by Jade Kerrion
Nithya drew a deep breath. “What are Tristan’s greatest fears?”
The hidden room in Darken Tavern provided near-perfect isolation from the world. The conversations in the tavern muted into white noise. Nithya stared at the hypnotic curl of wafting smoke from a peat torch, but this time, it did not draw her into a safe, abstract space.
It could not.
Not with Varian trapped in the palace.
She looked at Louis, who sat across from her, his hands steepled under his chin. “Well?”
“It’s dangerous,” his deep voice rasped. “And more likely to fail than not.”
“I know, but if Varian is to have any chance against Tristan, we have to evacuate the palace before the lives of his retainers can be used against him.”
“We evacuate the palace, and then what? Varian is no closer to being free. If he’s collared and drugged, he can’t fight Tristan and win.”
Sabine tugged her borrowed shawl around her shoulders. “Varian can always do more than you expect, even when he’s caught off-guard by betrayals close to him.”
The princess’s words struck like a honed dagger. Nithya winced. When she ruined Varian’s plans, he had released all the magic users in his palace—magic users who could have successfully thwarted Tristan’s mercenaries. More than anyone, except perhaps Tristan, she had betrayed Varian.
And for what?
Her principles were a cold thing to hold on to in the night when she was alone. Nithya drew a deep breath. “I’m going in too.”
Sabine looked up sharply. “You are the last person who should return to the palace. Varian loves you.”
Nithya froze.
“He never told you?”
She shook her head.
Sabine’s smile was sad. “He told me.”
“And apparently, he told the entire council,” Ariel chimed in, her eyes wide as she stared at her friend. “Daddy said Varian told the council he’d fallen in love with a witch. He didn’t mention your name, but…” She threw her arms around Nithya. “You? That’s wonderful. You’re perfect for each other.”
Nithya’s eyebrows arched. “Yes, we are,” she murmured. “We don’t agree on a single thing.”
“Agreement is overrated.” Ariel waved Nithya’s ironic observation away. “The point is to love in spite of disagreement.”
“He can’t love me anymore.” Nithya drew a deep, shaky breath. “Not when I’ve struck at the heart of something that means everything to him. I can’t undo what I’ve done. Given a choice to do it over, I might even have made the same decision—but I…have to do something to save him. I cannot sit back, not when—”
Tristan’s voice rang in her mind. “Almost as if we planned it…”
“—I have to go back.”
Sabine shook her head. “If you’re caught, it would destroy Varian.”
“I can hide in plain sight,” Nithya said. She looked at Louis. “I can create the distraction Louis needs to find and free the guards and servants. No one will see me.”
Sabine frowned. “Varian does not love easily, but he loves deeply. Whatever you did to him—” Her breath tore out of her. “—it’s not over.”
“It is for him.” In that moment, Nithya could not fully wrap her thoughts around everything she had lost. “But it’s not for me. That’s why I have to go back.”
Ariel clasped Nithya’s hand. “Then I should go too. You don’t have enough magic to get you out of a tight spot.”
“Oh, this?” Nithya glanced down at her atern bracelet. She pulled her finger over its dull gray surface, gently tugging away the illusion. She had to squint against the near-blinding glare. By the blood of the thirteen witches, she hadn’t realized how much power she had absorbed from others as payment for her illusions, or how much she herself was hiding.
She straightened and met Ariel, Sabine, and Louis’s incredulous stares. “Witches and fae came to me and asked me to conceal their magic. That’s why Varian never found the magic he needed to shatter the barrier. That’s why he can never forgive me, or love me. It was the one thing that mattered to him, and I alone stood in his way. I took his dream away. And that’s why I have to go back now.”
“Because you owe him?”
“Because I love him.”
Sabine looked stricken. “You must forgive him, please.”
“I’m the one who needs his forgiveness.”
“You despise his obsession with the barrier, but it’s all he was raised to do. Varian was minutes old when the atern bracelet slipped around his wrist and began to glow as if he possessed the radiance of the sun. Rainier stroked his son’s head, as if the most precious thing—not a child—had fallen into his grasp.
“For years, decades, the only real interaction Varian had with his father was over that barrier. Every word from Rainier’s mouth emphasized the importance, the inevitability of what Varian had to do. Varian was raised, groomed only for one thing—to shatter that barrier. Rainier never expected to die when he did. He planned to rule long after Varian shattered that barrier and returned magic to La Condamine.”
Nithya’s eyes widened. “He would have sacrificed his son’s life?”
“Varian was a pawn, nothing more.” Sabine shook her head. “It was difficult, watching my son grow up, craving his father’s love and believing that the only way to earn it was to give up his life for his father’s dream. When you hear Varian speak of the barrier—those are Rainier’s words.” She glanced at Lady Isobel. “In many ways, Tristan had it easier. Rainier had no expectations of him but to enjoy his company, and he did. Rainier may not have acknowledged Tristan publicly, but he treated Tristan more like a son than he did Varian.”
Sabine swallowed hard. “After Rainier died, I hoped that Varian would give up his father’s obsession with the barrier and be, instead, the prince La Condamine needed him to be. Those things he did—those things you despise—the past, his past, was too strong for him.”
“Just as Tristan’s past was too strong for him,” Nithya murmured. “And now, we have to save two boys from the sins of their fathers.”
Louis grunted. “Your plan has more holes than moldy cheese, but I’ve no better plan to replace it with.” He huffed out his breath; it sounded like a sigh. “The fewer people entering the palace, the better. If Nithya can provide enough of a distraction, I can evacuate the palace. There’s no need to put more lives at risk. Let’s go. We’re wasting time.”
Nithya glanced at Sabine and Ariel. Neither woman said anything else, but their faces were pale and pinched. Nithya threw her cloak around her shoulders, pulled up the hood, and released the lock on the concealed door.
It opened into the alley behind Darken Tavern. The cold blast of air was almost welcome—a desperately needed relief from the heated atmosphere within the small room.
Louis stepped out to join her, and he glanced at the faint glow of dawn spreading across the horizon. “We have to get out of the city before it gets light.”
“The gates are closed, but we can travel across the water.”
Louis frowned. “The…sea?”
“The frozen sea. How do you think the illegals enter La Condamine? Through the front gate?” Nithya grinned at him. “This way.”
The sea-ice, broken up by continuous motion of waves, was not the smooth, slick surface of a frozen lake. The spread of snow also provided traction for their boots. The wind sweeping across the open expanse was bitter, however, cutting through their thick cloaks like a knife.
The city walls extended to the edge of the water. From where she stood, down on the frozen sea, La Condamine’s defenses seemed impregnable. It had been attacked from within, betrayed by one of its own.
In a voice scarcely louder than a whisper, Nithya asked, “How far to the hidden entrances?”
“Two miles beyond the far side of the city wall, through rough terrain.” Grim lines etched Louis’s face. “Five hours. Perhaps six.”
“And from there into the palace itse
lf?”
“Two miles of caves. At least it’ll be dry.”
“We won’t reach the palace until well after noon.”
“Closer to two hours past noon, more likely than not.”
“But that only gives us eight hours before the spell—”
Louis chuckled softly. “Battles can be won and lost in minutes, if not seconds. If Tristan really intends to use the palace guards as hostages, then the closer we cut it, the better.”
“What do you mean?”
“It gives Tristan less time to come up with an alternative plan.”
“Did you know him?”
“Hard not to, when I was often close to the prince.” Louis sounded contemplative. “Tristan was a good friend, or at least I thought so. They were always together. Tristan had a head for mischief, but he kept Varian from taking himself too seriously. He still does that.”
“Varian?”
“He’s a prince. He can’t help himself. He’s careful with what he says and does because he knows he’s always closely scrutinized. His words and actions are entirely open to interpretation—usually in the worst possible light—and the effects will ripple.”
“Forcing his people to sacrifice their magic for his purpose isn’t that open to interpretation.”
“We don’t get to choose the demons that flog us.”
Nithya inhaled deeply. And what are mine? Too quick to claim the moral high ground. Too quick to judge and to assume the worst.
Not quick enough to forgive.
Not quick enough to say, “I’m sorry.”
How much of the disaster could she have averted if she hadn’t assumed she had all the answers? If she hadn’t interfered with Varian’s plans?
Guilt gripped her heart, its claws digging deep until she had to grit her teeth against the pain in her chest. Nithya clutched her cloak around her shoulders, hunched as much against the cold outside as against the ache inside.
She said nothing. The uphill trek through the snow demanded all of her energy. She was almost numb with cold by the time Louis led her off the snow-packed trail and through the densely packed fir forest. The bite of the wind lessened as they approached the mountain, but the shadows deepened, the trunks of the trees appearing like black, jagged cracks on the surface of the snow.
“Lots of recent traffic.” Louis gestured to the mud-stained snow. “It’s how Tristan sneaked the outlanders into the palace.”
“It was probably Tristan I overheard in the old palace,” Nithya murmured. “He subverted Lord Baudin’s retainers, and he played me for a fool, leading me to believe that the older members of the council were set against Varian.”
“They are set against Varian,” Louis said. “It’s not news that they have not supported him in any decision ever since Prince Rainier died. Their style of rebellion, however, is more likely to include screaming matches in the council than a mercenary revolution.” Louis ducked his head under a low-hanging branch and entered the mouth of a cave.
Nithya threw a glance over her shoulder at the city walls two miles away. “And this leads to the palace?”
“Yes. It goes underground and reemerges in the old palace. Don’t distract me down there. It’s easy to lose one’s way.”
At some other time, perhaps, it might have been easy to lose one’s way, but the path had been heavily traveled recently, and the choices at the forking paths were clear. Louis did not lower his guard, however. His hand remained on the hilt of his sword, and his gaze swept across the breadth of the shadows around them.
“What’s the plan when we get to the palace?” Nithya asked.
“Plan?” Louis echoed ironically. “I thought you had the plan. You’re the mastermind. I’m just the sidekick.”
“You’re the savior. I’m the distraction.”
Louis frowned. “And you better remember that. Stick to the plan. We’re here to evacuate the palace. No crazy heroics to get Varian out, because—more likely than not—we’ll fail, and make the situation even worse for him.” He paused briefly. “There aren’t too many secure rooms in the palace. The servants and guards are probably held in the cells in the southern tower.” He scowled. “It’s a fair distance from the old section of palace, and no real way to stay hidden.”
“Will Varian also be in the southern tower?”
“That would be convenient, but I wouldn’t count on it,” Louis said. “In fact, we don’t want Varian anywhere near the others, or Tristan would station so many mercenaries there that we’d never be able to get past them. Whatever it is, I’ll need the distraction in the northern part of the palace. Pull Tristan’s men over there. If you can clear the hallways of any random patrols, I can take out any remaining guards near the cells. The situation will get both easier and more dangerous with each room of captives I free. We’d have a more viable defense, and at the same time, any hope of stealth goes out of window.” He stopped to stare at Nithya. “We’re going in to get them out. Preferably, without a fight.”
“I understand.”
“And that means leaving Varian to fight his own battles.”
She frowned. “It seems wrong that we’re not going to help him escape.”
“You can win without escaping.”
“And without surviving?”
A muscle twitched in Louis’s cheek. “Yes.”
“How can we not try to get Varian out?”
Louis spun. “Because we are doing what Varian would want us to do. We’re saving the only thing he cares for—his people. His life…it was forfeit anyway. He was going to give it up for the Convello.”
“It must be a fae thing, to be so blasé about dying. Witches could never be so resigned.”
“Maybe witches have perspectives the fae don’t. You’re human; we’re not.” Louis shook his head. “Fae are bound to magic. When our magic ends, so do our lives. Unless we’re killed by sickness or in battle, we can live for as long or as short as we choose. More importantly, we get to choose why and how it ends. We have some control over our fates, whereas yours is apparently lived at the whims of chance. Which is better? I don’t know. All I know is that Varian has chosen this path.”
“It’s the wrong path.”
“He is our prince.”
“Which makes him infallible?”
“No, but it makes him responsible for more than just himself and his family. His principles aren’t wrong; they’re different.” Louis’s tone turned reflective. “They’re greater than himself, and that’s both a good thing and a bad thing. The point is don’t get caught, or you’ll test Varian in far harder ways—ways he may not be able to endure.”
Louis’s warning stayed with her after they parted ways in the quiet shadows of old palace. Layered with glamour in the guise of a fae mercenary, Louis strode boldly toward the southern tower. Nithya threw on a similar illusion, minus the detectable sheen of glamour and headed toward the northern tower.
For several moments, she watched the fae mercenaries patrol the palace, their routes too erratic to discern any pattern. She leaned back against the wall, her fingers tapping against the panels. She needed a distraction—something big enough to hold the guards’ attention, yet not so big as to have everyone rush right up to it.
An illusion of a riot or even of a fire would not work. It demanded an urgent response. Nithya, on the other hand, needed something that would lure their attention, but not their action.
A smile crept over her face.
Footsteps shuffled, squeaking over floorboards.
Faint sounds rattled within the palace walls.
A fae mercenary stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“There’s something moving in the walls.”
As more outlanders gathered to press their ears against the wooden panels, the sound vibrated along several sections of the wall. The mercenaries checked beneath tapestries. Their shoulders heaved, muscles straining, as they pushed against large sections of the wall.
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To blend in, Nithya joined in the poking and prodding of marble columns and stone walls. More outlanders were summoned until the entire great hall in the northern wing seemed filled with fae, perplexed and alarmed by an entire army that seemed located behind the walls.
“What’s going on here?” Tristan’s voice roared.
Nithya spun around.
One of the older fae mercenaries said, “There’s something moving in the walls.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There are no hidden passages in this part of the castle.”
“We know what we heard,” the fae said stubbornly.
“And while you were here, victims of your own imaginations, the prisoners escaped!” Tristan drew his sword. “Did you hear nothing of the commotion in the southern tower?”
The fae shrank from the tip of the blade under his chin. “S…S…Sorry, my lord. Are they—?”
“All gone.” Tristan bared his teeth. He rotated his hand ever so slightly, his sword sinking into flesh.
The fae would have retreated further, but his back was already against the wall. A trickle of blood rolled down his neck.
“The…the…prince?”
“Not Varian, or you would all be fleeing for your miserable lives. The prisoners have escaped through the old palace,” Tristan snarled. “Take your men. Hunt them down. They can’t have gotten far.”
No, but with Louis guiding them, they have a fighting chance.
And now Varian does too…
Two dozen fae mercenaries strode toward the southern wing, as much to escape Tristan’s presence as to follow his orders. The other outlanders scattered into smaller groups to resume their patrol of the palace.
Nithya took advantage of the commotion to duck behind the heavy fall of velvet curtains before sliding, unseen, into the time-tested illusion of a mouse.
Tristan scowled at the backs of his men. “Fools.” He ground his teeth. He cast a narrow-eyed glance at the walls, but they remained silent.
The three fae standing behind him exchanged anxious glances. One of them asked, “How are we going to persuade Varian now that we’ve lost the prisoners?”
Tristan turned to the fae. “You know Nithya. You’ve met her.”
