Chapter 40 Bryony
brYONY
AMARA LANDS US in the woods outside of Hellevig. The familiar spires and red roofs of the palace pierce the sky in the distance, and the walled forest where I first met Evander is visible even from here.
The memory of his touch lingers on my skin—the press of his mouth, the honey-rough rasp of his voice. Everything I can’t have. Everything I don’t get to keep.
All this exquisite skin I love marking up? It’s born from atrocity.
When he kissed me under the griefwood, I felt the echoes of wounds that will never heal, losses that fester and rot. All the dark places inside him my family helped create.
Can you even imagine the violence it took to make me this monstrous?
My chest clenches around the memory of his words. He’s spent centuries with that loss lodged behind his ribs like a blade. Centuries with nothing to bleed out the poison.
“You good?” Amara asks, tucking her wings close.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Yes,” I say. “Tunnels are this way.” I jerk my chin toward a crumbling stone archway nearly swallowed by vines. “Help me with the door?”
The rusted grate shrieks as we heave it open. Amara conjures a wisp of light, its blue glow casting shadows on the decrepit entrance.
She arches a brow at me. “Charming. You really know how to show a girl a good time.”
“Would you prefer I waltz up to the palace gates and announce myself?”
“Point taken.”
We descend into the tunnels, each step kicking up decades of dust and debris.
These passages haven’t been used since the god-human war, when my ancestors needed escape routes in case the gods breached palace defenses.
The decay is clear in the scent of mold, the drip of water in the distance, the cracks along the walls.
After a while, we reach the hatch that will spit us out in the palace kitchens.
“Wait here,” Amara murmurs. “I’ll scout the patrol patterns.”
She scales the ladder and disappears up into the kitchens.
Hurry, I urge her in my head. Hurry, hurry, hurry.
After a few minutes, a soft scuff signals her return. “East wing guards just cycled through,” she whispers as she descends the ladder. “Servants have been asleep for an hour at least. We’ve got maybe ten minutes before the next patrol.”
I set down my pack, already mapping the route in my head. “I’ll get Theo myself. If any guards need dealing with, better not risk Alexios sensing your involvement.”
Her mouth thins, but she doesn’t argue. “Watch yourself, then. There’s a guard posted at her door you’ll need to handle quietly.”
“Got it.” I check my daggers in their sheaths, their weight already warm and familiar. “Be ready to fly her to safety once we clear the tunnels.”
“And you?”
“I’ll deal with my uncle and hide out until you circle back.” I swallow hard. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Thank me by not getting caught. Now get up there.”
I haul myself up. The kitchen is eerily silent at this hour, massive brick ovens cold and dark. I stick to the walls, muscle memory making my footsteps soundless as I move past shelves laden with preserved goods.
My heart hammers against my ribs. I take off down the corridor, skirting pools of shadow, keeping low. The thick runner muffles my steps as I head for the antechamber and up the stairs to the family wing of the palace.
Hurry, hurry. Get Theodora and get out.
I’m passing the second-floor landing when a jaunty whistle splinters the hush. Heavy footsteps echo up the stairwell, growing louder.
Guard on patrol.
I press myself into the deepest shadows, lungs burning as I hold my breath and track the guard’s progress—the steady tromp of boots drawing closer, then beginning to fade as he continues his rounds.
My heart thunders. I count my breaths. In for seven. Hold. Out for eleven. Repeat. Just like Amara taught me.
When I ease out of hiding, the final stretch of the corridor unfolds before me. At the far end, a guard slouches against my sister’s door, his head nodding toward his chest.
I creep forward on silent feet. Closer. Closer. Just a few more steps separate me from my target. The guard’s breathing remains deep and even.
Until suddenly, it isn’t.
He jerks awake. His brow creases in confusion when he sees me—recognizes me—and he opens his mouth to speak. But I’m already moving. My palm clamps over his lips, and I slide my knife free, driving the blade deep into his throat. Hot blood wets my fingers as I twist the weapon loose.
He collapses to the carpet. Crimson spreads around his body, pooling beneath my boots. I stare at him for a long moment, something cold and ugly twisting behind my ribs—a snarled knot of feeling too tangled to parse.
Focus. No time for guilt.
I slip into Theodora’s chambers. Moonlight spills across the floor, painting everything in shades of silver. And there, sprawled in the center of the bed, is my sister.
“Theo, wake up.”
“Bry?” Her voice is thick with sleep as she stirs and sits up. “What are you doing here?”
“Rescuing you, obviously.”
She gapes at me for a heartbeat, chest heaving, and then she launches herself at me in a fierce embrace. “Gods, I’ve missed you, you reckless idiot.”
“You didn’t tell me anything in your letters.” I hug her back just as hard. “Overthrowing Uncle? I had to find out through demi gossip.”
Releasing me, she fumbles for the bedside lamp. “I hadn’t played my hand yet. The bastard struck preemptively and moved to corral my supporters. I’m almost impressed, truthfully. It’s the most initiative he’s shown in ages.”
The light flares, throwing her face into sudden, horrifying relief. Bile claws up my throat. One eye is blackened and swollen shut, and her lip is split down the center. Bruises bloom across her delicate features.
“I’ll fucking kill him,” I breathe.
“And I’ll gladly help you hide what’s left of the corpse. But later.”
Theo begins pulling clothes from her armoire. She strips out of her nightgown, donning plain trousers and a shirt.
“What about your loyalists?” I ask, helping her lace up a pair of boots. “The ones who tried to help you?”
“Dungeons, most likely. Along with anyone else who didn’t fall over themselves to bend the knee when Idris started cracking skulls.”
“We’ll figure out how to free them once you’re safe. How many?”
“A few dozen guards. Some staff. Idris’ men killed Kas.” The last words are quiet. Theodora was fond of her guard, not just as a lover. She clears her throat and composes herself. “What’s the escape route?”
“The old war tunnels,” I say. “I have a friend waiting to fly you somewhere safe.”
Her head snaps up. “And where will you be during all this?”
“Staying behind to deal with Idris.”
“Absolutely not.” She grabs a coat, yanking it on with agitated movements. “Either we leave together, or not at all.”
“Amara can only fly one of us, and someone has to keep Uncle occupied. He and I have unfinished business. Now stop arguing. Let’s go.”
I crack the door and peek out into the hall, listening hard. The guard’s body lies where I left it, his blood a sticky dark pool soaking into the carpet. I edge into the corridor with Theodora silent at my back.
She glances at the corpse but says nothing. Always practical, my sister.
I lead the way, sticking to the shadows. Two guards round the corner, deep in conversation. Their laughter rings out. I dart a frantic glance over my shoulder, but it’s too late to backtrack, and the only cover is—
There.
I seize Theodora by the arm and haul her into a cramped alcove. Her panicked breaths match mine.
Please walk by. For once in your miserable lives, just keep walking. Please.
But of course, they don’t.
One of them spots the body sprawled in front of my sister’s door and swears, drawing his sword. The other follows suit, shifting into a defensive position as they advance down the corridor.
“When I say run, you run,” I whisper to Theodora. “Understand?”
She nods.
I explode from the alcove. My first strike slices through the nearest guard’s extended sword arm. He shrieks and staggers back, his weapon clattering to the floor. I strike again, getting him right in the throat.
The second guard’s sword strikes in a dark blur. I duck under the swing, coming up inside his guard to bury my dagger in his armpit. Blood gushes over my knuckles as I wrench the knife free. He crumples to the floor.
I motion for Theo to run.
She flies past me toward the stairs. We’re halfway down when I hear shouts from above, the pounding of booted feet, and then the clanging peal of a bell.
The alarm.
Fear detonates in my chest. I seize Theodora’s elbow and haul her onward, but we’re not fast enough. A trio of guards spills around the corner ahead.
I shove my sister behind me. “Don’t wait for me. Get to the tunnels now.”
Then I launch myself at the guards.
Amara’s lessons take over, guiding my steps.
My movements are economical and precise.
Every strike aims to kill. I duck and spin, my knives flashing, darting to open throats and sever arteries.
What I lack in raw strength, I make up for in speed and viciousness.
Nothing exists outside the hammer of my pulse and the burn of my muscles.
There is only the dance, the deadly poetry of motion.
One guard goes down. A second staggers back, hand clamped to the wound in his side. The third manages to backpedal out of range.
Behind me, Theodora cries out. I whirl to see Idris with a knife at her throat.
His eyes flicker over me. “Well,” he says. “If it isn’t my niece, back from the dead.” He jerks his head at me. “Drop the knife or I’ll bleed her.”
I clench my jaw and study the hold he has on the weapon. If I’m fast—
Idris digs the blade in harder, opening a shallow cut. Theodora goes rigid.
“Drop it, Bryony.”
My weapon clatters to the ground.
“Good. The ones up your sleeves, too.”
Teeth gritted, I shed blade after blade. All the daggers I earned from Evander during our game. The remaining guard surges forward to wrench my arms behind my back, and reinforcements flood the corridor. More swords than I can count are leveled my way.
“Orders, Your Majesty?” the guard at my back asks.
“Take them back to Theodora’s chambers. I want every man on the doors until I give the word. And ready the funeral wood,” Idris says. His gaze flickers to my sister. “You should be glad, Theo. We’ve finally got a body to put on the pyre.”