45. Gemira
Gemira
“It’s not going to work.”
“Tell me,” Finn says, standing across from me in the alcove with his arms crossed. I can see the weight of everything he’s trying to hide.
“The guards rotate every two hours. Changeovers give us two minutes unguarded. Three if we’re lucky. Most nights they overlap the whole time, though.”
He nods with his eyes steady on mine.
“And the lock—” I shake my head. “It’s not a normal tumbler. It’s threaded with his magic. The mechanisms don’t behave like anything I’ve seen. Even with the right picks, I’d need fifteen minutes. Ten at least.”
Finn exhales through his nose. “And the windows?” he asks.
“It’s on the third floor, a straight drop down with no ledge. There’s no way in without being seen. But, Finn, I saw sea holly growing on the ground below the window. And thick vines climbing up the stone.”
His eyes snap up to me; we both know it’s her favorite flower and that it has to mean something. He’s quiet, and I can see him thinking.
“What about a distraction?” he says.
“What kind of distraction pulls guards off the King’s private chambers?”
His eyes sharpen, the way they do when he’s already building something.
“The ball,” he says.
“The Contender’s Ball? That’s two weeks away.” I shake my head. “Two weeks is too long with the way things are already tightening around us.”
“Two weeks,” he says, like that’s nothing, stepping closer. “Every guard will be stretched thin that night, covering the grounds, ballroom, entrances and guest wings. Grier can pull strings to get a rebel stationed on the King’s wing that night. Someone who’ll make sure you have your window.”
His eyes hold mine. “It’s the best option we’re going to get.”
Everything in me wants to go tonight. But wanting isn’t a plan, and Finn’s never steered us wrong. The ball is the best window, maybe the only one we’re going to get. Which means if something goes wrong, we might not get another one—
“And if I’m caught?”
“Then we build the plan like you will be.” His calmness almost soothes me. “With backup routes and safe houses. We’ll all be ready to leave with no hesitation, no scrambling.”
Fear rolls through me, pooling behind my ribs. Finn sees it, like always, and his expression softens. He reaches out and ruffles my hair like I’m a kid. I swat at his hand, but the corner of my mouth kicks up.
“Hey, we’ve got this, Gem,” he says gently. “We’re bringing Mom home.”
“All together, always,” I whisper. The same thing we said when we left Northpine, and the village after that, and the ones after that.
Finn pulls me into him, and I bury my face in his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent of driftwood. I feel small and safe. His hand comes up to cradle the back of my head. And for a few moments, the fear can’t reach me here.
He pulls back. “Now go. Hayes will come hunting if you’re late, and I’d rather not explain why we’re whispering in dark corners.”
I find Hayes in the western gardens, pacing near the pond by the weeping willow, like he’s checking if I’m hiding underneath it. It pulls a giggle from my throat before I can stop it.
His head swivels left, then right, scanning the hedgerows. He still hasn’t spotted me.
I slip behind a row of white roses, with my footsteps silent on the frost-dusted path, as I get closer to him. He’s turned away now, craning his neck toward the castle entrance. I wait until I’m right behind him.
“Looking for someone?”
He yelps and spins so fast he nearly stumbles. His hands fly out to grab my arms like I’m the one who needs steadying. I’m giggling, and I don’t remember the last time laughter came this easily.
“Gem!” His fingers tighten. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Maybe,” I say, grinning. “You’re an easy target, Hayes.”
He’s still holding me with his thumbs brushing my sleeves. Something flickers across his face before he catches himself and lets go quickly. Then he steps back and clears his throat.
“You’re late.”
“Miss me that much?” I tilt my head, fighting a grin.
“I was concerned,” he says quickly. “There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it as color spreads across his cheeks. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and then he offers me his arm.
“Come on,” he relents.
I take it, and we fall into step around the pond, the willow tree branches sway overhead with their reflections rippling across the dark water.
He reaches into his pocket and passes me the napkin without looking. I take it, neither of us pretending this needs words anymore. I bite into the apple turnover, and a small, satisfied hum escapes me before I can trap it.
His eyes flick toward me. A grin tugs at his mouth, barely restrained.
“Don’t,” I mutter around the pastry.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“They’re good,” I say defensively, taking another bite.
“I’m not judging,” he says, biting the inside of his cheek, losing the battle to hide his amusement.
“Your face is judging.” I gesture at him with my pastry, getting crumbs all over the place.
Hayes brushes at the crumbs with his lips twitching into a bigger smile. “You just make that same noise every night.”
I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. There’s something about Hayes that makes me want to stay, and the usual itch to disappear isn’t there.
We keep walking.
“So,” I say, licking pastry flakes from my thumb. “How’s your future tethered?”
He snorts. “Don’t.”
“What?” I press a hand to my chest in mock earnest. “Lady Belinda seems delightful.”
“I will push you into this pond,” he says, gesturing like he’s actually going to do it.
“Touchy.” I giggle. “I take it the King’s still pushing?”
“Pushing is generous,” he says as the humor drains out. “He’s practically drafting the vows.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky, and she’ll die in the trials.”
The laugh bursts out of him, loud and uncontrolled, before he can stop it, and his hand flies over his mouth.
“Gem!” He’s half-choking. “That’s awful.”
“Is it?” I tilt my head. “Is it really?”
He tries to scold me but fails immediately and laughs harder.
“You can’t say things like that.”
“I just did.”
“Gem—she’s a person.”
“Barely,” I retort.
He stares at me like I’ve committed a crime. Then we both crack up.
“You’re horrible,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “Truly, genuinely horrible.”
“And yet”—I spread my arms out wide, smugly—“you keep walking with me. Feeding me apple turnovers, night after night.”
“I’m reconsidering.”
“No, you’re not,” I say.
He gently bumps my shoulder. “No. I’m not.”
The laughter fades, and we let the quiet slip back in. I feel him pulling inward, like a bird settling its wings.
“Can I ask you something?” he says softly.
“Always.”
“Rosie and Finn have been different since Briarwood.” He glances at me sideways, almost carefully. “What happened up there?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I was a little busy not dying.”
His face falls immediately. “Gem, I didn’t mean to—”
“Hey.” I bump him with my elbow. “I’m joking. See?” I spin once on the path with my arms out. “I’m perfectly fine.”
He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he catches my hand when I spin back. For a moment, neither of us moves. Then he blinks at our hands like he doesn’t know how they got there. He lets go and shoves his hands into his pockets.
“It’s late,” he says too quickly. “We should head back. Goodnight, Gem,” he says, already walking back to the castle.
I watch him walk away, biting back a smile. The future King, undone by holding a girl’s hand for a moment. A laugh slips out before I can stop it. Tides, it’s adorable how bashful he gets.
Torchlight flares across the garden path ahead. A guard is at the corner with a lantern held high, scanning like he’s been told to look for something specific.
Tides help me. I stick to the shadows and keep my pace even as I head back. We need to find Mom and vanish before they learn what’s actually been in front of them this whole time.