Chapter Eighteen #2
Yes, he’d ask to speak to the High King.
Honestly, even if he refused, it gave Pel a goal, and that helped a little with the churning in his gut.
He already knew something was wrong, he didn’t need this visceral reaction to keep alerting him to that fact.
But… he probably didn’t need to drink any more ale.
He pushed aside the half-full mug. He’d wasted enough time. He needed to get moving.
Actually, he needed to explain himself to Beluna, Cavun, and Denil. He needed to let them know what had happened to Tor. Then he needed to talk to the King—or at least to try to.
Pel had never sought out the High King before, but he was a prince of Tond.
Even in this highly unusual situation, courtesy and the rules of the realm dictated that the High King should give him an audience.
Pel was willing to obnoxiously harp on about diplomatic relations between realms if it would help his cause.
There was a chance that he’d be judged complicit in Tor’s supposed crimes, but that was a risk he was willing to take. He’d supported Tor every step of the way up that mountain and believed wholeheartedly in what he’d done. If Tor was being penalized for it, Pel wanted to be at his side.
And this was the High King’s brother they were talking about. Surely, he’d want to investigate the matter thoroughly. Surely, he’d put value in actual testimony from someone who’d been present.
Filled with renewed purpose, Pel rose to his feet, strode outside… and discovered night had fallen. He blinked, but that didn’t change the fact that it was dark and the streets were practically deserted. How long had he been in the pub brooding?
His heart sank at the idea of having to wait until morning to proceed.
Now that he’d finally made a decision, the desire to act was practically vibrating through his bones with its urgency.
But he could hardly show up at the castle in the middle of the night and demand an audience with the High King.
Beluna, Cavun, and Denil were smart enough to take care of themselves for the night, and much as Pel really did want to storm to the castle and maybe stand outside the King’s bed chamber to be ready to see him first thing in the morning… that was obviously not going to happen.
It would be much wiser to get some sleep and be well-rested before confronting the King, but Pel felt rather as though he was never going to be able to sleep again.
He was still somewhat irritated with Tor, but that had been subsumed under the mounting wave of worry that was threatening to consume Pel.
Tor’s magic had been bound. He’d been thrown in the dungeon.
He’d been accused of committing treason, and while Pel knew that was utter nonsense, it was an extremely serious allegation.
He was going to do everything in his power to set the record straight, but the idea that he might not be convincing was enough to have panic roiling through him.
It wasn’t like King Forex ever listened to him.
It wasn’t like anyone had listened earlier today.
What made Pel think he could sway anyone?
He tried to quell the rising tide of nausea. It was incredibly counterproductive to worry about this now. Yes, he felt an urgent need to go to the castle right this minute, but the only sensible thing to do was sleep.
He just had to figure out how to get back to the inn. He looked around. He had absolutely no idea where he was. He hadn’t been paying attention to where he’d been going to begin with, and now it was dark, the streets lit by moonlight.
He paused at the first street corner, sheltered against the corner of a building, and tried again to find any familiar landmarks. It would be embarrassing to have to pay for a second inn because he couldn’t remember where the first was located.
He looked around. Was there anyone he could ask?
The streets were deserted. Except—from out of the darkness, a stream of individuals appeared.
They were all armed and dressed in dark clothing or leather armor.
Alarm flooded Pel, and before he could think about what he was doing, he added himself to the end of the line and followed after them.
They were making very little sound, moving quietly without speaking, and they seemed to be headed in the direction that Pel’s heart was tugging him, to the castle that it was entirely foolish to try to enter at this time of night.
Or… not so foolish? They passed through the main entrance that was… entirely unguarded. Pel’s sense of foreboding grew. The entrance had been guarded during the day. There was no way it would be unattended at night.
The force he was with went left, around the castle, where Tor had pointed out to him that the staff entrance was located.
(Had that really been earlier today? It felt like a lifetime ago.) The barracks were over here, too, and despite the fact that they weren’t behaving like any guards Pel knew, he hoped desperately that they were returning to their quarters.
This hope was immediately dashed when they headed for the castle—and Pel saw the first downed guard, their throat slit.
As they all slipped inside, not sparing the dead man more than a passing glance, Pel knew that all his worst fears were being realized. These had to be mercenaries. What in the name of the goddess was going on?
A handful of them split off from the rest, but Pel stuck with the main group. He blended in better there, never more grateful that he tended to wear unobtrusive dark clothing and didn’t have noticeable features.
And then, finally, someone muttered, “How long will it take them to get to the kitchen and set the fire?”
“Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes. By the time we get to the baby, everyone’s attention will be elsewhere.”
“But what about the Prince?”
“That’s already been taken care of. Weren’t you listening earlier?”
Pel’s blood ran cold.
“Hey, I—”
“No talking!” someone said in a harsh whisper.
Pel’s heart rate kicked up, and he struggled to keep his breathing calm, to look straight ahead, not to do anything suspicious. He obviously needed to warn someone, but he had to get this right.
He was already at the back of the group, so he carefully lagged behind, grateful they hadn’t set up a rear guard, and as soon as he could, he slipped down the next interconnecting hallway.
Goddess help me.
As soon as he was sure he was far enough away from the mercenaries, he ran.
Surely, all the guards couldn’t be dead or absent.
Surely there were patrols. He dashed around another corner and then another, until finally—finally!
—he saw a guard, who startled at his presence and laid a hand on his sword. Pel rushed up to him anyway.
“A bunch of mercenaries sneaked into the castle!” he exclaimed. “They mentioned something about the Princess! Can you make sure that she’s safe? It’s urgent!”
The guard was young, and his dark eyes widened in alarm at Pel’s words, but he didn’t seem to know what to do. Pel supposed it wasn’t every day that someone came up to you yelling about an attack, but there wasn’t time for his uncertainty.
“The Princess is in danger!” Pel said more forcefully, glaring at the man. “It’s your duty to protect her!”
The young man finally seemed to be impelled into motion, shooting down the hall, and Pel hurried after him. Thankfully, the man led Pel to an actual patrol of guards.
“Uh, this man reports there’s a risk to the, uh, Princess,” he said, sounding somewhat uncertain, but at least he’d tried.
The handful of guards looked surprised or skeptical, and Pel stepped in front of the guard.
“You are being invaded!” he snapped. “Stop standing around and take action. A group went off to the kitchen, and they mentioned a fire. They came in through the servants’ entrance, and there was a downed guard there.
They also said they’d taken care of the Prince, so his wellbeing should be investigated.
Most of the group was heading for the baby.
” He pointed at a guard at random, a tall woman with blond hair.
“You will rouse the Captain of the Guard. Tell her about the baby, the Prince, and the kitchen.” He indicated someone else, a bulky man with dark hair and skin.
“You, take another guard to the kitchen and check for any unusual activity.” A third guard with freckles and a mop of red hair.
“You, go check on Prince Torex. The rest of you, to the Princess. Now!”
They all looked at him, and it belatedly occurred to Pel that they didn’t have the slightest idea who he was—and even if they did, no one in the history of ever had been impressed with him.
Only then the oddest thing happened. They all nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
They jogged off with alacrity, and Pel fell in with those going after Cala, because he knew exactly where Tor would want him to be, even though he vibrated with the need to check on the man.
They were climbing the stairs when it occurred to Pel that there was another way into the nursery.
He grabbed the nearest guard. “Where’s the courtyard that the nursery looks out to? Quickly!”
Looking harried, he nevertheless gave Pel instructions, and Pel bolted back down the stairs and tried to keep track of his turns. He had to double back once, but he finally made it into the courtyard—where he could hear the distant sounds of fighting.
He was pretty sure he caught the words “Fire” and “Foe” more than once, and he hoped that he’d helped ensure the distraction didn’t work as well as it should have.
There was no one else in the courtyard, and Pel oriented himself from the great tree that hid the secret entrance he and Tor had used earlier that day.
Tor had pointed to the right and up, and Pel could see that there was flickering light coming from one of the windows, only partially obscured by curtains.
He was pretty sure that was the nursery.
He slipped along the paths, then skirted the garden beds until he was under the window in question… that was three stories above his head.
What had Pel been thinking with this plan? He supposed he was confirming that no one else was attacking via the courtyard, but it wasn’t like he had his bow—or even a rope.
Tor might be able to climb to the window just with his magic, but Pel couldn’t do that. But it still… He frowned. The churning anxiety inside of him had coalesced into a ball of certainty that he needed to be here, and so… here he was?
He paced under the window, wondering what in the name of the goddess he thought he was doing. If the baby was genuinely in danger, shouldn’t he be up there with the guards, trying to defend her? That made a lot of logical sense, and yet everything in Pel told him to stay where he was.
Was he letting his emotions overrule rational thought? There was an ache deep inside him, a certainty that something was wrong. But should he—
A tremendous cracking noise sounded overheard, punctuated by screams, and Pel flung up his hands—as a body came tumbling out of the window above him, along with wood and stone, as though part of the wall had just collapsed.
On pure instinct, Pel tried to catch the body and dodge the stone, and they both tumbled to the ground in a jumble of limbs.