Chapter 38
Arla drew deep breaths of cool air into her lungs as she stepped outside Halos’s shop. She had hugged her friend tight when she left, and Halos had made her promise to be careful. It wasn’t a promise she could keep, but she knew she would try.
Get a grip.
Right. She looked like herself again. She was ready to take on the might of Kastonia – and Hadalyn, too, if they would not lend her an army.
The woman’s words had shaken her, but she could not afford to falter on this path.
‘I already told you where the power lies…’
It came to her so shockingly that Arla’s entire body jolted.
Heaving the bag containing the silk dress onto her shoulder, Arla Reinhart set off into the slums of Hadalyn to find Brik Novan.
* * *
The thief was as dirty and sneaky as usual.
Arla watched him from the roof of a printing shop down a dark alley, his hands slipping into the pockets of unsuspecting passers-by.
Only when he turned to retreat down the passageway, his own pockets now filled with the riches of those unfortunate enough to cross paths with the scrounging wretch of a man, did Arla swing from the roof to land neatly in front of him.
‘Shitting gods, you have to stop doing that,’ he snapped, unconsciously tightening his fingers around his scruffy jacket and the undoubtedly expensive loot tucked inside. He’d been busy, then.
‘Let’s take a walk,’ Arla said sweetly, and Brik was right to gulp as she looped her arm through his, scrunching her nose at the stench rolling off him.
The thieves walked arm in arm towards the slums of Hadalyn, a fitting destination for the conversation they were about to have.
It wouldn’t matter if Arla’s vultures heard what she had to say, they respected – or feared – her well enough not to breathe a word of what came from her lips.
She had been all too clear in the past on what would happen if they did.
‘Heard you’ve been running with that boy from the palace, Reinhart,’ Brik tattled, chuckling to himself.
‘You heard correctly, and that’s why I’m here.’
His feet slowed on the cobbles, forcing Arla to tug him forwards. This action unfortunately sent a spray of a suspicious-looking liquid up her booted ankles.
‘I ain’t in the business of stealing anythin’ from the Kastonian lot. His king’ll have my guts if ’e finds out,’ he protested, and Arla suppressed the urge to snap his wrist at the outright lie.
‘Lucky for you, then, that I’m not asking you to steal anything. I’m asking you to get me in.’
His feet really did stop then, and Arla tightened her arm around his as he tried to rid himself of her.
‘What you askin’, Reinhart?’ Brik eyed her, and she admired him in a way. She’d believed the thief would do anything for a coin or two, and it only confirmed her suspicions about him. She’d been right not to kill him all those times.
‘I need you to get me beneath the castle.’
A heartbeat of silence.
‘You don’t mean the sewers, do ya?’
‘Good. We’re learning.’ She smiled, wrenching his arm so violently he nearly tripped over his own feet.
She could feel dozens of eyes watching her from the shadows and busted-in doorways of the hovels that passed for houses. She missed the knives whose presence was so familiar to her that being without them was like losing a limb.
‘I ain’t getting you in nowhere, ’specially under Castle Grey. You’re mad, woman,’ he objected, fraying Arla’s line of patience with every word he spoke through his blackened teeth.
‘Tell me, Brik,’ she began softly, using the tone she reserved for people like him – people she was instructed to dispose of as part of her job.
She felt him tense. Good.
‘How did those cuts I gave you the last time we had a little chat heal so completely, leaving your miserable body delightfully unscarred?’ she said.
He gulped, and the burst of satisfaction she got from that telltale spot of fear fed the nasty, wicked side of her heart. ‘Did you steal silver from a rich man on Grey Hill to pay a healer? Or did you forgo the money and just rob the healing remedy yourself?’
The threat was clear, and she saw the exact moment he gave in. How his shoulders sagged, and his eyes rolled with disdain for the blonde girl fused to his arm.
‘What makes you think I can get you below Castle Grey, Reinhart?’
Seriousness didn’t suit Brik Novan. Arla hated it on him, actually.
‘Because I’ve seen you do it before.’
* * *
Sneaking into Castle Grey was not an easy feat – not least because Arla herself had ensured it wouldn’t be so – but it was made harder by the vagabond who would no doubt be cursing her name because of how long it was taking her to retrieve the knives from her rooms.
All thoughts of winning Cyrus over in her lovely new dress were banished.
Her bedchamber was exactly as she’d left it three weeks ago – her books piled high beside the bed and the space free of clutter and trinkets. A thin layer of dust had settled on the surfaces, and Arla ran a finger through the grey fluff on the mantlepiece.
Arla was glad the maids had heeded her warning and left her rooms alone. Too many secrets lay hidden between the pages of novels and under loose floorboards. No one was allowed into this corner of the castle when she was out of the city.
Her knives were where she had left them – one beneath her pillow, one behind the bookshelf, one secured under the bottom of the dresser. She went from place to place, finding the hidden blades as well as a few jewels and a necklace of her mother’s she’d kept concealed all these years.
She strapped the knives to her body quickly, like old friends reuniting once more. Only when she had her armour in place did her mind steady enough for what she had to do.
Arguments had rarely broken out between her and Cyrus, and when they did, they were quickly resolved and Arla would laugh it off and make some joke about who really ran the palace.
Her hands shook at the thought of confronting the man who had helped raise her alongside Perry. The man who had given her a home and somewhere safe for nine years.
Gods, she hoped Cyrus would tell her the truth and that she wouldn’t have to become the cold-blooded killer he had made her into.
‘It’s not worth it, Arla. You don’t understand.’
She spun, heart thundering at the familiar voice. He was leaning against the entrance to the suite of rooms.
Perry looked older, somehow, as if the weight of the world had crushed him in the weeks she had been away.
He’d always been kind to her – there to wipe her tears in the middle of the night, and there to listen to her complain about how Cyrus had pissed her off.
It didn’t matter that she had caught them tangled together in bed more times than she dared to count.
‘What are you talking about?’ she asked sweetly, hoping he would buy her innocent act when it was obvious from the clinking as she moved and the fresh sheath of arrows on her back, just how well armed she was.
‘Arla Reinhart, you have commanded the attention of this palace for nine years with your outrageous antics, yet now you’ve snuck in here unnoticed, armed to the teeth and with murder in your eyes. Don’t insult us both by pretending you don’t want to tear into Cyrus after what you’ve seen.’
Something in Arla’s chest ached at the words. This man, he knew her – really knew her.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she said, turning her back on him again under the guise of rummaging through a set of drawers.
‘Arla. You failed to return after the messenger said you would. You have sent no letters, and I understand you must be angry at what you’ve seen at the border but you don’t und—’
She whirled on him. ‘Tell me, then. What do I not understand?’
‘The gods are angry, Arla. The balance of magic is off. The magic-wielders are using their abilities for their own gain whilst the rest of the kingdoms suffer. The gods are punishing us for it, and if those responsible aren’t dealt with…’
‘And you think killing them is the right thing to do?’ she whispered, understanding cracking and splintering her heart. ‘He really has got you fooled, hasn’t he?’
‘No, Arla. Elrod is doing what’s right for the kingdoms—’
‘He’s doing what’s right for him!’ she snapped, slamming her hand on the top of the dresser. She didn’t want to be hurt, to be upset, to be … confused or redirected from the path she had chosen.
‘I thought I heard your voice.’ The King of Hadalyn appeared beside his advisor and lover. He looked weary, too, as if Arla’s time away had drained the life from him. For a minute she almost wished it had.
‘You know,’ she began softly, stalking towards Cyrus and Perry with lethal grace, ‘I don’t even know anymore why you sent me to the border.
At first I thought it was to catch Hark in his betrayal and kill him for knowing about the slaves.
And then he told me that you knew. That you all knew.
I didn’t believe him, but it’s true, isn’t it.
What did you think I would do, Cyrus? You thought I would accept it?
You thought my loyalty to you would lead me to kill anyone who tried to free the slaves?
For someone who raised me from a child, you don’t know me very well at all. ’
Cyrus didn’t move an inch – a statue poised to defend his kingdom. Arla had never expected to become his enemy. A hardness came over him, and as she watched it settle into the familiar lines of his face, she mourned the loss of the man she had known.
The loss of them. Whatever they had been. Whatever he had been to her. A saviour? A father? A leader? Her king? Something else?
In the end, none of it would matter, because when he spoke, everything Arla had known shattered into a thousand crystal pieces. Castle Grey would never be home to her again.
‘If you move against my kingdom, those who housed you and cared for you, and those who trained you, will march at my command and put your severed head at my feet. You might think you have grown beyond my command, Arla Reinhart, but I will always remember the orphan I rescued. You are nothing against the might of my kingdom.’
She could feel her heart splintering, her chest constricting around the cracks.
Could she do this? Did she want to? Could she really leave it all behind? Let go of everything she’d worked so hard for?
Perry took half a step towards her, his hands reaching out for her. ‘Arla.’
‘Don’t,’ she said, resignation lining her throat as she pulled herself together. It was done. There was no use fighting her king when his mind had already been made up. His actions and choices were confirmed by the words he threatened her with. ‘Don’t come calling for me when your kingdom bleeds.’
She slipped out of the window and was down the side of her tower before they had crossed her bedchamber.