And I have not.”
I snarled again with anger and frustration, but I held my position. I was still weak from Milo’s torture, and she would easily fry me to a crisp.
“You have two choices,” Maeven said. “You can stay here and die trying to kill me, or you can attempt to escape. The guards are still a few corridors away. If you leave now, you might make it out of the palace. As for what happens after that, well . . .” She shrugged. “You’ll never know unless you try.”
“Why are you doing this? Why are you giving me a chance to escape?”
“I told you that I would not forget your kindness to Delmira.”
A harsh laugh erupted out of my lips. “You don’t care about kindness.”
“No, but like it or not, I need you, Gemma Ripley. So does Delmira.” Maeven paused. “And Leonidas most of all.”
Her soft words ripped into my chest, as though she’d stabbed me the same way she had Emperia. That traitorous softness trickled into my heart again, but I shoved it away.
“Leonidas can die a cold, miserable death for all I care.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” Maeven replied. “I lied to him. Now, he should have known better than to believe me, but Leonidas has always been a bit naïve that way. Always wanting to believe there is still a sliver of good left deep down inside me. He’s wrong, of course, but he can’t quite let go of that hope. He really would be better off if he didn’t love me at all.”
Her words and obvious concern for her son, however twisted, proved his point, although I doubted she would see it that way.
In the distance, more shouts rose up, but still I hesitated, desperately wanting to kill Maeven for everything she’d done, for how skillfully and easily she’d manipulated me and everyone else at Myrkvior. The queen was
right. She had learned from Everleigh, and she had fully mastered the Bellonan long game.
“Fly, Gemma,” Maeven purred, another smug smile stretching across her face. She’d won this round, and we both knew it. “Fly away, as fast as you can.”
Cursing, I had no choice but to do as the queen commanded. I tightened my grip on my dagger, then fled out the open workshop door.
* * *
I sprinted out into the hallway. At the far end of the corridor, Wexel jogged into sight, along with several guards.
“The prisoner has escaped!” he roared. “After her!”
I bolted in the opposite direction. Despite Maeven’s machinations, Wexel and the guards would kill me if they caught me. So I ran, ran, ran, as fast as I could, darting down hallways, careening around corners, and shoving through doors. But I was physically and mentally exhausted, and the guards were not, and their shouts and footsteps quickly grew closer and louder.
They were gaining on me.
I ran through some open doors, stopped, and turned around to make a stand. Wexel sprinted toward me, his sword clutched in his hand and an evil grin on his face, eager to cut me down. I lifted my dagger and reached for my magic, determined to at least kill the captain before the guards swarmed me.
Right before Wexel would have reached me, the double doors abruptly swung shut, leaving him and the guards trapped on the other side. A wide, heavy iron bar anchored to the wall also swung down and dropped across the doors, blocking them from this side. I reared back in surprise. How had that happened?
A flicker of movement caught my eye, and I glanced up. Leonidas was standing next to the second-floor balcony railing. Delmira was there too, her arm around his waist, supporting him.
Leonidas looked even worse in real life than he had in his ghostly form in the workshop. His skin was pale and sweaty underneath the black bruises, and he was swaying on his feet, as though he was about to collapse.
Somehow, despite his injuries, Leonidas had found the strength to block the door with his magic, to stop Wexel from killing me. I might have felt gratitude, perhaps something else, something far deeper and much stronger, if I’d had the time or space for any emotion other than determination right now.
Go, Leonidas’s weary voice sounded in my mind. I’ll delay them as long as I can.
I stared at him a heartbeat longer, then started running again.
Desperation spurred me forward, and I sprinted through corridor after corridor, and up first one flight of stairs and then another, steadily climbing higher and higher through the palace. As I ran, all the doors swung shut and locked behind me, falling into place like dominoes in a child’s game. I had left Leonidas far behind, and his magic had vanished, but the doors kept swinging shut—thanks to the liladorn.
The vines twisted and writhed as I hurried past, shoving the doors closed one after another. Helping, that presence whispered in my mind.
Thank you, I replied, and ran onward.
Wexel’s frustrated screams and the guards’ answering shouts soon grew faint, but I didn’t stop running. Instead, I reached out with my own magic.
Grims! I’m on the fifth floor. West section. Guards are chasing me. I’m going to find a window and climb outside.
On my way! he replied.
I reached a crossway and slowed down long enough to orient myself. I wasn’t too far from Leonidas’s library, and I remembered walking past a row of floor-to-ceiling windows near there, so I hurried to my right. Sure enough, I rounded the corner, and the windows came into view, along with something, or rather, someone else.
Milo.
I skidded to a stop.
The crown prince stood in the hallway, a ball of purple lightning sizzling in his hand. Fury sparked in his gaze, matching the crackle of magic on his fingertips. “You’re not going anywhere, Glitzma—”
A large shadow punched through the glass, shattering the whole row of windows. Milo shrieked in surprise and stumbled away, covering his head with his arms to protect himself from the flying debris.
Lyra landed in the hallway, putting herself in between Milo and me. The strix winked at me, then let out a loud squawk, flapped her wings, and hopped to the side, as though she was turning to face an enemy. One of her wings stretched out wide and clipped Milo, knocking him down to the floor.
“You stupid bird!” he hissed. “Get out of my way!”
Lyra ignored his yells and kept hopping around, as though she was searching for an enemy to fight. I started to run away when another dark shadow zoomed through the opening and landed in front of me.
Grimley.
My heart soared, and a wide grin stretched across my face.
“Gemma!” he rumbled. “Let’s go!”
I stuffed my dagger into my pocket, darted over to the gargoyle, and climbed onto his back. Then I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging him tight. I have never been so glad to see you in my entire life!
I love you too, runt! Now let’s get out of here!
Milo scrambled back up onto his feet and shoved Lyra out of the way. Another ball of lightning popped into his hand, and he reared his arm back to throw his magic at us, but Grimley growled, charged forward, and spun around.
Thwack!
The stone arrow on the end of the gargoyle’s tail sliced across Milo’s cheek, drawing blood and making him scream and stagger back. The sight filled me with malicious glee.
Hold on tight! Grimley roared.
I leaned forward again and grabbed the bases of his wings. The gargoyle galloped toward the shattered windows and threw himself and me out through the jagged opening.
For a moment, we hung in the cold night air, strangely weightless. Then we started to fall, but Grimley pumped his wings over and over again, and we zoomed upward.
A startled squawk sounded behind us, and I glanced back over my shoulder. A couple of strixes were streaking through the air toward us, quickly gaining ground—
Lyra surged into view beside us. She let out a wild, fierce cry, and the other strixes peeled away, coasting back down toward the rookery.
Thank you. I sent the thought to her.
You’re welcome. Then she too peeled off, disappearing into the night.
I faced front again and tightened my grip on Grimley’s wings as the gargoyle soared over the palace walls, flying us away from Myrkvior.
Chapter Thirty
Grimley flew us out of Majesta, before his strength gave out late the next morning. I was exhausted too, but I used my magic to make sure the old, decrepit barn Grimley had landed next to was deserted before we slipped inside. We curled up in some moldy hay bales and slept for the rest of the day.
That evening, around sunset, we left the barn. A nearby farmhouse was also deserted, although the people who had lived there had left behind some clothes, along with some canned apples and a few other forgotten things in the pantry.
While Grimley went out hunting, I got enough water out of the well to clean myself up and changed into a gray tunic, along with matching leggings. I also stuffed my feet into a pair of old black boots, even though they were half a size too small and pinched my toes. When Grimley returned, I gobbled down some canned apples and a hunk of dried-out cheddar cheese while he tore into the rabbits he’d caught.
After dinner, I mounted Grimley again and opened the silver compact Leonidas had given me. I still had it, along with my gargoyle pendant, my dagger, and the two tearstone arrows. I used the compact’s compass to figure out which direction to go, then Grimley took off and flew the rest of the night, avoiding the strixes in the area.
We landed again the next morning, this time taking refuge in a small, damp cave and once again scrounging for food. As soon as Grimley had rested enough, we took off again, trying to put as much distance between us and the Mortans as possible.
But it wasn’t working.
I didn’t have to use the compact’s Cardea mirror to know that Milo and Wexel were chasing us. I could feel the Mort
ans behind us, slowly but surely closing the gap. But I was exhausted, and Grimley even more so, and together, we did the best we could.
Every once in a while, a faint, familiar flicker would float through my mind, as soft as a feather tickling my skin. Leonidas was with the other Mortans, although I had no idea if he was helping or hindering Milo and Wexel in their relentless quest to hunt me down. Probably both, knowing him.
The next day, Grimley and I finally made it to the Andvarian-Mortan border. I wanted to weep when the Spire Mountains came into view, even though we were still several miles away from Blauberg. The air grew steadily colder the higher we climbed up the mountains, and I shivered, since only thin layers of grubby rags covered my body. Milo was right. If my people could see me now, they wouldn’t call me Glitzma anymore, but that didn’t matter.
All that did was making it home.
We followed the sun up into the air, but my worry grew, despite the bright rays shining down on us. That creeping presence was growing stronger behind us. The Mortans were closing fast. Grimley must have sensed them too, because he pumped his wings harder.
We had just reached the top of Blauberg Mountain when the strixes screamed behind us.
I glanced back over my shoulder. Several strixes were streaking through the sky in an arrow-shaped formation. Milo was leading the charge, the tip of the arrow, with Wexel to his right, and more guards flying along behind them. Three strixes lagged behind the main pack, although I couldn’t make out who was riding them.
“The Mortans are right behind us!” I yelled.
“Hold on!” Grimley yelled back.
The gargoyle shot up over the top of the mountain, then tucked his wings into his sides, streaking down the rocky slope as fast as he dared. Behind us, a wild cry went up. I glanced back over my shoulder again.
One of the strixes had tried to follow Grimley’s steep dive, but the creature had misjudged the distance and clipped the top of a pine. Its rider went flying through the air to his death. The strix managed to stop its own freefall, although it still slammed hard into the ground.
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