Chapter Forty-Nine
Aren
I’m lying on a narrow cot in the safe house just inches from Dietan’s, but the gap between us might as well be as wide as a bridge between two kingdoms. I toss and turn, unable to sleep ahead of the dangerous mission ahead.
My mind swirls with too many thoughts—hoping my sisters and my father are safe, and grieving the loss of Bing, who sacrificed himself to help us escape. I’m immeasurably grateful for my new friends sleeping beside me. They risked so much to get Dietan and me out of the castle alive.
If Mother could see me now, I wonder if she’d be proud that her sensible eldest daughter grew up to plot assassinations with a handsome foreign prince.
My thoughts turn to the night in the stable when I thought Dietan would die of fever.
Then the magical night when Dietan and I woke up together from a haze of finally, finally acknowledging what we meant to each other.
Was that just this morning? I thought we would have more time.
More time to kiss and heal in the temple.
As if he can sense what I’m thinking, Dietan throws his arm over me, bridging the gap.
With his hand in mine, I’m finally able to sleep.
In the morning, Dietan confers with the team, bustling about the table, drawing lines on the map, moving tiny figurines.
They propose strategies, then tear them apart, debating how they might fail or succeed.
Dietan leads the discussion, his tone confident and commanding—like a prince. No, like a future king.
“Marcus, if you please.” He motions to the map on the table as everyone in the house gathers around him.
The general nods, standing. “Based on the information we’ve gathered, Namreth will soon march on Loegria.
We have days to prevent this, maybe less.
As you know, he’s closed off the city gates, and no one is allowed to leave, but we’ve learned that people are still allowed to enter at a single, heavily fortified point.
” He turns to Arnfried. “You scouted the eastern gate?”
Arnfried nods. “Entire caravans are being let inside the city, and we think we know why. The king is throwing a banquet.”
“How can you be certain?” I ask.
“He’s done it before to mark the start of a campaign. He throws a banquet to rally his troops and honor his generals,” Arnfried explains.
“More like scare the shit out of his generals,” Lambert says knowingly. “They know it’ll be their last meal, if they fail.”
Intel starts to flow more freely from Arnfried.
“According to the castle staff, this is the biggest banquet he’s ever planned.
Guards are bringing people from all over Estyrion to augment the existing staff.
Especially in the kitchen and banquet hall.
” He gives me a meaningful look. I’m glad we spoiled the mad king’s plans with our kitchen jailbreak.
“It’s going to be huge,” Lambert adds. “Big drunken orgy, no doubt. Lots of wine, lots of food. The king and his high-ranking officers will be occupied.”
“Then it’s the perfect time to strike,” says Marcus. “They won’t suspect a thing.”
“Exactly.” Dietan nods. “We’ll plan to attack in the middle of the raging party after he and all his most loyal supporters have eaten and drunk their fill. They won’t be prepared for an attack. We can eliminate many enemies at once.”
“According to our information, most of his allies are only loyal to him because of the threat to their families if they don’t. In fact, we know that many of his generals and administrators’ wives are courtiers at Castle Engel, to insure their good behavior,” Arnfried confirms.
“Hostages,” Tess spits.
“Exactly. If we act swiftly enough, it’s unlikely that anyone will pick up a sword in retaliation,” says Marcus.
Tess adds, “Security in the castle will be tight. Namreth is confident that no one can match the Unseen Death, but even so, he doesn’t allow weapons in the castle except for those his guards carry.”
Jared bites his lip, unconvinced. “Just so we’re clear.
We’re thinking of storming a very well-guarded castle and killing a king who has control of the Whisting.
” His eyes dart to Dietan briefly before he continues.
“…With nothing more than our fists. And on top of all that, you expect us to simply walk in?”
“Like it’s hard?” Dietan laughs wryly.
“If we don’t strike him at the banquet, then when? When he marches with his army? With thousands of soldiers at his side? When he meets up with the Usurper and doubles their strength?” Marcus asks. “Much easier to do it now when he least expects it.”
Jared sits hunched over the table, biting his thumb till the skin turns white.
“It sounds impossible,” he says. “I’m all for bravely facing down impossible odds like the heroes of the First Epoch, but it doesn’t help your father and grandfather at all if their heir meets an avoidable end on the floor of Namreth’s banquet hall. This is suicide.”
“Technically, it’s homicide,” Dietan says cheerfully.
“Apologies, Your Highness, but you still look like shit, and so do I,” says Jared. “Even if we manage to sneak in undetected, without weapons, what are we going to do when we get there? Insult his taste in interior design?”
Lambert laughs. “Oooh, good one.”
But the rest of the table looks to Dietan. I can tell that Marcus, at least, hopes that after his display on the bridge, Dietan can unleash the Whisting and challenge Namreth. Because without magic—without an army—the plan is clearly preposterous.
“We’ll figure out how to get weapons somehow, but the main thing is to get inside the castle.” Dietan sighs, serious now. He bows his head and closes his eyes. When he opens them, he is looking straight at me. “What do you think of the plan?”
I blink in surprise. “Me?”
“We escaped because of you the first time. Any thoughts?”
Everyone turns to me, but my mind goes completely blank.
I’m entirely underqualified to participate in anything like this, let alone to advise on military strategy.
I’m not a soldier or a general and definitely not an assassin.
My skills are confined to the kitchen and the sewing bench.
Not here on the cusp of an impossible assassination attempt.
I feel like I’m watching the last grains of sand slip through an hourglass.
The warmth in Dietan’s eyes is more comforting than honey porridge on a cold morning and makes me wish I could summon an army, or Veteria, or Sirona herself to ease his great burden.
But I’m just a barmaid from a small town in Alarice, a long way from home, and I’m not even the princess they all believe I am.
“Can you all give us a moment?” he asks the group. Gently, he leads us away from the table.
In the quiet of the hall, Dietan rests his back against the wall, his long arms folded across his chest. I lean against the opposite wall, propping myself up as the weight of the world presses down on my shoulders.
“You okay?” he asks, voice low.
“Not really.”
Dietan waits quietly, without judgment on his face.
“If you tell me this is a bad idea, I’ll listen,” he says. “We can scrub this whole mission. Forget taking down Namreth. Plan our escape instead. Get ahead of his army and rally Loegria to meet them on the battlefield. Say the word, and I’ll follow.”
To think—a prince taking advice from a common barmaid. If I could go back in time and tell my past self that this would happen, that Aren would laugh herself silly. But back then, I didn’t think a prince would ever look twice at a girl like me.
“I just… I don’t know… I’m not this.” I gesture to him and beyond to the group waiting in the room. If I make the wrong decision, I could be putting everyone’s lives at risk once more. And I’ve lost too many already.
Dietan seems to understand what I’m thinking, even if I can’t put it into words.
“It’s my job to put my life on the line for my kingdom,” he says, taking my hand.
“That’s why princes are raised to ride into battle.
My father first put a sword in my hand—this royal knife, actually—when I was five years old.
But it’s not your job. And other than Marcus, it’s not really any of their jobs, either. ”
But Dietan is looking at me so intensely. I can’t look away. Nor do I want to let him down. He’s a fixed point in the chaos.
I think about the twins, and my father, and everyone in Evandale who might die if the Usurper invades.
The look in Dietan’s eyes is all I need to know.
If we don’t stand up to Namreth now, it might be too late.
I take a deep breath. “I told you I wouldn’t let you do this by yourself. Let’s give that mad king hell.”
Dietan stares at me like he would take me to bed right this moment, if not for the friends and allies waiting in the next room. Instead, he lifts my hand to his lips, bows, and kisses it, like I’m a real princess.
When he straightens, he looks every inch a royal prince. He says, “It was your idea to fake my death to break me out of there in the first place. How would you break me back in?”
We’re partners in every way, I realize. I trust him, and he trusts me. He respects my judgment and asks my opinion the way he would Marcus, or any of his royal advisors. He wants to know what I think. And what do I think? I think…I think…
“Aren?” he asks.
“Okay, so maybe I have an idea.”
His smile widens. “That’s my girl.”