Chapter 30
Aliya
Aliya flinched at the sound of so many footsteps marching down the marble hall.
They would’ve been so much stealthier if it had been just her and Zadé, but the other woman had been quick to explain that, if Aliya’s guards had gone with Roland, they wouldn’t have survived.
She may be no tactical genius, but even Aliya could see now that if she lost these men she’d have none left when this was behind them.
After all, a dozen soldiers were better than nothing.
She was grateful Zadé was on her side. All the more so because she didn’t know what to make of Elessan anymore.
Her initial reaction had been one of jealousy and betrayal.
But she knew firsthand how manipulative the sun elf royals were.
Tsara had likely backed him into a corner the same as Roland had with her.
If what Elessan said about his relationship with Tsara and his lack of romantic interest in her was true, then he’d given up his happiness and freedom to guarantee the survival of Aliya’s kingdom.
It shouldn’t hurt as much as it did. The frustrating thing was she didn’t know who she ached more for—him or herself. Or both of them, for the loss of what they could have had together.
No! She shoved that line of thought aside. What was done was done, and she’d sort out the repercussions after she freed the hostages, killed Brooks and reclaimed the Whisperers.
Ahead, Zadé raised her arm, slowing their pace as they turned a corner, reaching the final stairwell down into the kitchens.
Aliya had no idea what they’d find down there. Hopefully just one or two cooks, but for all she knew, it could be the entire kitchen staff with a full platoon or two of soldiers.
She swallowed past her dry tongue and the lump in the back of her throat that had been refusing to let up since Tsara announced her marriage to Elessan.
They could do this.
The soft leather of the trousers and linen tunic she’d changed into were a lot more practical than the fancy gowns her servants insisted she wear, and made navigating the stairs much easier.
Beyond the occasional jostling of a breastplate or sword, the group descended silently.
Billows of heat with the mouthwatering scent of warm bread wafted over her as they reached their destination.
Zadé lifted a hand and closed her fist, bringing their entire company to a halt. She peeked around the corner into the kitchen. Holding up two fingers, she pointed once to the right, then did the same to the left.
Aliya blinked. She had no idea if that meant there were two people total, or two soldiers in each direction, or if the general was directing their squad to split in half and go both ways to clear the room. Her knees locked in indecision.
As her guards drew their weapons and flowed past her, Zadé took Aliya’s arm, ushering her through the door. “Halt, in the name of your queen!” Zadé said, pitching her voice so it wouldn’t carry beyond the room.
Three cooks glanced up from their various tasks, their startled faces going pale.
One was stirring a stew, another was halfway through removing bread from the oven, and the third was scrubbing pans in the back sink.
She didn’t recognize any of them. Something inside her uncoiled.
Patrick was nowhere to be seen. He must have evacuated as ordered. At least he wasn’t a traitor.
Two armed men stood on each side of the room. They reached for their swords but hadn’t managed to do more than draw the weapons before Aliya’s guards encircled them, their own blades at the traitors’ necks.
“Take them to the oubliette,” Aliya said.
The small room was barely large enough to hold one man, but she didn’t care about the comfort of turncoats.
“The cooks can go in the cells by the gate.” They would be in the more comfortable space until she could determine their innocence.
She sighed. It was just one more item in the ever-enlarging pile of things to sort out after they handled Brooks.
She caught her captain’s eye. “Treat them well,” she said, motioning to the servants. “They are not to be harmed.”
The man nodded and moments later, she and Zadé were alone.
Zadé sauntered over to the butcher block island in the middle of the kitchen and grabbed a warm roll off a plate. Steam rolled off the bread as she took a huge bite. “Mmm,” she groaned. “Iz delicious. Yeh should have one. We got some time ta kill.”
Aliya adjusted the dagger on her hip. It was the one Elessan had shown her how to use, had it just been last night?
Flinching, she strangled that line of thought. It was only a blade, one she hopefully wouldn’t have to utilize. “How much time do we have?”
Zadé glanced around. “Maybe five, ten minutes. Hard ta say without bein’ able ta see th’ sun, ‘n all.”
So much for precise timing. It hadn’t occurred to her there would be no windows or other way to tell time in the kitchen. After all, the servants had to have some sort of way to schedule meals.
Aliya shook her head. Well, the best she could do was get in the dumbwaiter and hope she made enough noise during her distraction that Roland would hear and send his soldiers in.
Her stomach roiled. This felt like a very bad idea.
“Zadé,” she whispered, “are you sure this is a solid plan?”
Still munching away on a roll, Zadé eyed her, her eyebrows pinched together in thought. “Havin’ second thoughts?”
Aliya nodded. “I’m worried about the timing. If we’re off, a lot of innocent people will die.” Guards, hostages, her…
Zadé’s expression went soft in sympathy. “That’s true. But we don’t have many options. Our enemy chose his position well.”
Aliya’s contemplations turned dark. At least if she died, she wouldn’t have to be around to sort out the mess afterward.
Shaking her head to get herself off that particular thought train, she glanced at the dumbwaiter.
“Yeh sure yeh don’t wanna eat somethin’ a’fore yeh go?” Zadé gestured to the bread and soup, obviously destined for Brooks and his men.
Aliya frowned. “No, thanks.” The way her stomach was turning, there was no way she’d be able to guarantee it wouldn’t come right back up.
Zadé’s hand landed on her shoulder, squeezing. “Don’t fret, Princess. It’ll all work out, then we can make the wench pay fer stealin’ yer man.”
A sudden wave of exhaustion barreled into Aliya, threatening to knock her off her feet. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
Zadé blinked at her, her expression blank. “Whaddya mean it’s okay? Yer fine with someone claimin’ yer man?”
“No. My issues with the Enorathils go much deeper than Tsara’s obsession with Elessan.
But now is not the time to discuss it.” She swallowed past the bitter aftertaste forced up her throat by the rage curdling in her gut.
“I’ll have to figure out what to do about them after we take care of Brooks and the hostages.
” Though as Elessan and Tsara were already married, there wasn’t anything she could do about it, short of killing the sun elf princess.
And that would no doubt lead to yet another war.
That was the last thing her realm needed, and went against everything she and Elessan had sacrificed their future together for.
She glanced at the thin scar across her left palm. Roland was no less likely to let her out of their marriage agreement, either. He’d maneuvered her right where he wanted her after all.
Zadé studied her for several heartbeats. “If’n yeh say so. But if yeh want some help buryin’ a body, lemme know.”
“Maybe,” she said, though she intended to do no such thing. Snatching a roll and taking a bite to get Zadé off her back more than anything else, Aliya examined the dumbwaiter. “Well, it’s about that time.”
“Suppose so.” Zadé’s voice was uncharacteristically somber. “Yeh know, if’n that box was a bit bigger, I’d go instead of you.”
Aliya eyed Zadé’s long legs and athletic build. “The only reason I fit is because I can shift to become a little smaller. But I can’t ask any of you to take a risk I’m not willing to take myself.”
Lips pressed into a thin line, Zadé nodded. “It’s too bad more leaders don’t believe that.”
Aliya tried to imagine Roland, or any of her nobles, charging into battle at the front of their lines rather than leading from the back. The image was preposterous, and yet…
“The world would be a better place, for sure,” she said. Taking a few steps, she squeezed herself into the dumbwaiter, pulling her knees tight to her chest.
“Be safe, Princess.”
“You, too.”
Aliya caught Zadé’s gaze as the woman grabbed the rope and tugged, sending her skyward.
Aliya changed her hair to a light brown and shifted her facial structure until she resembled Brielle, her lady-in-waiting.
The adjustment was harder than it should have been—with all of today’s misadventures, she’d forgotten to stay hydrated.
Curse the mages. Instead of eating bread in the kitchen with Zadé, she should’ve been guzzling as much water as she could handle.
Well, too late for regrets now.
The door to the dumbwaiter clicked open. Four guards with expectant expressions were staring at her.
“Not the luncheon you expected?” Aliya leaped from the enclosed space, her dagger aimed right for the closest man’s neck, like Elessan had taught her.
Her weapon caught on something, the resistance giving way before the keen steel. She didn’t bother to look to see what she hit, but from the gurgle, her aim had been true.
“Hey! What the—”
Someone grabbed her arm, pulling her away from her first victim. Twirling, she jammed the blade up. The man twisted at the last moment so she missed his stomach, but plunged her dagger into his armpit.
The man howled.
That should be loud enough to alert Roland through the speaking stone.
Something slammed into her jaw.
The force of the blow had Aliya spinning away, white stars flickering in her peripheral vision as pain radiated through her face. No, she couldn’t pass out now. If she did, she was as good as dead.