by Sally Green
He almost felt sorry for Broderick as he said, “And will you take all these boys with you on your conquests? Even those who would steal from you?”
“No one steals from me.”
“Ah, so the boys have been looting the castle with your permission, I assume? Broderick sits on that very throne when you’re not here, wearing one of my shirts, playing with a coin he’s bragged about taking from Thelonius’s strongbox.”
Broderick was standing to the side, and his mouth opened and shut in shock as Harold turned to him and demanded, “You have a strongbox belonging to Thelonius?”
Broderick shook his head. “No.”
“And where did you get that ring you’re wearing?”
“Um. Well, that was from another strongbox.”
Edyon knew he would die no matter what, but still, he allowed himself a very small smile.
MARCH
CALIA, CALIDOR
CURTIS, THE leader of the Hawk Brigade, came to Harold to beg for Broderick. He also came to blame others, including Thomas, a Bull, who was dragged before Harold and had his jerkin ripped open to reveal a very nice shirt with a gold trim at the neck, and three necklaces with pendants of diamonds and pearls.
“One of Thelonius’s best shirts,” March said. “And several of his less valuable necklaces.”
“You see?” Curtis said. “It’s not just Broderick.”
This was the truth, but even so, March felt bad about accusing a Bull, one of Rashford’s boys, and indeed one of his own for a time. Still, March could see that Edyon was trying to sow dissent in the boys’ brigades, and he wanted to add to it. His own plan was to be seen as ultraloyal to Harold, and confirming the theft would do no harm to his own position. Thomas would undoubtedly get a severe beating, but he’d survive.
“But I thought . . . I thought I could have the shirt, and I sold some food in exchange for the pendants,” Thomas pleaded.
“Everything here is mine! It’s mine to gift, not yours to take or barter.” Harold looked furious. “Whoever stole it should be reported. You are not here to trade like a stall holder. Have him punished, Bull leader.”
Rashford stepped forward. “Yes, Your Highness.” And he began to lead Thomas away.
“Wait a moment,” Harold said. “I want to see his punishment. I want us all to see his punishment. Take his hand off, Bull leader.”
Rashford stood gaping at Harold. “His hand? Please, Your Highness. He’s one of my boys and a good soldier. He won’t do it again.”
“No, he won’t do it again. Nor will any of them. He’s one of yours, and you’re one of mine, Rashford. And I’ll have you cut in two if you fail to obey my order.”
Rashford looked dismayed. Thomas made a dash for the door, but Sam and another of the Gold Brigade brought him back.
“Do it now, Bull leader,” Harold ordered. “Take his hand off. And let this be a lesson to all the boys. You do not steal from me. The boy is not fit to serve in the boys’ brigades, but he clearly has a future as a merchant. However, his future is with one hand, or else he has no future at all, and neither do you.”
“But I didn’t know,” Thomas pleaded. “I won’t do it again.” He struggled against the boys who were holding him.
Rashford drew his sword. “Hold his hand out.”
Thomas screamed, and Rashford turned and slashed down, cutting Thomas’s left hand off at the wrist. Thomas’s screams stopped abruptly. Rashford gave him an inhalation from his own smoke and bent close, talking to him.
March turned away. Even if he hadn’t said anything, Thomas would have probably lost a hand, but it didn’t feel good to be part of it. He went to leave the room, but Sam blocked his path. “Got a problem, March? Don’t you approve of justice being done?”
March replied in Abask, cursing Harold and Sam and the lack of justice.
“What’s that you said?”
March managed to bring himself under control and replied, “I said that of course the prince can administer justice however he likes. But Thomas was a Bull, and so were you, for a time.”
“So your loyalties are to the Bulls, not to the Gold Brigade? Not to Harold?”
“I didn’t say that, and you know it, Sam.” March pushed past Sam and walked down the long corridor, away from the hall.
The castle was a mess, stinking of blood and bodies, swarming with flies. Harold had ordered it cleaned up, but the boys weren’t as enthusiastic about cleaning as they were about killing. March needed to think. He needed to plan. He had to get rid of Harold and somehow save Edyon too. His mind could hardly focus, though, as he kept seeing Thomas’s hand lying on the floor. He went back to his room and shortly after, Rashford joined him, shutting the door and then punching it with his fist.
“How’s it going, Bull leader?” March asked.
Rashford didn’t reply, but leaned his forehead against the door.
“How’s Thomas?”
Rashford still didn’t reply.
“Well, I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’ll heal quickly enough, and Harold says that he’ll soon have a booming market stall. He’s got a great future ahead of him.”
“Shut up.” Rashford banged his head against the door, then hit it with his fist again.
March wasn’t sure what Rashford wanted, but he obviously had reached his limit.
Rashford finally turned round, and, with his back against the door, he let himself slide down so he was sitting on the floor. “I’m not sure how much more I can take. I was just going to leave, but I don’t know where I’d go.”
March nodded. “I’d had enough on the battlefield. Seeing the bodies cut up. I don’t want to be a part of that.”
Rashford leaned back, his eyes filling with tears. “I don’t want to be part of chopping people’s hands off. I mean, maybe the enemy’s hand, but not my own boys.”
“The longer we stay here, the more like them we are. And we’ve brought it on our own heads. Anyone working for Harold has only themselves to blame. That includes you, and me too.”
Rashford’s head was slumped down. He muttered, “I hate him. Thomas and Broderick can’t be blamed for stealing from this place. They’ve never set foot in a palace before, never even seen this wealth. They want some of it. Why shouldn’t they take some of it? There’s still loads for Harold.”
“But Harold’s a prince. Nasty, cruel, and quite possibly mad, but still a prince. So he will punish any who disobey, and you will do his bidding, Rashford.”
“What else can I do?”
March hesitated. This was risky, but Rashford had seen him on the beach and had said nothing. “Well . . . you can bow and scrape and do as you’re told. You can chop off the hands of boys in your own brigade. Or . . . you can end it.”
Rashford raised his head, his eyes meeting March’s. “There’s no end to it, though. They’re all as bad as each other. If it’s not Aloysius, it’s Harold. If it wasn’t Harold, it’d be someone else.”
“No, that’s not true. Edyon would be prince. Look at him—you can tell he’d not hurt a fly. He’d reward those who helped him. This country’s still in the balance. Aloysius’s reinforcements haven’t arrived from the north, and who knows when they’ll get here.”
“But Edyon’s going to be executed.” Rashford frowned and lowered his voice. “Or are you planning on something else happening?”
“What can I plan, Rashford? I can’t stop the execution. Unless . . . Harold was dead. Somehow.”
“Somehow?”
“A sharp dagger to the neck. You could do it, Rashford.”
“I don’t think so. You’ve seen him—no one gets close. He’s on smoke all the time. The only person who can get close is you. If Harold was to die in his sleep, no one would give two fucks except Sam and a few others of the Gold Brigade,” Rashford said. “You could do it.”
“An
d the brigades would look to a new leader—one of them. Someone like you,” March added. “Someone who everyone respects.”
Rashford bit his lip but nodded.
“There’ll be more boys being punished like Thomas if we don’t act. Everyone must see that. There must be some others who’ll join us. They look to you, Rashford. They respect you more than Harold.”
Rashford shook his head. “Not all of them.”
“But you know the ones you can trust.”
“I’ll speak to a few, only the ones I’m certain of—Kellen, Fitz, and a few more. There might be trouble afterward, but the Bulls won’t hurt us. And if I get Curtis on board, then the Hawks will help us too. How soon?”
“It’s got to be as soon as possible. Tonight.”
Rashford nodded. “Agreed.”
“I can get into his bedchamber, but he has four guards around him at all times. We have to overpower them. And Harold himself is strong; he never lets the power of the smoke leave him. But if I can make an excuse to clean his sword and keep it away from him . . .”
March knew this was a weak idea, but they’d have to try it.
In the meantime, March had to somehow continue with his day and make an effort to appear as normal as possible. He went with Harold to view the metal construction on which Edyon would be executed. “The execution will happen tomorrow,” said Harold. “I want Edyon’s head on a spike before his father’s face rots past all recognition.”
After that, March saw Rashford once more, late in the afternoon. “We’re on,” Rashford reported quietly. “I’ll bring everyone up late tonight.”
March nodded. This was it. He had to do it for Edyon, for everyone.
That night, as Harold prepared for bed, March took his armor and sword.
“What’re you up to, March?”
“They’ve lost their shine, Your Highness. I was going to clean them before tomorrow’s execution.” March’s voice seemed strained; his heart was beating too fast. And Harold seemed to be assessing him. It looked like he didn’t believe a word of it, so March added, “But if you’d rather I didn’t . . .” And he made to put the armor back.
“No. I want them sparkling. Get on with it.”
March took the sword to his own bedchamber and waited. He felt sick with nerves. He heard the guard change in Har-old’s room—four guards, as always, would be round Harold.
When it was dark and silent, he put his knife in his boot and went out to the corridor. Rashford was there with Kellen, Fitz, and Curtis. They would deal with the guards, but March had to deal with Harold. He took a small inhalation of Rashford’s smoke and felt the strength of it fill him.
I’m Abask. This is right. This is what needs to be done. For me, for Edyon. For all.
March drew his knife and put it inside the fold of a towel and picked up a jug of water. He was just going to take these things to his prince in preparation for his morning ritual. Nothing unusual about this at all.
He made his way to Harold’s room and walked in, past the guards, slowly moving forward to the bed. It was what he had done many times but never at this time of night. He put the jug on the side table. Behind him, he heard a struggle as Rashford and the others took the guards. Harold was covered in a sheet, his hair the only thing visible. March gripped the knife and pulled the sheet down to stab the prince’s neck.
But . . . looking up at him was Sam, not Harold.
“Traitor!” Sam shouted, leaping up, pushing March back and knocking the knife from his hand, as March was grabbed from behind. Rashford was being held by the biggest of the Gold Brigade. The others were held too.
Sam shouted, “We have them all, Your Highness! March and the Bulls were here to betray you, just as I thought.”
Harold stepped from the bathing room and looked at each of his captives. “Well, well, well. It seems that Sam has outsmarted you villains.”
Sam grinned. “I knew you were up to something, Rashford. I’ve been watching you for days.”
Harold came to stand in front of March. “It’s such a shame that you Abasks are treacherous to your core. I won’t find anyone with eyes like yours easily, March. But you can comfort yourself that I’ll have them put on display near me.”
March spat at Harold, and Harold slapped him so hard across his face that, even with the healing power of the smoke, March thought his head might come loose. “Take these traitors away. They will die tomorrow with the bastard prince. I look forward to watching.”
AMBROSE
DEMON TUNNELS
EVEN IN Ambrose’s head, there was something about Frost’s voice that irritated him, and the way she could see into his mind, review his whole life, was horribly unsettling. But he couldn’t risk ignoring her warning. He pulled Geratan aside and touched his friend on the arm.
I need to go with Frost. She claims to have information about a threat to the queen, but she’ll only tell me on the surface. I need you to stay here and guard the tunnels. The Brigantines are likely to counterattack. Keep your wits about you—there’s something I don’t like about all this.
Are you sure you can trust her?
Not as far as I can throw her. But she knows something, I believe that.
Next, Ambrose went to Tash and took her hand.
Thanks for your help, Tash. But I’ve more to ask of you. I need another tunnel.
No rest for the wicked, eh?
Can you make one that comes out in the south of the plateau? I need to be as close to the Pitorian camp as possible.
Are we leaving, then?
Just you, me, and Frost.
Her?!
I don’t like the idea any more than you, but I need her information.
Ambrose turned back to Frost and beckoned her forward. She sauntered past his guards and pressed her finger on his arm.
I take it we’re heading out on a mission to save the queen?
Your information’d better be correct.
Oh, it is. But do you really think that if you save her, your precious queen will realize that your love is the one she needs?
Just get moving. Ambrose pushed Frost forward. Tash is going to make us a new tunnel.
We could use a tunnel I know that comes out in the south. That’s where you want to be, isn’t it?
I do. But no doubt your tunnel will come out among a lot of Brigantines.
Frost smiled wickedly. Just a small post. Ten guards.
Ambrose was tempted. It would be faster—if it was true. We’ll go along it most of the way. Then Tash can take us up to the surface nearby.
Frost’s smile wavered. Oh, how lucky we are to have her.
She led the way up several ramps, ducked into a low tunnel, and immediately sped up. Ambrose grabbed her and held her back. You’re not running off.
I was only stretching my legs. I won’t run away and leave you. This is far, far more interesting. I really want to see your face when I tell you what’s going to happen.
Just get behind me and stay there.
Ambrose pushed Frost back between him and Tash and set off. The tunnel was narrow but straight, and he ran at a gentle pace. They might have to do this all day. Eventually Ambrose had to slow to a walk, though Tash looked like she could run forever.
How much farther? he asked Frost.
Not far now.
At last the tunnel began to head upward, sloping so steeply that Ambrose’s boots began to slip. The tunnel walls were too smooth to offer any handholds, so he braced his arms against them while forcing his way up the incline. A screeching howl came from up ahead.
A demon? he asked.
Yes, it’s in a cage at the end of the tunnel. Nice and safe. Frost’s voice was matter-of-fact.
Tash’s eyes flashed angrily, and she pushed Frost into the tunnel wall. You’re the demons, not them.
Ambrose separated the two girls. Calm down. We need to be quiet and get on with our task. Don’t let her get you angry, Tash.
I wasn’t.
Ha! Pea-Brain just loves her demon friends.
Ignore her, Tash. I need you to tunnel us to the surface from here. We need to come up far enough away from the entrance to this tunnel so the guards can’t see or hear us. Can you do that?
Tash leaned forward into Frost’s face and said, Easy.
Ambrose sighed with relief when Tash took her hands from Frost and put them on the tunnel wall. Instantly the stone began to move back. Tash stepped forward, and a new tunnel formed in front of her.
Slowly but surely, they moved along, climbing upward until they broke out of the demon world and into the human one.
Ambrose held Frost back. Stay close to me. I don’t want you running off without completing your part of the bargain.
He kept a tight hold on Frost’s wrist as he climbed up the slope. The glare of bright sunlight blinded him for a moment as the cold air of the human world hit him. Frost twisted her hand, and Ambrose pulled her close and put his hand over her mouth. He hissed at her, “Scream and I’ll break your neck.”
Frost looked up with her huge silver eyes and blinked as innocently as a child.
Tash came over and spoke quietly: “We should be safe here. The Brigantines shouldn’t be able to hear us.”
“Perhaps not, but I’d rather not risk it.”
As Ambrose took his hand from Frost’s mouth, he drew his dagger, which he held to her throat, saying, “Now tell me what you know.”
Frost began to speak, her voice as sickly sweet as it had been in Ambrose’s head.
“You’ve noticed, I’m sure, that the demon world is sealing up. The tunnels to the surface are closing, and the central cavern itself is shrinking. And yet the core of smoke is getting bigger—a lot bigger since you released the smoke from the cage. And it’s hotter too. More smoke, more heat, and less space. The demons are making it happen.”
