I checked that my hair was tucked tightly beneath the cap. “Be invisible. I can do that.”
A series of shuffling steps passed by the room. Aleksa froze, and so did I. It was time. Now or never.
“Let’s go,” I whispered.
Aleksa cracked the door open and checked that no one marked our entrance into the hall. We followed behind the row of children who held one tray each—one for each prisoner.
“Wait,” Aleksa murmured, catching my coat sleeve and slowing me down. “Wait for the signal.”
I breathed out slowly. Didn’t jump when Aleksa’s friend—her cousin, she’d said—stumbled into the guard who’d just opened the black door.
The tray of slop dripped down his uniform and he lashed out. The boy ducked, but that only enraged the guard more. The other children had frozen, completely focused on the scene playing out.
“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean—”
Aleksa and I slipped through the open door, then raced as fast as we could—dodging the grates, my tunic pulled up over my nose. The long corridor had only one torch, next to the door. Barely enough light to illuminate the rivers of sludge dripping from the doors to the grates.
We ducked into an alcove near the middle of the corridor where the torchlight couldn’t reach.
My lungs seized with the need to cough. The scent of human waste mingled with wet stone and dead fish reached in and stole the breath from my lungs.
But no one made a fuss or raised a cry. We’d made it in.
The children slid the trays through a small opening at the bottom of each door, then hurried back.
The guard started closing the door with a taunting call, and the boys sprinted toward the exit, barely slipping through before the door slammed tight. From the other side, the guard guffawed loudly, then all was quiet.
I plugged my nose, unable to bear the stench any longer.
“Last door,” Aleksa said, nodding at it.
My footsteps sounded loud above the constant dripping of water and waste. Finally, I stood before the last black door, shorter than all the rest.
How could I both hope my father was behind the door and pray he was anywhere else? The thought of him locked in this tiny cell broke something fundamental inside me.
Aleksa stood shoulder to shoulder with me. I’d come so far—crossed my kingdom, climbed down the cliffs, confronted Sennor. And yet, “I don’t think I can—”
She reached for the latch, lifting the metal knob and sliding it to unbolt the door. The wood stuck against the rock frame. She tugged hard, and the door came open with a loud pop.
What if it wasn’t my father? What if it was some awful murderer who would kill us right here and now? What if—
“Who’s there?” a deep, scratchy voice whispered from the black hole in front of us.
It was…Could it be my father’s voice? I squinted and caught the outline of a figure huddled in the middle of the cell.
“Father?” I whispered around the oily air coating my tongue. I held my hand up to block the meager light from the end of the hall, squinting into the hole. “Is that you?”
The man crawled to the opening warily, holding his hand up to shield his eyes. It was him. My father. More haggard than I’d ever seen him before. His beard and hair were a tangled mess, dark smudges hollowed out his eyes, and he crouched like a cornered mouse. Like we were the cats. He studied me with brows pulled into a V, then Aleksa, then me again.
“Who are you?” he whispered. His eyes never left my face.
He…didn’t recognize me? He wouldn’t forget me. He wouldn’t.
I reached toward him and he flinched. “I-it’s me, your daughter.”
His head tilted and he gave me the look he’d given me a thousand times—when he’d seen right through me, right into my soul. But then his eyes clouded and he put a hand to his head. Was he ill? Perhaps it was the lack of food and water.
“You must come quickly, sire,” Aleksa murmured, gesturing him into the hall with us.
“I have a daughter?” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. “I have a daughter.” He inched his way out of the cell, squinting and hunched and jumpy all at once.
I swallowed back the lump that had grown in my throat and held my hand out to assist him. “Father, what happened to you?”
He grabbed my wrist in a sudden move, holding me tight and staring at me again. “What is your name?”
I glanced at Aleksa, who watched us with a worried frown. Then I rested my hand over my father’s. “Chiara. My name is Chiara.” A tear rolled down my cheek, and my heart and stomach and lungs all rearranged themselves until I couldn’t tell up from down, in from out.
Something had happened. Something was wrong. And it wouldn’t be fixed by food and water. Getting out of the palace, instead of being the last step, would now be the first.
My father muttered something under his breath, shook his head, muttered some more. Aleksa shut the cell door with another screech, and moved toward the main doorway, but my father kept staring at me, ducking his head down to look into my eyes.
“Chiara. Yes, I had a daughter named Chiara. I remember how proud I was of you.” Something clicked into place, a tiny spark of clarity in the cloudiness. “How proud I am of you.”
I threw my arms around him with a sob and he staggered back a step. I pulled away, but he gripped my arms to keep me close. He reeked of death and mold, but I didn’t care. His hand came up to touch my cheek, then stopped when he realized how filthy he was.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye, Father. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I loved you. I was angry, and—”
“We’ve got to go now,” Aleksa whispered to us. She was halfway to the main door, so I slipped my arm under my father’s.
“Come on,” I said as we took the first unsteady steps around the grates.
We limped along so slowly. How would we get him out of the palace? Tight bands wrapped around my lungs. I’d find a way. There was no possibility of me leaving him or losing him now that I’d found him.
“I don’t remember,” he said quietly into my ear as we inched toward the light. “I don’t remember anything.”
Anything? I nodded and bit my tongue to keep more tears from forming. What had they done to him?
Aleksa crouched, straight pins in hand, listening at the tiny crack at the bottom of the door. She waited longer, like a statue. I helped my father lean against the wall and caught my breath from supporting him. Heavy boots marched by, more than one set. When they’d passed, Aleksa wiggled the pins into the lock, pressing one down and moving the other back and forth.
Sweat rolled down my spine. Should it take this long? Had they changed the locking mechanism?
The latch clicked.
Aleksa eased the door open and held it for us. I took my father’s arm, and we crossed the empty hall in a limping rush. Aleksa slipped her arm around my father’s waist, and we squeezed our way down the short stairway toward the kitchens.
Every step left my father gasping for breath. I kept my eyes focused on the uneven stairs. How would we get him out? He’d never make the long walk along the wall into the city. He wouldn’t last long wading through the deep sand even if we could somehow get him down to the beach.
“Do you know me?” he asked Aleksa. “Do I know you?”
“We’ve never met,” she said, out of breath.
We reached the top of the stairs and turned the corner, but someone stood in our way. I pushed my father back around the corner, keeping an arm behind me to hold him up.
“I knew you were up to something.” Cynthia’s hissing voice had me snapping my head up so fast I almost pulled a muscle in my neck. She stood in the middle of the hall like she’d been waiting for us.
Aleksa stood with me in an effort to conceal my father behind us
. She didn’t speak, only watched Cynthia warily, like she’d strike at any moment.
“I demand to know what you’re doing,” Cynthia said, arms folded and her nose in the air. “You shouldn’t go behind Atháren’s back. And,” she added with a smirk, “you reek of fish.”
The echo of a door shutting somewhere in the palace combining with the sting of her words snapped something within me, and the dam I’d always held tight broke open.
“This has nothing to do with you,” I said, pointing my finger in her face. “Stop bullying everyone around you and own up to your actions.”
Cynthia’s face turned a dangerous shade of scarlet and she stepped closer, hands fisted at her sides. “My actions? Everything was taken from me by my father’s choices. I have no prospects, no friends, nothing. I have to earn back my inheritance. Everyone turned their backs on me. So don’t you dare lecture me about my actions. You’re the one with every opportunity, every advantage, yet you squander everything you’ve been given.”
I studied her then, cheeks flushed, eyes livid and tinged with desperation, elbows locked straight. The air around us no longer reeked of dead fish, and I took a deep, cleansing breath. She was desperate and afraid. Not dishonest. My father had trusted her.
The kitchens—and the help Aleksa had recruited—lay beyond her. We’d either go through her, or…I winced, then swallowed my pride.
“You want to restore your name? Earn your inheritance?” I heard myself asking. “This is how you can do it.” I turned my shoulder and brought my father to stand before her. It took a moment of confused staring before she realized who he was. She immediately dropped into a deep curtsy, eyes fixed on our shoes. “You can either help us, or get out of the way.”
Cynthia’s head snapped up, her mouth gaping open. She stood and took a step back. Swallowed. Closed her mouth. Footsteps passed in the hall at the bottom of the stairs.
I shook my head. Maybe I’d been wrong about her. “Time’s up.”
Cynthia put her hands out. “Wait, wait. I’ll help. Of course I’ll help.” She blinked rapidly and pursed her lips. “What’s the plan?”
Aleksa nodded toward the short hallway behind her. “I’ve got friends in the kitchens. We can hide him in the pantry, then they can sneak him out at the end of their shift.”
Cynthia’s perfectly arched eyebrows shot up and the familiar sneer was back. “And, what, he’ll just walk through the gates and across Riiga?”
I rolled my eyes and slipped my arm back around my father’s waist. He leaned so heavily against me, I wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay standing. “You have a better idea?” I grumbled, pushing past her. I scowled at the ground—she was right.
Cynthia folded her arms and nodded. “It just so happens I do. He can rest here.” She peeked into a nook that held a bench and a tapestry on an easel. I helped my father sit. Aleksa watched the hallway. Were the halls always this empty? Ren’s distraction must be working. A twinge of worry shivered through me, but he could handle himself.
“Do you know me?” my father asked Cynthia.
Her head reared back and she nodded slowly. “Yes, sire, of course I do.” She frowned at me and I shook my head a little.
He exhaled and rested his arms on his knees, head dropping.
“He’ll be okay—he just needs food and water,” I lied. I arched my back, stretching it. “Well? What’s this ‘better idea’?”
Cynthia pushed her shoulders back and puffed her chest out. “It just so happens I’m scheduled for an outing into the city. I wanted a tour and was granted a carriage that will take me to the main market square. The carriage leaves from the kitchen entrance in half an hour. We can hide your father in a trunk on the back and drive him right to Luc’s, as long as your friend”—she nodded to Aleksa—“has a driver we can trust.”
My mouth dropped open and I snapped it shut. Of course she’d be granted a carriage even though there was probably only one road that was wide enough and straight enough for it to go on.
Aleksa nodded, eyes widening. “He won’t have to go in a trunk. We can dress him in livery, and he can ride in the carriage into the city with you as escort!” She looked at me, wide smile on her face, and though I hated that Cynthia would be the one to save the day, I shoved down my petty jealousy and slipped my arm under my father to help him stand again.
“Okay, we’ll get him into servants’ clothing. You arrange the carriage.”
She nodded imperiously. “I’ll go get ready.”
I clenched my teeth. “Really? A fancy dress isn’t the top priority right now, Cynthia.”
She arched an eyebrow. “But if I don’t look and act the part, their suspicions will be raised.”
I kept the phrase acting the part of a petty, spoiled brat to myself and turned away, focusing on getting my father to the kitchens. He hadn’t spoken during our exchange, only watched us warily, and with every moment of silence, I worried more.
What could they have done to make him forget? It was like…like magic. Koranth had hated my father, worked tirelessly against him when he’d been ambassador. I swallowed hard. If Koranth had done something, how could my father ever recover?
Ren. Ren was a healer. He would help.
If he could.
Chiara
The cook was yelling at someone in the kitchens, his back to the door, so Aleksa and I snuck into the pantry and settled my father onto a huge sack of grain in the corner. He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes shut. The gray in his hair and the lines at his eyes and mouth had never been so pronounced. His skin had never been so sallow.
Would his strength last until we could get him into a carriage? Would Luc be equipped to help him?
A small girl slipped into the pantry and handed Aleksa a cap and a heavy purplish coat. We helped him into the coat, which hung to his knees, and wiped his face clean of the muck of prison as best we could. There wasn’t much we could do about the smell.
“You’ll have to stand up straight, sire,” Aleksa told him. “But keep your eyes on everyone’s shoes and your arms straight at your sides. Don’t help Cynthia into the carriage, only open the door for her, then sit right next to the driver.”
He nodded, then shook his head. “You keep calling me sire. And that girl curtsied to me. Who…Am I someone important? Can you tell me my name?”
I blinked, and time stopped for a moment. The shouts from the kitchens dimmed, and specks of dust that floated up from the purple coat were caught in the murky light from the slit window at the top of the pantry.
He didn’t remember his name? Who he was? I bit my lip to hold back a sob. He’d been watching us this whole time, waiting for some clue as to his identity.
Ren had told me himself, his magic had limits. Is this…was this something my father would ever recover from?
“Your name is Marko,” I whispered, and held his hand. “You’re the king of Turia.”
He settled the cap on his head and straightened his shoulders as best he could. “Am I a good king?” he asked quietly. “Did I deserve to be in that dungeon?”
I shook my head, dislodging a few more tears. “You are the most kind and understanding and fair king in the history of Turia. And no one deserves to be in that dungeon, least of all you.”
He swallowed and swayed, then sat back down. “I wish I could remember,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead.
Aleksa rummaged through the shelves and pulled out a handful of dried apples and raisins. My father grabbed for them, but she held them back.
“Wait, sire. Eat slowly, or you’ll retch them back up. One at a time. Keep the rest in your pocket and eat when no one is looking.”
“Water?” he asked. Begged.
Aleksa bit her lip, then darted into the main kitchen and was back before I could voice a protest. She held out a wooden cup, and Father slu
rped its contents down in three gulps.
He ate two apple slices, pocketing the rest like each was a gold coin. A fiery hatred built up inside me. I was half ready to burst out of the kitchen and find Janiis in whatever corner he hid in and make him pay for what he’d done to my father. Koranth, too.
A rumbling sound passed by outside. A tiny seed of doubt sprouted. Was this all too easy?
“Come on,” Aleksa said as she took my father by the elbow and helped him stand. “The carriage pulled up. You’ll go out and stand by the door and wait for Cynthia. You remember what I told you?”
He nodded and touched her shoulder. “Thank you for helping us.” He dipped his hand in his pocket and put a few raisins in his mouth. He frowned at me, eyeing my dirty clothes. “What about you? Are you coming as well?”
I shook my head and gestured for him to leave. “I’ll find a way out and meet up with you. Don’t worry about us.”
“But—” he started.
“You’ve got to go now, Your Majesty,” Aleksa whispered, peeking through the door she’d cracked open.
My father leaned in and kissed my cheek, then sidestepped along the edge of the kitchen and outside. The door stayed open just long enough for me to catch a glimpse of the fine carriage.
Aleksa put her hand on my arm. “You find Ren. I’ll keep watch over your father.”
If it hadn’t been for her, we never would have made it this far. Too easy or not, my father might have been suffering in that prison for weeks longer, might have even—
I took her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you,” I choked out.
Aleksa exhaled. “Don’t thank me yet. Go.”
I snuck back into the hallway, my footsteps echoing. No one else was out—they were all tucked into their rooms to prepare for the party tonight, the last celebration before the wedding.
Would Koranth find me here, alone in a hall? A door flew open. I jumped away and squeaked. Cynthia stuck her head out and grabbed my arm, pulling me into her room.
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