by Ronie Kendig
“Yeah? Well, now we need to get out of here. Get back to the cave before that pretty friend of yours decides to have my head cut off.” He glanced at the plates. “Who were you eating with?”
“I . . .” Haegan looked over his shoulder to the bar that was empty save for two potbellied men and the innkeeper. He spun around, searching for the girl. “She—”
“Oh, blazes, you are a fool.” Drracien slapped his shoulder. “Good thing you were already poor, or she’d have made you that way.”
“You know her?”
“No, I don’t know a prostitute—unlike you.” Drracien dumped the leftover stew into his mouth and wiped his face. “C’mon. We have to get out of here.” He was moving before Haegan’s brain caught up.
“No, she wasn’t—”
“Quiet,” Drracien hissed as he stepped into the night. “Police and sentinels love this district after dark. We don’t need to end up in the stocks.”
“Don’t leave me this time.”
“I didn’t leave you.” Drracien looked down the street. “You didn’t follow.”
Haegan snapped up his head. “I—” A blur of green and gold silenced him.
Drracien darted beneath iron stairs. Though Haegan followed, he gave the space a hard search to be sure he hadn’t yet again pinned someone. Satisfied they were alone, he leaned himself against the wall.
Drracien glanced at him. His left cheek twitched as he studied him. “You know them?”
Know the Jujak? If he meant personally, no. Most of his father-king’s elite warriors had never seen or met him. But yes, he knew they were Jujak. Knew they were hunting him. “How could I?”
“You’re cowering.”
Haegan felt the night darken at the accusation. “And what are you doing?”
Drracien grinned. “Breathing air not infected with the stench of a thousand poor city dwellers.” His probing gaze came back to Haegan. “And apparently, protecting you.”
Haegan pried himself off the wall, digging into the dregs of his courage. “No need to protect me. I can do that myself.”
A rumble of laughter. “As you did with the prostitute?”
“She wasn’t a prostitute.”
Drracien gave him a look. “And you know this how? Have you that much experience with experienced women?”
Balling his fists, Haegan bit back the searing words begging for freedom. “That—”
A stream of Jujak emerged from a building.
“Back,” Drracien hissed, planting a hand on Haegan and nudging him farther into the darkness. Only then did Haegan realize the building was the same one he’d escaped through—the brothel. Had someone seen him? Betrayed him? Or . . . had he brought trouble upon those . . . women?
“Why are they looking for you?” Drracien whispered.
Afraid he’d betray himself and the truth, Haegan moved to the other side and feigned heavy interest in the Jujak’s direction.
“You deflect poorly, Rigar.”
“They’re not. I—”
He slammed a crumpled paper against Haegan’s chest. “Lie to me another day, prince.”
29
It felt as if the hard-packed ground had grown roots around his feet and legs. Haegan stood, unable to move, unable to believe the dark lines etched into the paper and illuminated beneath the moons’ revealing light. An image of him, perfect in likeness. And beneath his image, a searing phrase in bold lettering: Wanted for High Treason. Below it read: Known to associate with incipients. Capture alive at all costs. Large reward for his expedient return to King Zireli.
Incipients? How could his father think this of him? The Jujak were one thing, but how could his own father turn an entire realm against his son? Believe that his flesh and blood would commit such a heinous act? Believe that he’d try to take the life of his beloved sister? I love her!
The poster mentioned nothing of his title “Prince?” At least that much he could deflect for now. He tried to laugh, but seeing the proof that his father had put out a warrant for his arrest nauseated him.
“You may not have been in the public eye, but with that hair and those eyes, there is no doubt whose blood runs in your veins.”
“So a person with blond hair and blue eyes must be the offspring of the Fire King?” Haegan glanced at the paper once more and squeezed his hand into a fist, the poster crumpling noisily. When he looked up, only the cobbled street and alleys running up to one stoop or building after another lay before him. Drracien had vanished. Again. Irritation clawed at Haegan.
“You trying to draw them to us?” Drracien growled.
Haegan spun to find the accelerant standing at the end of the alley, backlit by a torch. “Where did you go?” he demanded as he stormed toward him.
Hands out, Drracien shrugged. “Right here, princeling.”
“Don’t.” The words ground between Haegan’s teeth. “It is imperative that you take this situation seriously. For once! What of the supplies? I’ve—”
Glowering, Drracien turned.
“I’m talking—”
“Yelling, actually.” Drracien bent, hooked something, then pivoted.
A weight barreled into Haegan, thumping against his chest. He scrambled to catch the hefty, knobby sack. “What—?”
“The supplies you were whining about.” Drracien slung another burlap bag over his shoulder. “Now shut up and get moving.” Weaving through the alleys seemed as effortlessly familiar to the accelerant as lectures had been to Gwogh.
Questions piled up in Haegan’s mind. Only the sound of their boots on the cobblestones met his ears as they slunk through the shadows of the city. When they passed not one but two gates, Haegan grew concerned. They were headed close to the alabaster walls of the Citadel Sanctuary. Unease increased. The accelerant never slowed or wavered.
And then a third gate.
Haegan slowed. Glanced at the thick wood barrier and the half-dozen guards. “Shouldn’t—”
“No.”
“But—”
“Quiet,” Drracien threw over his shoulder.
Insult added to indignation. Haegan quickened his pace to catch up, give the rogue a piece of his mind.
Drracien stopped.
Haegan stumbled into him. A strong pressure and warmth kneaded into his chest where Drracien restrained him. “Let—”
“Shh!” Drracien’s hot reprimand dashed along his cheek. “Sentinels,” he breathed.
Haegan froze and spotted the red cloaks patrolling in their official overcloaks and helmets. Not just one pair. Several. Two leading up an endless flight of stairs. Two in between a pair of pillars, barely discernible from the darkness and shadows. And another set in the courtyard below, patrolling.
Haegan gave a curt nod so Drracien would release him. They both knelt at the corner of a retaining wall, eyeing the imposing setting. He had sketches of the Citadel at Sanctuary, but actually seeing the Spire of Zaelero, his ancestor who fought the Mad Queen’s consort and ripped back the realm from his greed, stunned him into silence.
Two-storied buildings surrounded the courtyard on three sides. The fourth held an imposing structure that rose four or five levels—nearly as tall as Fieri Keep. But this building had innumerable columns at each level and atop it a dome adorned with a spire that glowed oddly bright beneath the moons.
How were they supposed to get out?
There was no way out. No gate. No alleys. Enclosed.
This had to be a mistake. Had Drracien grown confused with the darkness? He’d deftly managed to break away from Haegan many times, losing him altogether for a few hours. What had he done in that time? Contact accelerants? The Jujak?
Was Haegan, even now, cowering on the doorstep of an ambush? Had Thiel been right?
“Wait here,” Drracien said as he pushed up and darted past Haegan.
“What?” Haegan’s pulse vaulted over his panic. “No!”
But the accelerant was nothing but shadows and ebony against a blanket of blues, grays, and black. And heading�
�until Haegan lost sight of him—straight into the heart of the great Citadel.
Haegan dropped back against the wall and banged his head on it. Again. And again. What a fool to have trusted that rogue! To have placed his life in his hands. Swiping a hand over his face, he harnessed his frustration. What should he do? Wait here?
Right. Make yourself a fool and just wait for the sentinels to invite you into a cell.
So. He’d leave.
And go where?
The last gate. Could he remember how to get there from his position? He glanced in the direction from which they’d come and mentally back-traced his steps. Right to the last gate he’d seen. Yes, he could find his way.
Confident, Haegan hoisted the sack of goods in a firm grip and pushed to his feet, bent. Was he making the right move? What if Drracien returned?
Yes, the rogue would return—with the sentinels. Who would give up the reward on Haegan’s life? With that much money anyone would be set for life. A king’s ransom.
And a king’s fury—for Haegan. He’d known his father’s anger. He wouldn’t be on the receiving end of that again if the power rested in his hands to prevent it. Scurrying through the night and alleys, he kept his head low and his hope lower. He knew not why Abiassa had set her hand against him, but he would not give her more reason to continue her aggression. He would get back to Thiel and the others and set out for the Falls as quickly as possible.
A thought stopped him cold. They had been gone all day. What if Thiel and the others were gone? What if they’d fled? It would make sense—the city crawling with sentinels and the hills with Jujak.
Fear pushed him back. He hesitated, crouching at a half wall. He felt the cool stone through his tunic as he leaned his shoulder against it. What if he was wrong? He did not know this city, and getting caught . . .
A swirl of emotions—fear, grief, anxiety—tore at his courage and determination, leaving him in thin rags of weakness. He thumped a fist against the wall. Life and its riddles had seemed so simple lying in a bed with a tutor and fire for company. But one mistake out here could make the difference between freedom and lifetime captivity, if not death.
And for now, he was a captive to indecision.
The only thing he knew for sure: He was tired of being weak. It had been Haegan’s lot his entire life, first with paralysis and now with a lack of experience and knowledge. Enough. Gwogh had always said he had a bright mind, so he’d use it.
He hurried along the half wall and banked right. Yes, this was right. He remembered the cobbler’s shop on the corner. Hefting the bag over his shoulder, he kept to the shadows. Down past the bakery. Yes, yes. This was the route they had traversed. Next should be the confectioner . . .
He scanned windows and signs searching for the one with the mound of chocolate squares. But . . . Haegan glanced back up the street he’d just come down. Then to what lay ahead. Wait. No, this wasn’t right. He back-stepped, hand tracing the bricks, trying to remember. Sense the right direction.
But suddenly, nothing seemed familiar.
Panic stabbed his gut. He switched the weight of the bag to his other shoulder. Hurried back to what he’d last recognized. The bakery. He found the bowed window with the eyelet curtain across the top. Hand on the glass, he scoured the rest of the street. Then trod to the nearest intersection. Peered up and down the darkened streets. A curse hung on the tip of his tongue. None of it looked familiar. Why didn’t it look familiar?
His gaze swung back to the curtain.
There hadn’t been a curtain on the bakery window when he and Drracien had come. Wrong bakery. Blazes!
A clatter sounded in the darkness.
“Stop there!”
Haegan jerked toward the shout. A shadow flickered here. And there. But nothing moved at him. All the same, enough time had been wasted. He raced up the street and found a juncture he hadn’t noticed. One that was a crossroads, an intersection that wasn’t a hard turn, but a gentle blending of two streets. That would explain why he didn’t remember turning. He hurried on the new branch and found the bakery. Confirmed it was the right bakery. Continuing, he easily found the confectioner. And then ahead should be—
Thwump.
Oof.
Hiss.
Haegan spun, listening past the thundering of his heart as he probed the veil of night. The rubbish bin. An empty slatted chair. Flowers riffling in the gentle breeze. Unable to discern a threat, though he felt one keenly, he pursued his escape.
Ahead, the gate. Exultation surged through his veins, but he restrained it lest he betray himself at the last minute. He shimmied up to a corner and peered at the larger gate and its smaller footgate. The wagon gate barred entrance for the night.
Four guards maintained watch over the footgate.
Why hadn’t he thought of them? How was he supposed—
A shout went up somewhere to the right. Haegan ducked, afraid the guards might see him now. With extreme care, he eased his head around the corner. Spied two guards darting through a narrow passage, shouting for someone to stop.
The gate. Haegan traced it. The hut beside it. Two guards remained, distracted, watching their comrades disappear down the side street.
Now or never.
He threw himself out of the alley before he could change his mind. Over the powerful thump of his heartbeat, he could hear little other than the two muttering. He scooped up a rock as he ran and shoved himself into the relative safety of the darkened alcove.
Breathing came only with great effort, his fear of being discovered smothering him. Back plastered against the cold stone that formed the gate wall, Haegan stole a glance at the guards. They stood at an angle to him, their light chatter reassuring him that he had not inadvertently betrayed himself. Convinced of their obliviousness to his presence, he stuck his head out and peered at the gate. A heavy beam secured the smaller door.
A shout from one of the guards spiked his pulse.
Haegan sucked in a hard breath and jerked back, smacking his head against the stone. Biting back an oath, he flattened himself and slid a sidelong gaze toward the gate.
They were calling to someone else. Then laughed.
Hefting the rock, Haegan plotted his course. Executing the plan would take more courage than he possessed. But it had to be done or he’d be stranded or captured here in Hetaera.
With a quick flick of his wrist, he pitched the rock into the street. It clattered across the footpath and into the road.
The guards stilled. Glanced in that direction. But didn’t leave their post.
Blazes. What would it take?
Only then did Haegan note a wooden platform hoisted and secured, towering over the two guards. The wagon gate, it seemed, had a counter-measure—a drawbridge. When the gate was open during the day, the bridge was lowered, affording passage into the city. When the gate closed at night, it lifted the drawbridge in an added measure of security so that only the East River, which traced Hetaera’s southern boundary, moved in the night.
So. Brute force. If he could—
Enough thinking. Haegan examined the moonlight area, then launched himself at the guards. He cuffed one on the back of the head, pitching the guard forward. He bent over the small, waist-high fence but caught himself.
Haegan plowed into the second guard and shoved hard. The armored guard flipped over the barrier.
The first guard swung at Haegan with a shout. Clipped his cheek. Pain scored his face. He shouldered into the guard, lifting him off his feet and thrusting. The guard grabbed at Haegan, catching a fist hold of his tunic. The stiff fabric pulled against his lower back . . . his middle . . . his shoulders.
Haegan’s heels lifted. If he didn’t push now, they’d both end up in the narrow river. Fear and anger collided. He punched the guard in the side.
With a howl, the guard tipped backward.
Free! Heagan was free. He darted for the foot gate
He eased up to the heavy bar over the foot gate and squeezed through.
He ran into the trees, praying with what was left of him that he wouldn’t be seen. The slope grew steeper and his breathing more labored. Haegan slowed out of necessity, unable to breathe and half afraid he’d end up lost. Again.
“You stupid fool!”
Haegan spun.
Trudging toward him, Drracien seemed no more out of sorts than a man taking a quiet stroll in the woods. “I told you to stay!”
“I am not a dog that I take commands.”
“No, but you are an ignorant, impudent prince who thinks he can do whatever he likes without considering the risk to others!”
“Says the accelerant who abandoned the person he was supposed to help get in and out of the city with supplies.”
Having caught up, Drracien thumped the bag of stores. “Supplies.” He popped Haegan on the head. “The person I was supposed to get out.”
“You left me. Again!”
“With instructions to wait!” He was hiking up the hill. “But no, you had to dart off at the first chance.”
“I had no way of knowing if you’d set me up. What were you doing anyway?”
With a barked laugh, Drracien kept moving. “You are not worth so much, prince, that I would expend my own life. I only had to follow the trail of bodies you left to find you.” He patted Haegan’s face, condescendingly. “Be more tidy next time.”
Haegan slapped the hand away. “I do not need instructions from you.”
“You need instructions from someone! I found four bodies—three sentinels and a gate guard. I would have caught up with you, but I had to conceal them so we weren’t discovered. You have a lot to learn, princeling.”
“This is madness. I killed no one!”
“I followed those bodies to the Purple Gate—which was unguarded, thanks to you.”
“It wasn’t me! I killed no one, you stupid, arrogant—”
Drracien stopped, his brow knotting. “I warned you once about lying to me, princeling.”
Hands fisted, Haegan tossed aside the supplies. “And I warned you about—”
“Whoa-whoa-whoa! Stop!” Eyes wide, Drracien dropped his sack. He slid his hands in a swooping arc, crossing them over each other, then drawing the right over the left and pulling it back to his side while thrusting the left at Haegan. A glow warbled around his hand.
