Chapter 52
52
A rcher jumped to his feet, pacing like a wild animal. Thorne and I remained quiet, but the surprised glance we’d shared was more than enough to make sure we were on the same page. Eventually, Archer went back to the horses and Harlow watched him with sad, tired eyes, that dark glowing rim around her returning as she drew her knees to her chest, hugging them close.
Her words were barely audible at first. As if she’d held them so tightly to her heart for so long, letting them go was like losing a treasured piece of herself. Like she was betraying her mother. “Our mother… she loved the king with all her heart. It consumed her, that love. Like a fire burning too bright, too fast. She was one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting before the king and queen were married. Always by her side, privy to the most intimate moments of the royal couple’s lives as they courted. And somewhere along the way, amidst the glittering court functions and quiet palace halls, she and the king fell into a forbidden affair.”
She paused, her eyes distant, as if seeing the past play out before her. “When she discovered she was pregnant, they say she was overjoyed and terrified in equal measure. She knew the scandal it would cause, the danger it would put us all in if his betrothed were to find out. So she did the only thing she could think of. She wrote the king a letter, pouring her heart onto the page, telling him of the precious life growing inside her… and then she ran.”
A single tear tracked down Harlow’s cheek causing the black aura around her to ripple wildly, latching on to her sadness like it fed her broken soul. She continued. “She fled to our grandmother’s estate in the countryside, a place they’d been together before, hoping against hope that the king would come for her, that he would choose her and their unborn child over his promised queen. But she never sent the letter, too afraid of what might happen if she did.
“Our mother died when we were just babes, never having told a soul the truth of our parentage. I think it was a broken heart. It was our grandmother who finally revealed the secret to us on her own deathbed, pressing that unsent letter into my hands with her final breath.”
I reached out, laying a comforting hand on Harlow’s shoulder. She leaned into the touch, as if drawing strength from me. Thorne remained silent, but I could see the gears turning behind his sharp gaze, piecing together the implications of this story.
“Don’t you see?” Harlow whispered. “Archer has been chasing this dream for years, this desperate need to confront the king, to make him acknowledge us as his true heirs. I still have the letter and he wants me to give it to him. We’re two years older than Farris. But I know what will happen if he finds out. The king isn’t going to protect us. Farris is going to hunt us. That’s how this ends.”
“You’ve been working to save this kingdom because it’s yours,” I whispered, finally understanding the whole story.
“No. We’ve been doing it because it’s the right thing to do. Archer thinks we’re the rightful heirs. I know we’re just the bastard children of a lost king.”
Hours later, after Harlow decided to go talk to her brother, Thorne and I were left to keep watch. I nudged him with my shoulder once I couldn’t take the quiet anymore. “Bet you never saw that coming.”
He looked at me over the rim of his glasses with a half smirk. “Actually, I had a hunch. I just never thought they’d confess it.”
“You did not.”
“They fight about it all the time, if you pay close enough attention. It was bound to come to a head. But Harlow isn’t misguided in her fear. It’s the same fear her mother had for a reason. The queen was a vicious woman, and her son is obviously worse.”
“Why would the king have married her then? If he was so in love with their mom? That’s the real question here.”
He ran a hand through his dark hair. “Of course the king would have had to be married to hold his crown. That’s how it works here. I’m sure Farris is already searching for his wife. And, I can’t say for sure, but Harlow and Archer do everything with their whole heart. They’ve always jumped two feet in. If their mother was anything like them, then I’d say the king’s heart was also broken. And men tend to do irrational things when they’re hurt.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Quite honestly, yes.”
Everything in me wanted to ask a thousand questions but we’d been down this road and it never ended in a happy place. One day, when all of this was over, maybe the walls would fall as well as the masks and we could stop dancing around each other. I didn’t need to know who his parents were, nor what kind of trauma he kept locked away. But maybe I wanted to know his favorite meal as a child. Or where he went to escape the world when it was too dark to handle. Maybe I wanted to know about his studies and travels and the people that affected his life beyond the Fray.
Maybe he wanted that from me too. Just the little things. Except there was a part of my past I couldn’t remember. A man. He’d come in small moments, but with that came so much heartache, I don’t think I wanted to remember him. Maybe I’d actually wished his memory away to save my heart. Maybe I understood the king more than I knew.
“Did you bring my little book?” Thorne asked quietly, some time later. The fires had burned down to red hot coals, and the music was long gone. Only scattered hushed conversations drifted up the hill to us now.
“Of course I did. It’s in my pack. Why?”
“If you stay up here and watch tomorrow, the three of us can go down. If something is coming, you can warn me by writing in it, and you can give direction as needed.”
I shook my head. “I need to be down there. I need to touch the king and see his face as soon as possible. That way, if something happens, things go bad, I can always find him again. He’s too important to everyone. We can’t risk it.”
“To everyone, or to your great escape?” he asked, the irritation in his voice obvious. “Maybe Harlow’s right and we need to reevaluate.”
“I need to get home and I won’t hide that desire from you now that you know the truth, Thorne. I made a deal, and the days are ticking away. I think I have around fifteen left. I’m doing my best to stick together and do this as a team but keep that tone and see how fast I change my mind. You don’t have to come with me just because you lost yourself in the moment. I won’t hold you to that. But you do have to let me go at the end of this.”
He nodded, lifting a rock from the ground and tossing it into the trees. “I’m going to wake the others. We should get some sleep.”
I spread out our blankets while he did just that. I’m sure he wanted distance. Time to think about what I’d said. Time to figure out how to change my mind. But I was selfish, and I didn’t want distance. Not when our time together was fading away. So, I laid his blankets next to mine, and when he laid down beside me. I curled up to him anyway, laying my head on his chest. And just before I fell asleep, his chest rumbled as he whispered, “Souls don’t meet by accident and every time I’m with you, I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, even if there’s no logic to it. And I meant every damn word I said.”
“Are you sure?” Archer asked, leaning against a tree as he squinted down to the dwindling party.
“I’m sure,” Harlow nodded. “It would have been so much easier if we could have used the black Cimmerian robes, but it’s like you said, it’s your life too and we can’t keep up the charade forever. We’re running out of options. So we’re doing this.”
Archer walked forward, putting his arms around his sister. “I won’t tell him about us. I promise.” He turned to Thorne. “And you’re just going to stay up here? And send letters in the little book? That’s the plan?”
“Unless you have a better idea,” Thorne answered.
I knew he hated the idea, but to the others, he hadn’t opposed it. He’d chosen to support me and let me be the one to go down. It was the most logical thing to do and when it came to Thorne, he was nothing, if not logical. To an annoying degree if he so wished it.
Thorne drew a circle in the dirt with a stick and we gathered around, giving him the control he needed. “Pretend the camp is a clock. We’ll communicate location with times. If I say six o’clock, it’s the lowest, central point, make sense?”
“Yes, for the perimeter, but what about the inside? Say a guard is coming in here,” I said, pointing to a spot within. “How will I know?”
Thorne considered for a moment, studying the rough map he’d sketched. “All right, for the interior, we’ll use a grid system. Imagine the camp divided into nine quadrants you’ll read left to right, top to bottom. Top left perimeter would be ten o’clock, but the interior is quadrant one. Center is quadrant five. Got it?”
I nodded.
“Archer, what’s the quadrant?” he asked, pointing to one of the nine squares he’d drawn.
“Six interior, three o’clock on the perimeter.”
“And this one, Harlow?”
She flipped her dagger in her hand. “If they’re on the outside perimeter, it’s six o’clock. If it’s interior, you’ll say quadrant eight.”
“Paesha?” He pointed to another square.
“Center of the clock, quadrant 5. That’s where the big tent is and we’re headed to quadrant eight for the map.”
“Good. Now commit this to memory. It’s simple but effective. A quick way to convey critical information without getting bogged down in details. I won’t send irrelevant warnings. Stay together and stay sharp.”
Archer and Harlow looked equally focused. Last night’s disagreement was set aside or forgiven entirely, I wasn’t sure.
“Remember,” he continued. “Speed and stealth are key. Get in, find the map, then the king, and get out. No unnecessary risks. If something feels off, trust your instincts, and pull back. We regroup here and reassess.”
I kept the book tucked into the waistband of my pants, pressed against my stomach. The three of us made it as far down as we could without being seen as the God of Wild Animals or whatever led the prince and most of the party north through the mountain pass.
With Thorne keeping watch from above, we crept down the hillside, moving silently through the underbrush. I wanted to be calm, wholly aware of everything around me, but I couldn’t help the way my heart raced, the thrill of anticipation mingling with the icy tendrils of fear.
Most of the tents stood empty, holding the camp in an eerie quiet, and only about ten Cimmerians remained patrolling the perimeter. There was no way to know who was hiding in which tents, though. We paused at the edge of the trees. The book warmed against my skin. I slipped it out and read Thorne’s message, scrawled in neat, precise handwriting:
Two guards approaching quad eight from the perimeter at 4 o’clock. Wait for them to pass.
I showed the note to Archer and Harlow, and we crouched down, huddling close together as we watched the guards stroll by, their green cloaks fluttering in the breeze. They seemed at ease, unaware of our presence mere feet away. After several tense minutes, they rounded the corner of a tent and disappeared from view.
“Let’s go,” Archer breathed. “Quadrant eight. Stay low and move fast.”
We darted from the tree line, weaving between the tents. The small tent loomed before us, tantalizingly close. Harlow reached it first, pausing at the entrance and cocking her head, listening intently. After a moment, she nodded and slipped inside, Archer and I close on her heels.
The only light was the cloud covered sun filtering in through the thin fabric of the tent walls. Crates and trunks were stacked haphazardly around the edges, leaving a small, open space in the center. No one was inside, thankfully.
Harlow and Archer stood at the door, weapons out. I dashed across the space, moving the crates as quietly as possible, knowing the map was buried beneath them. The book heated against my skin again. I pulled it out, squinting to read Thorne’s message in the gloom.
Approaching from six o’clock. Hide. Now.
My heart leapt into my throat. “We need to hide!”
Archer and Harlow’s heads snapped to me, eyes wide. We scanned the small space desperately, looking for somewhere, anywhere to conceal ourselves. Harlow pointed to a large trunk in the corner, its lid propped open.
We ran for it, squeezing behind because there was no way we would all three fit inside. It certainly wasn’t fool proof, but it was the only option. Huddled behind the trunk, barely daring to breathe, we waited as the sound of heavy footsteps approached. A shadow fell across the entrance of the tent, and I kicked myself for choosing not to bring the sword from Alastor. I had my blade, though, and Archie and Harlow were both armed.
Hunkered down, we never saw the guard duck inside, but when he took a step forward, his boot crunched on the dry grass. Archer’s hand tightened on the hilt of his dagger as he brought a finger to his lips. I nodded slowly.
The Cimmerian moved. Checking behind each stack of crates. He was thorough, too thorough, and it was only a matter of time before he found us. I closed my eyes, silently praying to any god that might be listening.
A loud commotion erupted outside, shouts and the clash of metal on metal. The guard’s head snapped up. He hesitated for a moment, torn between completing his search and investigating the disturbance. With a muttered curse, he turned on his heel and ran out of the tent.
Seconds later, the flap ripped open, and Thorne was there, my bloodied sword in hand, heaving, eyes locked with mine and frantic. “New plan. Anyone that approaches dies. Let’s go.”
I could have thrown myself into his arms right then and there and sworn to never leave him. But there was no time as I rushed back to the crates. “Help me move these. The map’s under here somewhere.”
Thorne was at my side in an instant, his strong arms making quick work of the heavy crates. Together, we tossed them aside, desperation fueling our movements. Archer and Harlow kept watch. Thorne worked beside me, his eyes darting between the growing pile of discarded items and the tent flap.
“Here!” My fingers closed around a rolled parchment buried at the bottom of the last crate. I yanked it free, nearly toppling backward. Thorne’s hand shot out to steady me and I unfurled the map with shaking hands, my eyes scanning the familiar lines and symbols, as more commotion grew outside the tent.
“He moved it,” I said, across the space. “We would have both been wrong, Archer. He rotated the configuration and the dots at the top now.”
“Twelve o’clock,” Thorne said “Right between the god’s tents.”
Harlow glanced back from the door, her face pale. “We need to move. Now. Before they realize what’s happening, and cut off our escape.”
“Just run like hell. Get to the king. Paesha has to touch him. If he’s incapacitated at all, do what you can to get him out of the tent. Take this,” Thorne said, snagging a blanket from the top of one of the discarded crates. “Drag him on a blanket if you have to and get the fuck out as quick as you can.”
“You’re not coming?” I asked.
“I’ll be right behind you. Now go!”
He left no room for argument.
With a last, lingering look, I turned and followed Archer and Harlow out. We ran, keeping low and darting between tents. Focused solely on our destination at the top of the camp. As we neared, a group of guards spotted us. They charged with a shout, weapons raised. Archer and Harlow met them head on, knives out. I ducked around the fight, my heart in my throat, as I kept running, dashed into the tent with the king and slammed to a halt, pure shock ripping the air from my lungs.