Chapter 18
Eighteen
“If Finn finds out I helped you leave, he’ll never forgive me.” Klara’s anxious voice follows me through my bedchambers and out the double glass doors onto my private terrace.
“You have nothing to worry about. We already got rid of the guards. Now hoist me over.”
On the far edge of the garden, a towering battlement wall meets the moat, separating the castle from the city. I can hear choppy water lapping at the moss-covered stone on the other side.
Despite her warnings, Klara huffs as she lifts my wobbling legs. With her help and the vines creeping along the smooth surface of the wall, I manage to pull my torso over the blunt ledge.
I hear an “Umpf!” as she falls backward onto the grass. “Remember—three in the morn, or I’m calling the guard,” she hisses. “I mean it!”
Swinging my feet over the other side, I stop and sit.
From this vantage point, I can see most of Alexandria lit up, alive with the celebrations that continue late into the night—the aroma of roasted lamb and pork wafts through the cool air.
Something moves in the moat’s water below, but it’s too dark underneath the inky depths to know precisely what lurks.
I take a deep breath.
Now what?
Down the length of the ledge, a large oak branch overhangs, its limbs mingling with the canopy of another tree on the opposite bank of the moat.
Klara is right; this is stupid, but there’s no turning back.
I carefully step toward the broad limb and test its strength by giving it a few good shakes.
It’ll have to do.
Thankful that I’m wearing plain workmen’s trousers instead of a gown, I crawl on all fours onto it.
The pressure of my weight dips the branch low, but I manage to hold on.
A powerful gust hits my face, and I gulp.
I failed to plan for how strong the wind would be up here.
I glance at the long distance down to the moat—another mistake.
Splinters scrape into my palms and under my fingernails as I inch along, ruining my manicure with each shimmy. The closer I get to the end, the more the tree branch wobbles.
I crawl faster.
A loud crack splits the air like a whip.
I leap forward, grabbing onto the other tree limb. It buckles, and I swing low until my knees meet the moist bank with a hard thud. My boots barely miss the rippling water. I curse in relief, brushing the wet soil from my legs.
Maybe it’s the trousers, the late hour, or the rum everywhere, but not a single person notices me as I walk the familiar city streets to the Pickled Pixie, a place famous for its excellent brew.
Once I arrive, I stare at the entry. The open door lets out a wave of noise: shouts, laughter, and jests rumbling together. The smells that escape are savory and delicious, beckoning those from the street to the warmth of the tavern’s interior.
Next to the swinging tavern sign, Rett’s oversized form leans on the wall, waiting outside. “Almost didn’t think you’d come,” he remarks casually. He’s dressed as a commoner in leather trousers and a matching vest over a loose cotton shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows.
I smile—a knot of worry tying in my stomach. “It seemed important.”
“Come then. I have somewhere private where we can talk. I don’t want anyone to overhear us.” He gestures toward the alley, where an outer staircase leads to the second floor above the tavern.
I hesitate. This isn’t as public as I expected.
Rett appears as though he might become impatient, but thinks better of it. “Look, I can’t prove I mean no harm. In fact, I respect you for not trusting me. That’s smart, but loitering in the street will attract attention.”
As I watch the patrons enter and leave the tavern, I falter again.
“Take this.” Rett unsheathes the dagger at his waist and holds it out, its emerald and silver reflecting the moonlight.
I eye it warily without moving. “And what exactly am I to do with that?”
He steps closer, his voice low. “It’s purely for your peace of mind.
Do you see that green line going down the center of the blade?
It marks it as an Achlys Dagger. When this blade punctures flesh, a person dies within two seconds from poison.
Put it to my back, put it to my neck—I don’t care. I’ll prove to you I’m no threat.”
He presses the handle into my palm so that the blade points at him. Suddenly remembering, I whisper, “I read about these in an adventure novel years ago. I thought they were only a myth.”
“Not a myth. So you’ll believe me when I say I don’t want to be on the pointy end.” I grip the hilt tightly, the metal cold under my fingers. “Satisfied?” Rett’s eyes glow so orange in the darkness that I can see flecks of crimson. “Now, please—follow.”
Rett leads me into the narrow alley. I pause, peering at the dark staircase ahead and then back at the boisterous street.
“After you,” he says with an exaggerated bow. The smell of stale ale and pipe smoke wafts through the air from nearby. Sensing my continued fear, Rett gently adds, “I promise no harm will come to you while you are with me.”
I give him a slight nod before we climb.
When we reach the top, he pushes open the heavy door to reveal a cramped room.
It’s drafty and cold, but a meager fire casts short shadows over the stained walls, while a narrow, straw-filled mattress lies on the wooden bedstead, covered with a few patchy wool blankets.
It looks—itchy.
The tavern’s muffled but clamorous noise drifts through the floorboards’ cracks.
My breath catches. “You… stay here?”
“For the time being.” Rett busies himself, adding another log to the struggling embers.
“My status draws attention, and stopping for your coronation wasn’t exactly part of my itinerary, contrary to what the papers said.
” He sees me observing the space. “It’s not much, but I can avoid the nobles here.
And that peace is worth more than any comfort. ”
I want to say I understand his sentiment, but luxury has always been my escape—and still is.
Rett turns and gestures to the rickety table and lone chair. “Please sit. We need to discuss important matters.”
I perch on the edge of my seat, unable to relax with so many unanswered questions. “We should hurry.” I try to reposition myself to be more comfortable, but give up. Instead, I clutch the poison dagger tightly in my lap. “Princess Klara is worried about my meeting with you.”
“You told General Metalla’s daughter you were coming here?” Uncertainty creases the diagonal lines between his burgundy eyebrows.
“You think I would meet a stranger without telling someone?”
“Hey—I’m not a stranger. I’m a prince.” He grins. “Sure you can trust her?”
“She’s the only person I trust at the castle.”
A hint of skepticism flares across his face before he turns away to add another small log to the fire, making it a proper blaze. He says nothing, but the silence speaks for itself as he flips an empty crate on its side to sit on.
“Now what is it you wish to discuss?” I ask.
He rakes his fingers through his hair. “It’s hard to articulate this because your late father was of no help, and your uncle bribes everyone to deny it.”
“Deny what?” I stare at him.
He takes a deep breath. “Our womenfolk are disappearing.” Suppressed rage quivers in his voice.
My mind moves slowly, processing what he’s just said. “What do you mean?”
“Village human girls, noble beast ladies, elderly halflings—it doesn’t matter what their rank, age, or breed is. They’re vanishing across both of our realms.”
Vanishing?
A shiver travels up my spine and settles in my heart. What depths of evil is Metalla involved in? “You think my uncle is responsible?” Metalla’s boot on my back is a sharp memory I’m unwilling to forget, but I need to understand every aspect of this. Every detail.
“I know he is.” Rett bangs his fist on the table.
“But how? And why? Did someone witness something?” If Rett has evidence and a motive, perhaps this is what I’ll use to remove Metalla from court. The High Council can’t refute hard proof.
“I don’t know why he’s doing this. I fucking wish I did. All I know is that onlookers described the general’s personal militia insignia and the Alexra cuffs of interlocking circles he wears on his wrists before they rode away with the womenfolk. They named him as the commander who gave the orders.”
Out of reflex, I touch my circlet at the mention of the mysterious metal. My voice is low when I ask, “Can you bring the witnesses to the castle?”
“If I can find them again.” Rett nods and pulls a flask from the sparse shelf above the fireplace. He takes a swig. “For the sake of the missing, please listen and believe me.”
“I am listening, and I do believe you. But I have to be careful—strategic, even.” I place the dagger between us on the table, the firelight glinting off its emerald line. “How long have the women been disappearing?”
“Years now. The disappearances started slow, but now they grow brazen. The numbers are only increasing.”
“Years? What happened when you went to King Xander?”
“He dismissed me every time. His brother knew exactly what to say to assuage his concerns.”
I wince. “I’m sorry. No one should ever ignore the disappearance of women—or anyone else, for that matter.” My mind conjures pictures of the horrible things men could do when left unchecked.
“You have nothing to apologize for—unless you plan to turn a blind eye, just like your father…”
My spine bristles. “I’m not my father. I barely knew the man.”
Rett leans across the table, his determination casting lines across his face. “My apologies. No one should be judged for the transgressions of their parents.”
“As much as I want to take action against him, a civil war could erupt if I unseat my uncle from his position without support from the other members of the High Council. We must act in secrecy until we have proof—and it’s the right time.”
“You’ll learn there’s never a right time for change when you’re a leader.”
“Captain Wellcrest has proven to be an honest knight. I’ll have him send scouts to gather more information on the situation, and then we can make further plans.”
The tips of his tusks poke over his bottom lip as he slowly smiles. “I suppose that’ll have to do for now.”
After our conversation fades, I walk over and peer through the window’s thin pane of glass, trying to wrap my head around the impending consequences of these revelations.
The rowdy noise filters through the air, and the street at the end of the alleyway stays crowded with dancing and drinks under rows of lantern lights.
An ache settles in my stomach.
I’d give anything to be under those lights. Not a courtesan. Not a queen. No problems. Just me.
As if reading my mind, Rett says from behind me, “The night doesn’t have to be over, you know.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because someone might recognize me.”
“It’s past midnight, and you’re already disguised in men’s clothing.” He chuckles, shaking his head. Pulling a cap off the peg on the wall, he hands it to me. “Here, cover your hair. It still looks… girly.”
My cheeks bloom with warmth.
He plunks the hat on my head. “You ascended the throne today, and that deserves a drink. The tavern is crowded, and everyone is already knee-deep in their cups. Nobody will pay you any attention—except maybe to see why you’re with me.” He gives me a wink that makes a snort fly from my nose.
“I suppose so.” I tuck my hair under the wool cap.
“One more thing,” he says, dabbing a bit of fireplace soot on my cheeks. “Now, we’re ready to go. I’m dying of thirst after all this talking.”
He tells funny jokes down the length of the stairs, and we’re laughing as we enter the tavern, but we aren’t the only ones. Tables and tables of patrons cackle with mirth, the roar of noise rendering our conversation inaudible. Not a single person looks up.
I realize I’m happy I’ve lost my glow—I’m normal now.
Rett squeezes between cramped tabletops before waving me over to a table under a window fogged with condensation.
He catches the observant eye of the barmaid and motions for two drinks.
In barely a minute, double tumblers of ale are slammed down in front of us, foam spraying, as she sprints off to help other customers flagging her down.
I bring the wooden tumbler to my lips, savoring its pungent taste. Turning to my companion, I notice he’s chuckling.
“What?” I ask.
He reaches over and brushes the skin above my lip with his fingertip. “You have foam,” he says before sucking the froth from the side of his massive green finger. The tavern is sweltering, and my neck grows uncomfortably warm. I take another swig.
“It’s good, isn’t it?”
But before I can answer, several groups beat their tabletops rhythmically, chanting, “Sing. Sing. Sing. Sing.”
The barmaid grins as she tries to wave them off, but they keep at it until she surprises everyone by jumping on the table in the center of the room.
Her bronze skin gleams under the hanging candlelight, and she flips her large midnight braid over her shoulder before blowing wisps of hair out of her face.
With her skirts pinned into her belt over her outer stays, she stomps a beat with her black leather boot.
The tavern claps with her as her voice resonates.
A princess of sea, there she was
Bright as ink on the scroll, she was
She was
“Drink!” Everyone roars, and Rett tips his ale back in unison with the other patrons. He nods to me to do the same and says in my ear, “It’s a game!”
A princess of land, there she was
Humble as a seed, she was
She was
“Drink!” Now I’m prepared, tipping my tumbler at the same time.
A prince of trees, there he was
Shadows in the cure, he was
He was
“Drink!” Again we tilt the tumblers back as she mesmerizes us with her words.
A heart with two loves, there it was
Split as two kingdoms, it was
It was
“Drink!”
A love to be broken, there it was
Sea devours, it was
Land crumbles, it was
It was
“Drink!” But this time, the pounding on the table goes wild as the song concludes. I finish just as the barmaid jumps from her perch. People around her shove coins into her apron and hands, clapping and whistling until I think my ears might burst.
“That was fantastic!” I exclaim to Rett, but my smile drops into my stomach as I spy Captain Lir across the room.