Chapter 43
The guards drag me down the wide hallway, and it takes all my strength to remain upright as my vision swims—my jaw stinging.
A deep, gnawing ache settles in my chest, as if someone has pierced me through with a blade. Golan and Callum have my compass, and Isolde is searching for my ship—unaware of what’s going on. Kressa will marry Callum to save the Fire Court, and I’ll die a long, agonizing death. Along with my crew.
But I’m not ready to give up.
I jerk at the chains tethering my hands together, but the metal doesn’t give. Flames roil beneath my surface, but yet it’s not enough to break through the rhodium.
“Where are you taking me?” I manage to grit out.
The guard to my right scoffs. “Where you should have been from the moment you stepped foot in Ignata. The King has been far too kind respecting the wishes of his daughter, when you should have been rotting away in solitary.”
My heart rate speeds, and I rear back my head, ready to throw my forehead into his temple. We halt, and the other guard fists my hair and jerks my head back.
His gaze flicks to his comrade. “Unless we’d like to take matters into our own hands.” He lowers his mouth to my ear. “My sisters were murdered in the attack on Sarenia that you caused. And we can easily make your death look like an accident.”
The other hums. “We could say she fought back too hard. Or ended her own life to avoid being a prisoner of the Sky Court again.”
Their eyes meet, and something passes between them. An understanding. One that each of them would take to the grave.
My tongue turns to cotton, and I thrash my legs as they drag me toward a dim hallway branching off the main corridor. One unsheathes a short blade, and I open my mouth to scream, but a hand clamps over my mouth.
The guard to my left jerks forward, then halts—his eyes bulging. A stream of blood pours from his mouth, and his hold on me disappears as he falls to his knees.
Blood pools around him, and I twist as the other guard gasps. He chokes on a stream of words and crumples to the ground as crimson spreads across the back of his uniform.
I whirl around, and my feet step into blood as I come face to face with Kressa.
Her chest heaves, and strands of thick, midnight hair have fallen free from her braid. “We have to go, now.”
She pulls a key from her belt and jams it into my cuffs. They clatter to the ground, splashing blood around my ankles.
“Go where?” I breathe, glancing over her shoulder.
“Amoren.”
“But—”
She cups my face in her hands, and it’s as if I can feel her heartbeat as my own—her terror flooding my veins.
“Briar, I’m getting you somewhere safe. It’s temporary, but safe. Please, don’t argue.”
Heat thrums in my chest, but I hide the discomfort and clench my hands into fists. “What about the gloves? My power?”
Gnawing her lip, she glances down the hallway. But no shadows appear, and footsteps don’t echo off the walls. She guides me into a shadowed corner and presses my back against the wall.
Studying my face, she drags her thumb over my bottom lip. “Maybe this can hold you over.”
My breath halts as she presses her mouth to mine. It’s a hungry, needy thing, and my power sluices through my body—soothing the flames eating at my bones.
But just as I part my lips for her, she pulls away.
“Is that better?”
I exhale through my nose—doing everything to calm my racing heart. The world narrows to a pinprick, and everything beyond Kressa blurs.
I should have never told her the other night meant nothing to me.
“Kressa, I—”
Footsteps pound in the distance, and Kressa tightens her grip on my wrist, pulling me down the hall. “Hurry, before they find us with the bodies.”
I spare a parting glance at the lifeless guards covered in a layer of their own blood. “Hang on.”
Slipping from her grasp, I crouch over the guards’ blood and pluck a dagger from one of their sheathes. I adjust it in my grip and stand. “Let’s go.”
Kressa gives me a knowing smile and takes off down the hall. I follow in her wake, and we turn a corner as the footsteps grow louder behind us. A voice cries out as they find the bodies.
I pump my arms and hold my breath—forcing myself to keep up with Kressa. She leads us down a staircase, taking the steps two at a time. We reach the landing, and she skids to a stop, throwing an arm out.
At the far end of the crowded space, Golan stands with Callum in conversation. We go unnoticed, but my senses dull, and bile rises in my throat.
Kressa pushes me back, but a shout comes from the top of the staircase.
“This way.” A hand wraps around my collar and jerks me through a doorway.
I stumble backwards, throwing my arms out for purchase, but the room swallows me. Adjusting my hold on the blade, I twist and raise it over my head as Kressa barrels in after me.
“If you want to live, hold still,” the voice says in the darkness.
“Gemma?” I breathe.
A pair of pale hands wrap around my cheeks, and the outline of Gemma’s face comes into view. My hand drops to my side, and her power slips under skin, shifting muscle and bone. I close my eyes, grimacing as the tendons and cartilage of my face stretch.
“I don’t have anything else for you to wear,” she says, stepping back. “You’ll still have to be careful.”
I open my eyes as she sidesteps to Kressa and glamours her into a person I’ve never seen.
“Who are we?” I whisper, watching as Kressa withstands the pain without flinching.
“Two of the maids,” Gemma says, helping Kressa slide her arms out of her uniform jacket. “It’s the most believable with what you’re wearing.”
Kressa height has shortened, and in the dark room I make out a blonde head of hair. I twist my fingers through the strands hanging far past my collarbones—also blonde.
“Go,” Gemma says, urging us back toward the door.
Light filters in from the hallway, and my eyes adjust as she snatches two empty baskets from a table beside the doorway.
She shoves one against Kressa’s chest. “Get her somewhere safe.”
Kressa nods. “I will.”
Warmth billows in my chest, and I offer Gemma a nod. “Thank you. If you get the chance, please check on my crew.”
She swallows and hands me the other basket. “I’ll do my best.”
I fold the blade of my dagger into my palm and balance the woven basket above it. It does little to hide the weapon, but without linens to pile into it, it’ll have to do.
Kressa does the same, shedding the sheathes from her body. They drop to the floor, and she steadies the basket in front of her undershirt. “Are you ready?”
I swallow. “No.”
Her eyes hold mine for a heartbeat, and the sour taste of fear coats my tongue.
She nods and wraps her hand around the doorknob. “We’ll be okay.”
On an exhale I follow her out of the room.
Bodies fill the space—the nobles and attendants having evacuated the throne room.
Kressa stiffens at my side, but presses her palm against my lower back and weaves me into the crowd.
Voices fill my ears, speaking of escape and murder, or a terrible accident, or promises for revenge.
A lump forms in my throat, and I focus my attention on my feet as the bodies press closer, their movements more frantic.
Someone bumps into me, and the basket flies to the ground—the blade with it.
It skids across the floor and slides through the feet of a handful of people, unnoticed. I throw myself forward and crouch, grabbing the basket before it gets stepped on. Kressa’s touch disappears, and I stand, straightening out my back.
“Shouldn’t you be in the servant’s quarters?”
My blood runs cold.
Golan leans over me—his eyes narrowed, piercing under my skin. My chest constricts, and I wring my grip around the basket handle as Kressa comes up beside me.
She dips into a curtsy, and I follow suit, forcing my legs to steady.
“I apologize, Your Highness,” she says. “With the special occasion, the laundry was overloaded and took longer to dry on the line. We’re only now going to collect it.”
There’s a slight tremble to her voice, but I force my expression to remain neutral.
Elias appears over Golan’s shoulder and narrows his eyes. Then they shoot wide.
“I apologize, father,” Elias says, weaving between us. “It’s my fault they have so much cleaning left to do. With everything going on, I requested more of their help.”
“I believe your time as prisoner has made you weak, boy,” Golan says. He looks between us, then flicks his hand. “Get out of my sight.”
Kressa grabs my wrist and pulls me away, toward the edge of the grand foyer. But as Golan and Elias are swallowed into the crowd behind us, I catch the hint of a sentence on Golan’s lips.
“Find Briar. If we lose her, we don’t stand a chance.”
I stumble over my feet, but Kressa steadies me and pulls me toward the castle exit.