“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I’m finding Ren and getting out of here while we can,” I responded, moving toward the door. “The carriage is ready for you.”
“Wait,” she said, holding one hand out. And for once, all bravado, all snobbery was gone from her expression. She bit a fingernail between her teeth, a habit I’d never once seen her indulge in. “Ren isn’t in his rooms. I asked my servants to keep an eye on him for me so I’d know his whereabouts—”
I opened my mouth to interrupt, but she held her hand out again with a wince.
“I know how that sounds, but I’m telling you, he’s not in his rooms and they don’t know where he is. Last they saw him, he’d been summoned to see Janiis. I told them to each find an errand and get out of the palace one by one so they wouldn’t suffer the consequences when we aren’t at the wedding tomorrow.”
That twist of worry grew into a snake, coiled, ready to strike. Ren said he would go directly back to his rooms and wait for us once he was done with the tour.
“All right,” I said in a voice much braver than I felt. “Aleksa is in the kitchens watching over my father. Take her with you, as a tour guide or something. She’ll help you find Luc’s hiding spot.” I swallowed and tucked my hands into my pockets. “Get my father to Luc. When I find Ren, we’ll get out and meet you in the market.”
Cynthia put her hands on her hips and frowned, though her expression lacked its usual bitterness. “I don’t think you should stay.”
I set my hand on the door latch. “We must get my father to safety before the wedding. Turia will need him.” Would he be any help in his current state, though, or would adding that pressure only harm him further? “No one suspects Ren yet. We’ll be okay.”
Cynthia finally nodded, and followed me into the hall.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
She didn’t sneer or preen, only nodded, a quick bob of her head. She turned toward the kitchens. I went the other direction, farther into the guest wing.
The door to Ren’s rooms creaked a little as I opened it. No fire in the grate. No note on the table. A tiny sound came from the bedroom—like leather rubbing against leather, or a shoe sliding across wood.
I pursed my lips. Something heavy and oppressive in the room kept me from calling Ren’s name. I passed into the bedroom. Empty. Bed made, full water pitcher on the bedside table. As I turned toward the bathing room, two arms grabbed me from behind, wrapping me so tight all the air left my lungs in a whoosh.
I reacted on instinct—lunged to the side, hooked my arm behind his knees, and tossed him onto his back.
But it wasn’t one man. It was four. Swords out, countenances grim. What would Jenna do? She’d fight. But if I tried to, I’d lose. Instead, I put my arms out to my sides, rounded my shoulders. “I’m only looking for my king,” I said in an extra-low voice. Was it too low? Would they see through my disguise?
The man I had tossed got up and grabbed one of my arms, jerking it behind me so tight that tears pricked the corners of my eyes. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Where are you taking me?” I demanded.
One of the men marching ahead must have heard the wobble in my voice. He sneered at me. “We have orders to round up all the Hálendian’s servants. His punishment is your punishment.”
Punishment for what? My heart tripped and raced, and my lungs wouldn’t fill properly as they marched me out of the room and down the side hallways the servants used. Down endless stairs until I finally recognized the long hallway. The black door of the dungeon loomed ahead on the right. No. I dug my heels into the stone floor, but my shoulder wrenched when one of my feet caught on the uneven stones, stealing my breath.
The men continued past the dungeon and around one corner, then another, to a door set deep in the rock, and so low most of them had to duck to enter it. One of my escorts unlocked the door, revealing a black room—no window, no light, nothing. I dug my heels in again, but I was no match for the burly men holding my arms, and they tossed me into the room as if I were nothing more than a down-filled pillow.
I slammed against something that jammed into my stomach and then toppled over, tumbling me with it. My shoulder and then the side of my head hit the stone floor. I rolled once more, then came to a stop. My chest heaved. My ribs ached. The dark world spun around me and a sharp pain twisted in my head.
I lay there, unmoving. A slit of light from under the door cast an arc that didn’t extend far.
I reached out to see what I’d hit and touched a long, flat surface. Wood. A splinter dug into my fingertip. I sucked in a breath and snatched my hand away. A table of some sort, maybe a chair. I rolled onto my hands and knees, feeling my way closer to the light. If only half of my plan had gone right, I was glad it was the part where my father got out of that wretched cell. Whatever came next, I’d hold on to that.
“Who’s there?” a strained voice said from my left.
I startled and fell to the side, scrambling back and reaching for anything I could use as a weapon.
Then the accent registered in my fuzzy mind. I sat a little taller. “Ren?”
A groan, then, “Glaciers.” Another groan and shifting, like he was sliding across stone. “Where are you?”
I swallowed and blinked, trying to find him in the darkness. “By a chair?” I crawled closer to the light and saw a shape moving toward me, like he was using his arms to drag his body behind him. “Ren?” I whispered, my voice coming out hoarse and low. Something trickled down my temple and I wiped at it, then crawled to him.
He groaned and collapsed into me, knocking me back, his head in my lap. “Easy,” he murmured. “Give me a bit; I’ll be good as new.”
He didn’t sound like he was close to good or new. My shaking hands felt his hair, traced a huge bump on his scalp and fingered his face, or what should have been his face. It was puffy, and a gash along his forehead bled freely.
I took the edge of my coat and pressed it to his forehead. “What happened to you?”
He coughed, a wet rattling from deep in his lungs that sent my heart pounding harder than when the men had dragged me toward the dungeon. “Janiis got jealous of my dashing good looks. I’ll be fine.”
I pulled at his coat, tracing along his ribs. Two, three, four broken. I cursed and cursed again. Ren chuckled, then groaned. “I’ve never heard you curse. Don’t make me laugh.”
“You’re going to be fine,” I muttered to him, pulling off my jacket and putting it under his head.
He snagged my hand and held it tight, his breath ragged. “Let…let me lay here for a moment,” he said, and tilted his head, still in my lap. “I’m a…healer, remember? I just need more time. Then we’ll find a way out.”
I closed my eyes against the blackness surrounding us. Focused on the feel of his hand holding mine. I ran the fingers of my other hand through his long hair. “These are serious injuries, Ren. You can’t just—”
“Watch,” he rasped. “Well, feel, I guess.” He placed my hand against his cheek. Under my fingertips, the swelling started to go down. I realized it wasn’t his cheek but his eye that had swollen shut. Next was an unsettling shift under the skin below his eye, like the bones of his face were clicking and popping back into place. He moved my fingers to his forehead, where the gash had healed. Then to his lips. The split had come together, and my mind stopped on how soft his lips were, how tiny sparks danced over my fingertips at their touch.
“See?” Ren whispered, his warm breath sending shivers up to my shoulders. “Just let me lie here a moment.” He took my hand again and placed it over his heart, and I scooted back until I rested more comfortably against the wall. He sighed and relaxed into me, his head growing heavy. But he didn’t release my hand, even as it rose and fell with his jerky, rattling breaths.
I stroked his hair, and sure enough, the lum
p had mostly disappeared. His breathing evened out. I leaned my aching head against the wall, my stomach starting to turn uncomfortably.
I’d heard that happened with head injuries, but it was more than that. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t think up a solution to our predicament. Ren injured, his magic drained. I couldn’t do anything with a sword even if we had had one.
My father was out of the castle—I hoped—but had no memory. Turia needed him, especially if Janiis attacked. The Plateau would crumble without him to help fight the mages. We needed to find Mari.
And, cavolo, Ren was the king of Hálendi. What would they do if—? No. I would find a way out.
The book, the tiny book Jenna had given me so long ago, dug into my leg. I wished I’d written something in it.
Wait. The book. The clue! The thought of using it to bargain for our lives passed briefly through my mind, but I dismissed it—Janiis would take the clue and kill us. If the mages needed the clue, they’d kill Janiis and take it. Either way, the Plateau would be worse off if Janiis got it.
“How bad are your injuries now?” I asked. I needed Ren with me. I couldn’t get my father and Ren out on my own.
He sighed. “A few ribs. My leg. Shoulders. My head is mostly better.”
“How long until you’re healed?”
His chest rose as he shifted, and I heard a bone snap into place. “A little longer,” he grunted.
“How long have you been here already?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer for a while. “I’m not sure. I was stopped on my tour of the palace and escorted in here. Janiis said I’d been making eyes at his bride.”
“And he didn’t kill you on the spot?” I asked.
“He wanted to, but when I told him Jenna was my heir, and that with a missing King Marko, Turia and Hálendi would unite as a single kingdom if he killed me, he got mad and had me beat up instead.”
I chuckled low. “That’s quite the twist.”
He squeezed my hand. “I take it you were caught before you found your father?”
I licked my dry lips. “No, actually.”
His face turned up to mine, though I couldn’t tell if he could see me in the dim light from under the door. “You found him?”
“We got him out. Cynthia, of all people, took him in a carriage to the market to meet up with Luc.”
He brought my hand to his lips, kissing my palm. Warmth zinged up to my elbow. “You did it, then. You saved your father.”
A tear ran down my cheek. “He’s safe, but…” If I told Ren, he’d immediately offer to help. Give my father whatever magic he had left.
“But what?” he asked, holding my hand tighter.
He needed to know. If we miraculously escaped, we’d have to find a way to get my father up the cliffs. “Something’s wrong with him. He didn’t recognize me. Couldn’t remember anything—who he was, why he was here. Nothing. I’m afraid Koranth had something to do with it.”
Ren exhaled, and his breathing sounded much better. “But he’s out. Luc will take care of him.”
I stared into the dark room. “Koranth hated my father. I’m worried he won’t ever regain his memory.”
Ren didn’t move, didn’t say anything for a long while. “We’ll handle that when we have to. First, we escape.”
I checked his ribs. My fingers skimmed along his tunic, and I realized what was missing. “He took the Medallion?”
Ren sighed. “No. They took my sword, though.”
One side of my mouth quirked up. “You really need to figure out your priorities.”
He shrugged. “It was my favorite sword. The Medallion is on the table, I think. Janiis doesn’t recognize worth unless it’s plated in something shiny.” He shifted like he would try to get it himself. I held him down.
“Let me.” I scooted out from underneath him and felt my way to the table, knocking over a candle before I found the chain of the Medallion. I crawled back and slid the chain around Ren’s neck, then tucked the Medallion under his tunic. “So what do we do now?”
“We rest. We wait.” He laced his fingers through mine. My heart beat a little faster, and I was glad to not be alone in this. But it was more than that. I was glad Ren was with me. No one else could have made me smile in this hole of a room. No one else could make me believe that we stood a chance at escape.
I exhaled long and slow. I’d sit in a dark room for however long it took, as long as my father made it to freedom, back home, where he could heal from whatever Janiis and Koranth had done to him. And then Ren and I would find a way out.
Ren
Time behaved strangely, stuck in the dark as we were, my head and body aching, my magic draining my energy even as it mended the broken bits of my body. The only constant was Chiara. How she cradled my head and brushed my hair back, her warm hands and soothing murmurs.
I’d need to think on the problem of Marko’s memory soon—not only the political ramifications but also figuring out whether there was a way for me to heal him. I wasn’t sure if I could heal someone from an injury of the mind like that. And if I couldn’t…could I handle Chiara’s disappointment?
“Ren?” she asked quietly.
“Mmm?” was the only answer I could muster up. My body didn’t hurt so much anymore, only the exhaustion that came after healing. Plus, her hand stroking my hair felt amazing.
“What do you think will happen once that door opens again?”
Her hand trembled. If Janiis found out his prized prisoner had escaped, there was nothing I could do to protect Chiara from his wrath. From Redalia. From Koranth. I took a deep breath to settle my heart rate and keep from using any more energy. I’d need it soon. All of it.
“Well,” I started, but Chiara’s hand slipped over my mouth. My mind emptied at her touch. Then I heard what she must have heard—scratching by the door.
Not against stone. Metal on metal. A tiny click, and the door popped open. It wasn’t much brighter in the hall than it was in the room, but I caught the silhouette of a woman—dress, hair pulled up, hands in front of her holding something.
I rolled up and crouched in front of Chiara. Redalia would have to go through me first.
“Chiara?” a high voice whispered. “Ugh, I can’t see anything, so if you’re here, speak up.”
“Cynthia?” Chiara said from behind me, her hand on my shoulder.
Cynthia let out a nervous breath. “Oh, good. I wasn’t sure I’d find you before the end of the party. It’s only pure luck I did. If the kitchen servants hadn’t been whining about their extra storage room being occupied, I’d never have—”
“You came back?” Chiara asked. Her hand went under my elbow, and I realized she was trying to help me stand.
Cynthia dragged her foot against the ground, the loose gravel catching at her slippers. “Of course I came back. I am not my father. Besides, no one would suspect me of anything.”
She wasn’t wrong there. She played her part perfectly.
“Now,” she continued as Chiara and I limped toward her, “we just have to find Atháren, and then—”
“You already did,” I said, my voice scratchy. Cynthia jumped a little and leaned forward—squinting into the dark maybe?
“Oh. Well. How nice.” She backed into the hall as Chiara and I made it to the door. My leg wasn’t fully healed, but it would have to do.
“Do you have a plan to get out?” I asked, mentally going through the exits from my tour this morning.
“This way,” Cynthia said, checking the hall again. “Everyone is at the last party before the wedding. Aleksa said the carriage I took this afternoon would be returned to the stables outside the city tonight. They haven’t had time to return it yet because of the wedding preparations. We can hide in the carriage, and find our way from the stables to the market, where Luc and the king are hid
ing.”
“My father is safe, then?” Chiara asked, hope lifting her voice as we slipped into another hall.
“Yes,” Cynthia whispered. “He was when I left him. But…” She paused, a long silence I filled with one bad scenario after another. “He kept holding his head. He’s in pain.”
“Your servants,” I said. “Will they suffer in our places?” Janiis was ruthless, Redalia even more so. I wouldn’t leave anyone here if I could help it.
She shook her head. “They’re all out of the palace. They should be hiding with friends of Aleksa.”
And she still came back? Perhaps I’d misjudged her.
We approached the first set of stairs. Chiara’s hand found my forearm in the dark and she leaned close. “Can you make it up?”
I swallowed down my first reply—that I definitely needed her assistance. “I’ll make it. Let’s get out of here as fast as we can.”
But Cynthia was leading us toward the kitchens, where a roar of noise accompanied the last-minute preparations. Too many eyes.
“Wait,” I said, and they stopped. “This way.” I led us down a different hall, then up two steps to a narrow door that opened on the side of the palace facing the ocean. The roar of pounding waves masked the creaking of the salt-crusted door.
We backtracked along the outer wall to the lone carriage tucked out of the way. It was positioned perfectly for us to slip into unnoticed by the servants still bustling in the light cast by the stars and torches.
But the carriage was different from what I had expected. Smaller. Only one harness for one horse—would all of us fit into the tiny contraption?
We snuck along in the shadows of the palace. I unlatched the carriage door, and helped Cynthia in, then Chiara.
“Get this carriage out of the way!” a man yelled from a few paces away. “We’ve got the queen’s flowers coming in next.”
I crammed myself inside and latched the door as a wagon filled with flowers rolled to a stop ahead. A whole wagon of flowers?
Considering Redalia’s proposition this morning, the marriage clearly wasn’t a love match. I’d been so focused on getting Marko out and keeping Chiara and Aleksa safe, I’d missed a key question: Why would Redalia marry Janiis? She had enough power to take what she wanted—enough power to sway the minds of men. My head fell against the seat back as a wave of exhaustion rushed over me, though my leg ached a little less.
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