11
Hands roll me over, and I look up at the face of the prince, who’s kneeling beside me.
The moon’s glow highlights his cheekbones, painting deeper hollows into his cheeks and illuminating his full mouth.
His eyes shine like moons themselves, his irises luminous pools rimmed with black.
Blood trails down his throat and chest from a small cut under his jaw.
The second soldier tried to slit his throat.
I struggle to speak, but I can only manage a whimper.
“Sorry for throwing you, sweetheart.” Vawn brushes my hair out of my eyes with bloodstained fingertips.
“And thank you for the loan of your knife. I think we’d better get off the streets as quickly as we can.
Even if I could find the gondolas, these assassins will be watching them, and the bridge as well.
I don’t think I have it in me to defeat another pair.
I got lucky with this one—they didn’t have a chance to activate any glyphs.
Strictly hand-to-hand, no magic. I won’t be so fortunate next time. ”
I want to scream at him to stop talking and go, but talking aloud seems to be part of his process. He needs to voice his thoughts in order to make decisions. I suppose we’re somewhat alike in that way.
“I know the carpet is waiting for us at the red gondola,” he muses. “I wish we could communicate with him somehow. Have either of us linked with him yet, I wonder? Maybe I could try calling to him.”
He clears his throat and inhales like he’s actually going to yell for the carpet, which would be incredibly stupid. Fortunately he apparently thinks better of it and opts for a quiet, “Severin?” instead of a shout.
For a moment he waits, standing between me and the bodies of the two men he killed. He seems unbothered by their deaths. Were those the first lives he has taken? If so, the impact of what he did will probably hit him later.
If there is a later. If we manage to get out of this city at all.
He’s right about the gondolas and the bridge being watched. Which makes this city a death trap.
If we can get the carpet back, we could try riding it out of here.
But even with a carpet in perfect shape, the wind currents above the gorge and along the cliffs are considered too dangerous for such a mode of travel.
The air might seem calm, but a gust can come rushing through like a battering ram, knocking riders off their carpets or wyverns.
Besides which, our carpet is damaged. Trying to flee Zeletas on it would be suicide.
Of all the stupid ways to design a city, the founders of Zeletas chose the worst. Sure, their precious mountain fortress might be difficult to invade, but it’s also fucking hard to escape.
In prioritizing defensive security, they created a prison.
And I brought the last surviving member of the Molloi dynasty into this death trap.
If he perishes here, it will be my fault.
Vawn slings the bags over his shoulder and picks me up again. When I try to move my lips, they twitch slightly, which is encouraging. I should regain most of my motor functions over the next half hour.
I try shaping the same word Vawn did. It’s merely a breath, combined with a tugging thought, an unspoken wish. “Severin.”
Something chimes in my head. That’s the only way to describe it—it’s a soft, quick sound, like a tiny bell rung only once.
I can’t tell Vawn. I barely managed to form that single word, and I don’t think he heard it.
The prince keeps trudging up the slope, heading for the next street, probably hoping to put some distance between us and the soldiers’ bodies.
But we’ve barely turned the corner when a streak of pink and blue light appears a few blocks away, dipping and swerving even though there are no obstacles in sight.
The carpet appears to be trying to stay in the shadows, beneath awnings and overhangs, but it keeps having to pause and find its bearings.
I watch it approach, my head lolling over the curve of Vawn’s bicep. Judging by his quickened pace, he sees the carpet, too.
“By the fates, it worked,” he mutters. “I actually summoned him.”
I groan inwardly. He’s going to be peeved when he finds out I’m the one who has a link with the carpet, not him.
The carpet swoops closer, nearly colliding with Vawn.
“Come here,” the prince hisses, and he ducks into a nearby alley, standing in the darkness beneath a balcony.
Severin half-skids, half-rolls to a stop at Vawn’s feet. “She looks dead. But she can’t be dead, since she called me. What happened?”
“She was paralyzed by glyph magic,” Vawn says. “Wait, what do you mean she called you?”
“I heard my name in her voice. I saw her location.”
“But I thought—” Vawn glances down at me, then shakes his head. “Never mind. We need to get out of this city.”
“There are city guards patrolling the Zeletas bridge crossing and the gondola embarkation stations,” the carpet says. “They are being overseen by more of those purple assassins.”
Vawn releases a pained sigh. “I might know another way, but it comes with a cost.”
“Another way?”
“I have a friend in the city. Well… friend isn’t the right term.
He and I—that is—” He clears his throat.
“He might help us. Several descendants of Zeletas’s three original founding families live at the rear of the city, in the wealthiest district.
Their homes are built directly against the mountain, even partly inside it.
A man in one of those homes once told me a secret that only the immediate members of the founding families are supposed to know—the existence of a private exit.
It’s dangerous, and it’s only supposed to be used in times of great need, but—”
“This is a time of great need for you,” Severin states.
“It is. But my acquaintance will only let us use that path if I do something for him.”
Mentally I begin listing off our resources.
We have some of the prince’s jewelry left—the more recognizable and valuable pieces that no pawn broker in their right mind would take at such a time of unrest. We have the new clothes and the cheaper jewelry that we purchased.
There’s some money left for food and water for the journey.
And we have the second bottle of glyph paint, which was supposed to pay for Severin’s repairs.
I don’t want to part with any of it, but we may not have a choice.
“I need you to guide me,” Vawn tells the carpet. “But your light will give us away, so I may need to roll you up occasionally as we move through the city. And we should take paths that are less traveled.”
Thus begins the most irritating and nerve-racking journey I have ever endured. Our progress is pathetically slow, since we keep having to hide at the sound of footsteps or pause for Vawn to consult the carpet for directions.
Even when I’ve regained the power of speech, I don’t voice any of the complaints churning in my head.
Despite his anxiety and exhaustion, the prince is doing the best he can, and my input isn’t needed.
Though I can’t help worrying about the bribe he plans to offer to this acquaintance of his, this man from a Zeletas founding family.
What escape route could he possibly know?
By the time we reach the doorstep of our destination, I can move my upper body again, though I still can’t walk. Vawn’s arms are trembling from carrying me so far. He’s strong, and I’m slender, but carrying another adult up and down hills would take a toll on anyone.
Vawn props me against the doorpost of the house and tucks Severin back in his case for the final time. Then he sets me on my feet, keeping his arm firmly around my body to help me stay upright.
When he was carrying me, I was too concerned about his endurance and the threat of the assassins to spare much thought for anything else.
Of course I noticed the surge of his muscles, the thump of his heart, and the pressure of his fingers against my body.
But somehow, now that we’ve paused, now that my entire side is firmly aligned with his, I’m acutely conscious of the swell of his lungs through his ribs.
My skin feels incandescent where his hand wraps around my torso, pressing just beneath my breast.
I liked him carrying me, but I’m his protector, not his responsibility. That won’t change, even though tonight, for a couple of hours, our roles were reversed.
I tilt back my head, surveying the ornate front of the towering mansion.
Its balconies, gables, and bay windows are partly shrouded by a variant of the blood ivy that grows in the valleys of the Red Mountains.
The scarlet and purple leaves soak up sunshine during the day and release it at night, yielding a rose-and-violet glow.
“This place is incredible,” I say.
“It is.” Vawn swishes aside a few strands of ivy and tugs the bell cord. “He may not agree to see us, and if he does, things may not go the way you prefer. I need you to keep your disapproval to yourself, especially since you’re in no shape to fight anyone.”
“Of course,” I say. “I can be quiet. I’ve been quiet this whole time.”
“I’m not just talking about your words, sweetheart. I’m also talking about your face.” Vawn gestures to my features. “Your face speaks. Loudly.”
“I can control my expression.”
He wrinkles his nose. “Can you? I rather doubt it. But you must try, because our very lives depend on Steros’s goodwill.”
“How come you didn’t mention this secret escape route before?” I ask.
“Hush!” He glances up and down the street, which is dimly lit by a few streetlamps spaced at wide intervals. “I didn’t mention it because it’s dangerous, and because I didn’t want to come here. I don’t want to do this.”
A lock clicks, and Vawn pastes a bright smile over his reluctance as the door swings open.
A sallow, older woman with narrow eyes surveys us, then frowns as she recognizes Vawn. “Your Highness?”